The Life and Times of a Bona Fide Homosexual

Hi there!  Today I’ve actually been semi-productive, if you can count ordering an early ballot as productive.

It literally takes five minutes, but I’m going to go ahead and pat myself on the back because it’s a step in the right direction.  In all seriousness, voting is important, everyone should do it (especially if you’re an American citizen right now), yada yada yada.

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Oh, and I did go to church for the first time in forever.  It was purely to make my mom happy, but let me tell you, stepping foot in church was odd.  I felt like I was going to burn the second I sat down.

Why?  I’m gay.  Now, I know you can be gay and religious, but I’m not that kind of gay.  Once I accepted the fact that I fancy the ladies, my ties with Christianity were as good as crucified.  (Ha, ha.  Hopefully God doesn’t smite me for that one.)

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I don’t think I ever truly believed in the Bible, anyways.  My sexuality just gave me a good excuse to duck out the back door.

After dozing off during a sermon about forfeiting all worldly pleasures in order to follow Jesus, Mom and I went to the movies.  We saw Nerve, the new thriller with Emma Roberts.

Taken from  Just look at those eyebrows!  Dave Franco who?

Let me give you one word of advice, dear readers:  If you are a closeted gay girl, don’t go see Nerve with your mother.  It will be highly uncomfortable.

At least, it was for me.  There’s a scene where Roberts has to streak through a department store.  I could feel my face get beet-red, because my heart was doing little flip-flops and I was sure that Mom could feel the gay vibes rolling off my body in waves.

Don’t make any sudden movements, V! I told myself sternly, using every ounce of self-control not to grip the chair’s armrests in panic.  Just be cool!  God, why can’t you just be cool?!

In retrospect, I’m sure I could’ve just made a passing comment about how hot the guy in the movie was (he was streaking too), but that didn’t occur to me at the time.  And really, how could I possibly be paying any attention to him (Dave Franco, that’s his name, I just looked it up) when Emma Roberts was rapping Wu-Tang Clan and getting a tattoo?

Taken from  How is she so cute?  How?  My tiny gay heart can’t handle it.

Honestly.I was not prepared for that level of adorableness from Emma Roberts.  And I thought it couldn’t get any better than when she played the narcissistic mean girl in shows like Scream Queens and American Horror Story: Coven!  In the words of Madison Montgomery:

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At one point my mom leaned over and pointed to another character, whispering, “He’s cute!” to which I replied with a strangled, slightly hysterical sounding, “Yeah!  Yes, ha!”

Stuff like this happens a lot when I’m with my family.  (I’m comfortably out to all my friends, just not my parents.)  Just the other day, we were all in the car and “Same Love” by Macklemore came on the radio.  Nonchalantly, I switched the station.  And “I Kissed a Girl” by Katy Perry started playing.

Are you kidding me?  I was furious.  How could the two gayest songs in recent pop culture have been on two different radio stations, simultaneously? 

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I swear, every time gay rights or the word “lesbian” is uttered on TV, I break out in a cold sweat.  It’s not great.  I should probably work on that.

I should also probably come out to my parents.  I’ve had girls over before under the guise that we’re just friends, and if I thought a three minute Macklemore song was stressful?  Let’s just say I was definitely not prepared.

Deep down, I think my mom knows.  She never asks me about boys anymore because I think she’s a little scared of what my response will be.  Once she found a flyer for an LGBT club under my bed and with a trembling voice said, “V?  You don’t think you’re -gay or anything, do you?”  Hell, she even called my therapist and asked her if I’d mentioned any lesbian activity.

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(My therapist was horrified at the question and answered her with the standard I’m-not-allowed-to-disclose-any-of-the-information-that-my-clients-tell-me-in-our-confidential-sessions speech, but she does know about the aforementioned lesbian activity.)

I want to come out to my mom.  I really do.  But I don’t know how, and at this point in time I’m not sure if she wants me to come out, either.  She’s a small, very religious lady.

If I did come out, I think it would be once I’m halfway across the country at the Happiest Place on Earth.

Let me know what you guys think in the comments!

Until next time,


Back to School Jitters

Hello, my good friends!

[Crickets chirp]

I know, I know.  It’s been a while.  But, in my defense, I’ve been very busy avoiding the inevitable, shrugging off all my responsibilities, and being dragged kicking and screaming into adulthood.

All in a day’s work, for an eighteen-year-old, I’d say.

Gif taken from

Even though I’ve taken great care to push any and all stressful situations out of my mind this summer, my departure date for the Disney College Program is getting closer and closer.  I can almost feel the humidity.

In fact, I just finished up registering for two collegiate courses offered by Disney: Corporate Communication and the very intriguing Creativity & Innovation.  I’m thrilled that I was able to actually log into the registration website ( seemed to have a lot of traffic today, considering that I tried to get on the minute they opened enrollment this morning) and sign up for the classes I wanted, but I’m less than thrilled that both classes start at 8:30 am and last for four hours.  I’m not a morning person, and I have the attention span of a gnat.

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But I’ll suck it up!  No sense in complaining about something you can’t change.

Actually, the early classes might be a blessing in disguise.  That way, I’ll have all afternoon to work.

What I’m even more apprehensive about is the possible avalanche of Disney homework assignments.  I need to work at least 35 hours per week if I want to get full credit for my internship.  By the end of the program, I have to hit 540 hours total.  If I don’t, I’ll lose credits and therefore lose my scholarship at NAU.  Yikes.

Taken from; This is basically who I’m going to turn into.  Especially because I’m almost positive that I’ll try doing homework by the pool at some point, and we all know that’s not going to end well.

I really can’t afford for these classes to take a big chunk out of my availability, and I also don’t want to be drowning in assignments while trying to work full time.  Even so, I’ve been emailing the Disney people like crazy with every little question I can think of and they’ve been extremely patient and helpful.  With luck, I’ll get a boss who’ll do their best to help me sort out any scheduling issues I might have.

I’ve been scouring the internet for any information I can on the Disney classes, but with no results.  Not a single blog entry, or Tweet, or Huffington Post blurb.  That being said, I’ll make sure to keep all of you future DCP hopefuls in the loop on how the classes pan out.

Now, the only big thing I need to do before I leave is register for housing.  Unfortunately, I can’t do this until about two weeks prior to my arrival date.  This makes me nervous.  What if there isn’t any available housing?  What do I do then, sleep in the supply closet of the Haunted Mansion?  (Do they still have that ride?  It was my favorite as a kid.)

Taken from;  Possibly my new home in Orlando if the whole Disney housing thing doesn’t work out.

Oh, well.  I suppose at this point all I can do is wait.

From what I’ve seen online, the Disney apartments look really nice.  Costing around $100 a month, the come fully furnished and include utilities as well as internet.  I’m under the impression that you have to share a room with another person (Just like freshman year, yay!), but then again, I’ve been wrong before.

I don’t mind this arrangement as long as my roommate’s not a total asshole, but like most people, I’d rather have my own space.  For one thing, I never know how people are going to react to the fact that I’m gay.  It certainly makes for an awkward conversation where it’s easy to offend someone.  (“I’m gay, but don’t worry, you’re so not my type.”)

Taken from; This is hopefully what my roommate will not be like.

For now, I suppose everything’s peachy.



P.S.  Sorry for all the gifs.  I forgot they existed and then I got pretty psyched when I remembered they were a thing.


Checking In, Checking Out

I’m coming to you live from my dorm room where I should be fast asleep, getting some much needed rest before finals week.  I think we both know that there was a fat chance of that ever happening.  Right around finals I always seem to become quite fatalistic.  Que sera, sera and all that jazz.

Because I can’t think of a good segue, I’ll just jump right in.  A few nights ago I went on another urban exploring adventure to an old motel about an hour away from campus.  It was right smack in the middle of nowhere so I knew cops weren’t that big of a threat, but the location was next to a busy highway and a gas station.  To me, it would definitely be worth the risk.

I’d seen the motel on the way back from a spontaneous day trip and I hadn’t been able to get it out of my mind ever since.  There were three buildings that made up the property and I thought they looked beautiful, what with the reddish-brown and turquoise color scheme.  At first I wasn’t even sure if the motel was abandoned, but after a little research I determined that it shut down about 5 months ago.  The only real clues that it was closed for business would have to be the absence of cars in the parking lot and the tall weeds sprouting from all the cracks in the pavement.

Here’s an aerial view of the main complex from

I was kind of scared that we’d end up busting into a room and frightening a weary business man who was in bed watching an old rerun of Seinfeld or something.

Nevertheless, I still headed out there one evening with my coworker and her boyfriend.

I was excited because my lock picking set had just arrived in the mail and I couldn’t wait to try it out.  The practice lock it had come with posed no real challenge for me.  I was confident that the motel doors would be quite simple to pick, as long as there were no deadbolts.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to practice as much as I would’ve liked.  There aren’t too many locks in the dorms aside from the ones on your neighbor’s doors.  My own dorm lock was quickly picked by yours truly, but I broke it in the process.  Oops.  (Luckily I was able to get it replaced for free, since I claimed that it suddenly stopped working out of the blue.)

Either way, I figured if I couldn’t pick the locks on the doors I could always just do the old credit card trick and we’d get inside just fine.

When we arrived at the motel it was nighttime and a storm was brewing.  Total horror movie weather.  I half expected Freddy Kruger to be waiting for us at the bottom of the motel’s pool or something.  But no, there was only a hubcap, a bucket, and an life preserver in the sludgy green water.

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I was a little nervous when we pulled into the complex because there were two cars in the parking lot.  The truck had a flat tire so we reckoned that they hadn’t been moved in a while, but I didn’t want to startle anyone who might have been living in one of the vehicles.  We didn’t see another soul that night, thank goodness.

The porch lights were all still on… it was eerie.

The first attempt at breaking into a room proved unsuccessful.  Apparently my lock picking skills weren’t as good as I’d hoped, and the credit card trick was useless.  I think I’m going to invest in a bump key for next time.  Andrew* finally just took a screwdriver and pried open the door.

Most of the furniture was still there, but the rooms themselves were a mess.  Some had carpet torn up, some had the air conditioning units ripped out of the walls, in one we found a big ball of insulation in the bathtub, etc.  There was a TV on every single nightstand.  That really made me wonder.  Why was this motel abandoned in such a hurry that these things weren’t hauled away or sold?

Perhaps the creepiest moment came when we walked into the third or fourth unit.  There was an armchair positioned in the middle of the room directly in front of the mirror.  Not the TV, the mirror.  I got chills up my spine when I saw that, but I’m easily spooked so I tried to just brush it off.  We poked around for a few minutes, then turned to leave.


I grabbed the doorknob and twisted.  It refused to budge.  I fiddled with the lock.  Still nothing.

“Uh, guys?” I said in a shaky voice.  We had two seconds before I busted a window.

Luckily, Andrew remained calm and jimmied us out of there with our trusty screwdriver, but I’d been rattled.

We poked around a little more (and discovered some lovely graffiti), but decided to leave once Claire* said she found evidence that someone might be living in a room.  Apparently there were bags of clothes and blankets in one of the units.


All in all, it was a nice urban exploring trip to distract me from the exams that are coming up.

Hope you’re having a great week,


P.S.  I’ve submitted the manuscript of my latest novel to several agents, so hopefully I’ll hear back from them in a few weeks.  I’ve already gotten a few rejection letters but I’m not discouraged!

Actually, I participated in the Twitter event where on April 19th, marginalized writers were encouraged to tweet a pitch for their novels that had diverse characters and themes with the hashtag #DVpit.  (My book is about teen mental illness and features a queer protagonist, so if that’s not diverse I don’t know what is.)  If a literary agent liked your tweet, that meant they were interested in your idea and wished to receive a query letter from you.  I didn’t expect much, so I was ecstatic when an agent liked my tweet.

My fingers are crossed!


*Names have been changed

Why I’m Probably Going to Die Young

If I don’t get arrested fairly soon, there’s a good chance that I’ll get murdered. One of these two unfortunate occurrences will happen to me. I guarantee it.

And one way I can guarantee it is by doing Incredibly Stupid Dangerous Things. I’m a college student. College students are invincible, right?


Lucky for me, I haven’t had to find this out the hard way. Yet. Stay tuned, though, since it can’t be long now.

One particularly grand lapse of judgment I had came one night when I was bored out of my mind.

Take some advice from me: if you’re ever in college and bored out of your mind, get a hobby. A nice, productive hobby like knitting or partying! Don’t follow in my footsteps.

I proceeded to go on an app called Yik Yak. If you’re a student yourself, you’ve probably heard of this app. It allows you to post anonymously, and your messages can only be see by people located in your immediate area. It’s especially popular on campus because, well, everyone’s in the same place.

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Yik Yak can be used for good. You can vent on it, encourage people on it, hell, once I even scored two pieces of bread from someone in my dorm because I asked on Yik Yak.  I made a fabulous sandwich that day.

There is a sketchy side of this app, like most things in the world. People frequently try to hook up on it and sell drugs, among other less favorable activities.

Yik Yak is also a way for people to make anonymous threats, unfortunately.  Image from
As I was scrolling through my feed, I came across a post that was asking if anyone wanted to go to an abandoned town with them. I looked it up and it was 40 miles away from civilization. I was willing to bet that there were already like, 4 bodies buried there somewhere. Maybe a serial killer who skinned and ate cats had made the town their home base. At the very least there was probably a hungry animal or two hiding out in the buildings.

But, like I explained to you in my last entry, I have a penchant for urban exploring. So, little five-foot-nothing me replied with an enthusiastic, “Yes! Take me!”

Most plans I’ve tried to make on Yik Yak fell through, so I was sufficiently surprised when the guy actually showed up.

Oh, it was nighttime by the way. I felt like I was in a bad horror movie.

I walked over to this guy’s Honda CRV and peered in the window. I didn’t see any tools, blood, or dismembered body parts lying around, and there was a Star Wars bumper sticker on the back window. Everything seemed okay.

As soon as I slid in the passenger seat I said, “I have pepper spray. So. You know.”

“I know what?”

I blinked.

“Don’t try anything.”

“I wasn’t planning on trying anything. I was more worried about picking up a dangerous girl who might murder me and leave me for dead.”

I busted out laughing. Me? Secretly I hated carrying pepper spray because I knew in the unlikely event that I’d have to use it, there was a high probability I’d end up spraying myself.

Image from
Anyways, I went to the abandoned town of Two Guns in the middle of the night with a complete stranger. You can see why I’m going to die young.

Please enjoy the following pictures documenting my poor life choices.

Much love,


Taken inside of the abandoned gas station. I also found a lot of documents from in here. I wonder what someone was trying to find in their family history.

This is part of an abandoned zoo, where the owner was allegedly killed by a mountain lion.

The main part of the gas station

An old cage from the abandoned zoo
P.S. Later I went back during the daytime, so here are a few more…

I think this was some sort of tiny hotel, since there was a pool and what looked like a pool storage shed or restrooms located next to it.

Inside the tiny hotel

Here’s the front of the gas station.
Inside the tiny hotel
Taken from the bottom of the pool
This is the back door of the tiny hotel

Possibly part of the old zoo

Why I’ll Probably be Arrested

Your imaginations are probably running wild right now.  What did I do that’s going to get me arrested?  Did I kill a man?  Steal my neighbor’s new Apple TV?  Snort cocaine off the back of my illegal pet lion?

Image from

No, nothing like that.  I know, it’s disappointing.  Sorry, guys.

I do, however, have one particular hobby that’s frowned upon by law enforcement, if not downright illegal.  This is a wonderful activity widely known as urban exploring.

For those of you who don’t know, a rough definition of urban exploring is when one ventures into abandoned buildings and other places normally off limits to the public.  I love doing this.  There’s just something about old, long forgotten places that really attracts me.  Just think about it -a crumbling house on the side of the road was once someone’s home.  They laughed there, cried there, had fights, triumphs  and tragedies, sang songs and cooked dinners.  And now there’s nothing left.

If anyone has read Paper Towns by John Green (mild spoiler alert!), you might recall the abandoned mini mall that Margo led Q to.  That’s a good example of urban exploring.

Representation of the Osprey; Image from

I like walking through these hollow shells while trying to imagine this rich and colorful past.  It really does wonders for writer’s block, that’s for sure.

My first conquest was a ramshackle house at the back of a neighborhood.  It was known as the Tiger House to all the kids in the area because of the story behind it.  I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but I’ve heard quite a few different variations.

The basic gist is this:  A man in the neighborhood kept tigers in his backyard.  This was illegal, much like keeping a lion as a pet and snorting cocaine off its back is illegal.  Despite the law, Tiger Man’s big cats remained in the large cages where he showed them off to friends and family whenever he got the chance.  One day, Tiger Man was feeding his exotic pets while his wife and son were at the store.  He was mauled and killed by a tiger and died in the backyard.  Upon returning home and finding her husband’s mutilated body, the wife hung herself and her child from the tree in the backyard.

Of all the versions of this story, the most consistent detail is the guy getting killed by a tiger.  That’s about the extent of my knowledge on the house’s history.

Now, when I first heard about this place, I thought it was total BS.  What nut job would try to keep tigers?  It sounded ridiculous, but I was intrigued.

My first excursion to the house was at night.  The first thing I noticed was a rusty streetlamp that looked like it was from the 1800’s.  It was pretty creepy.  Next I was able to make out the outline of a broken metal cage among the weeds…

The inside of the house was absolutely covered in graffiti.  Some of it was juvenile, like an assortment of dick pics along with lewd phrases, but there were a few more artistic pictures.  I liked the floor-to-ceiling depiction of a red demon the best.

Here’s a photo of the outside of the house that I took during the day:

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I really wish I’d taken more pictures, but both times that I was there during the day I was nearly caught by the authorities.  Needless to say, it’s very difficult to sprint from a cop while taking excellent photographs.

The second time I had to run my friend basically tossed me over a brick wall.  Also not a great photo op.

To wrap it up, that’s why I’m probably going to get arrested one day.  Next month I’m staying a few days in LA, and I’ve already started looking up any potential trespassing opportunities.

Much Love,


The Happiest Place on Earth

So, next semester I’m going to be packing up my things and moving halfway across the country to sunny Orlando so that I can work for and go to school at Disney.  I can still hardly believe this is happening.  It absolutely blows my mind.

I applied for the Disney College Program on a whim, thinking that there was no possible way I’d ever get in.  I heard about it from my public speaking teacher when I’d been hunting for internships and decided, “Why not?”

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Fast forward to a few days later and I was taking the online test, and then a few weeks later I was on the phone with a recruiter from Disney.  At the time I didn’t think I’d be able to participate, since I have a substantial scholarship at my university and I would possibly  have to forfeit it if I left school for a semester.  So, I was pretty unconcerned about the outcome during the phone interview.  Part of me wanted to bomb it because then I wouldn’t have to regret turning an offer of employment down.

Ironically, the fact that the interview didn’t really matter to me was probably why I got in.  I was relaxed, my anxiety didn’t make me trip over my words, and I didn’t go off on any long, unrelated tangents.  I nailed it.

You can imagine my frustration when a few hours later I got an email offering me a position at Disney World in Orlando.  Really?

Of course, I couldn’t let an opportunity like that pass me by.  Everyone knows that Disney is a great company to work for with a variety of jobs to choose from.  If I could get my foot in the door by doing the Disney College Program, the possibilities were endless.  Not to mention that Disney offers an entire class dedicated solely to networking.

Getting my university to make sure my scholarship would still be here for me when I was done wasn’t easy.  I bent over backwards to make it happen.  I’m honestly not sure how I was able to pull it off, but once I paid my deposit for Disney I was determined.  Losing $350 didn’t sound great, and that’s what would’ve happened if I had to withdraw from the DCP.

And now here I am, Florida-bound and ready to rock some Mickey Mouse ears.  I’m a little nervous, but the Disney apartments are hella nice, I love the beach, and I get in free to all the parks while I’m an employee.  Who could ask for more?  My mother isn’t thrilled, but that’s okay.  I know I’ll be fine.

Picture from Some of Disney’s housing.  I *think* this complex is called The Commons

Besides, Tina Fey was right.  I can’t overthink things too much.  I just need to dive in and hope everything works out in the end.


Picture from

What Cereal Means to Me

Welcome, all.  Thank you for clicking on this blog, though I honestly don’t know how you’d end up here.  I’m willing to bet it was like the time that I was driving around aimlessly, trying to give myself some space to think, and before I knew it I was in the drive thru of a seedy 24-hour Mexican restaurant.  Are you all experiencing the same feeling of profound regret and despair? Because the second I looked up and saw the flickering neon sign begging for a bolt of lighting to streak down and put it out of it’s fluorescent misery, I know I wanted to throw my Corolla in reverse and get the hell out of there.  Unfortunately, a large white truck that looked like the vehicular version of an unfriendly drug addict had pulled up behind me.

Don’t let your own out of control use of personification force you to purchase a greasy burrito.  And by that I mean freedom is only a click away for you.

Nonetheless, I’m still going to talk to myself on this little blog, so you’re welcome to stay and get the inside scoop about my Very Super Fascinating Life.

I’ll start off by letting you know that I live in Arizona.  Now, Arizona does have cactus, an extreme lack of rain, and random bones scattered throughout the desert.  This is true.  Some parts of our state are 100% stereotypical.  I remember once when I was playing tennis, a dust storm came out of nowhere and everyone had to dodge angry tumbleweeds while practicing serves and volleys.  I had another friend who was driving at night and stopped to try to coax a stray dog over to her, only to find out that it was actually a coyote.  I was raised in the Arizona-y part of Arizona.


However, drive three hours north and it turns into a whole other world.  There are pine trees everywhere, your skin doesn’t feel like it’s going to turn to dust and blow away any minute, and it even snows in the winter.  In fact, earlier this year northern Arizona was the coldest place in the country for a while.


I currently live in Northern Arizona.  It’s a big change, but I like it.  I call the shots, I buy my own food, I pay the bills.  (Well, except for this one bill that was really huge so I just kept throwing it in the garbage and I’m still waiting for someone to show up at my dorm and throw me in jail.)  The hardest of these three adult things is definitely buying food.

I am incapable of grocery shopping by myself.  Once I walked to Target intending to buy peanut butter and I walked out with a new hat, a record player, and no peanut butter.  It’s a real problem.

In fact, the only thing I can seem to successfully purchase is cereal.  I live off of cereal.  I eat it 24/7, with or without milk, usually in a mug because I have one bowl and I’m not sure where it is right now.  I’m confident that I’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for cereal.  Special K, in particular.  Like the drug, (or so I’m told) it’s addictive, healthy for you, and made from horse tranquilizers.  (Just kidding.  Please don’t sue me, Special K.)

So, in a way this blog is kind of like Special K.  It’s not gluten free and once you start reading it you just can’t stop.  I’m not too sure if you can lose weight from this blog, though.  That’s still under investigation.

Have a good rest of your weekend, everyone!