A twentysomething tall drink of manic-depression with a quick wit, an impressive cancer survival streak, and a face for radio.

A desperate lover of fashion and art, pretentious collector of vinyl records, proficient in barely passable French, and mother of two rescue kitties (I often emphasize that they were rescued so people know what a saint I am).

Find me on:

I am a freelance writer and I write from the perspective of a 20-something, tall drink of manic-depression, proficient in barely passable French, with a face for radio. I’ve been unbelievably fortunate to have gone to school in Paris and to have visited many museums and famous monuments while there and travelling abroad. These experiences granted me the authority to be both pretentious and irritating. [Please insert eye-roll here. I know you want to.] The point of all of this

Read More >

There are 20 students in my intermediate class, with twelve different native languages all trying to learn French. The word ‘Maladroit’ was used in a sentence and someone asked for the definition. The professor began to mime having difficultly holding a bottle of water and responded with “Ne pas être habite de ses mains.” which translates to ‘to not live with your hands’, as if that cleared everything up. We all stared at her confused as she exclaimed “Je suis

Read More >