But...She Won
We stood in a tiny dressing room of a trailer, just the two of us. He held the results from the judges. The winner was clear. The woman had blown everyone away. But he hesitated. Then he turned to me and said, “What do you think? Should we give it to my buddy instead?”
Just like that, everything I had built was at risk.
My Sinuses vs. Mexico City: A Telenovela
Our trip to Mexico City started with walking tours, tacos, and ambition. It ended with a cold, a curtain, and a surprising lesson in letting go.
The Puppet Who Lived Downstairs
I live in a high-rise soap opera with a rotating cast of eccentrics—and somehow, I’ve become the neighborhood’s unofficial archivist. Not with spreadsheets, but with felt.
Saint Teresa of San Francisco: A Tale of a Demon Driver and the Woman Whose Compassion Saved Us
Stranded on a dark San Francisco street, Mike slumped onto a stoop, looking less like a guy with motion sickness and more like someone who had lost a fight with a bottle of tequila. People crossed the street to avoid us. That’s when I realized: we weren’t just stuck—we were being judged.
My Run-In with Benjamin Bratt
Cartagena is hot. Not ‘Oh, let me grab my sunhat’ hot. More like ‘I am melting into the pavement and will soon become one with the earth’ hot. By midday, I had transformed from carefree traveler to overheated swamp creature. So, when we walked into a fancy restaurant without even changing clothes, I was already feeling like a sweaty disaster. But I was not prepared for what happened next: a full-body collision with Benjamin Bratt’s bare chest.