A Note

My Christmas gift from my parents two years ago was a writing class. I took one a couple of years ago at UCLA and enjoyed it immensely. I gained skills that would have been incredibly useful had I actually used them on something. Anything, really. Even a FB status update. But alas, lack of motivation and what I would argue was an incorrect dosage of my anti-depressant compelled me to set aside my writing learned-ness for a the more useful skill of figuring out how to share my sparkly-eyed, face-tuned Snapchat image on Instagram. That activity right there practically took me a year to master. Now, two years later I'm finally cashing in on my parents' thoughtful gift. By thoughtful, I mean listed in order of rank on a curated Christmas list I send out to my family every year. Honey, take your shade elsewhere 'cause my list is highly anticipated by my family for its humor and genius.

I start my writing class at the end of March and am truly excited. I figured in the weeks leading up to it, I should take down the cobwebs inundating my blog and practice by writing a couple of words here and there. While practice makes perfect, that's not my goal here. Besides, perfect can only be applied to Timotheé Chalamet's (pronounced Tim-o-tee Shall-amay) performance in Call Me By Your Name. And you know I ain't playing friends if I'm rooting for him to win the Oscar over my #1 man of all time, Gary Oldman, playing my bae Winston Churchill. No guys, the goal here is to bust out the old "voice" again and perhaps entertain the two people and 15 Russian bots who visit this blog sporadically. Please note that I do not vouch for my rudimentary understanding of grammar nor my ability to be cohesive. You've been warned.

So check back in from time to time this month for new content that I'm sure you could live your whole life without knowing exists. Could even possibly make you angry for wasting precious minutes of your day that you will never get back.

till then,

Monique