First Impressions

First impressions are wrong. When you met someone for the first time, your fight or flight instinct kick in. Yes or no. Friend or foe. Yes… or no. Snap judgements are made in the blink of an eye.  And first impressions are wrong.

You walked up to me on a steamy summer day in the parking lot of our new apartment. My only thought was; Locked into a year lease; this is not going to work. You looked like a girl that I went to high school with. Tank top and booty shorts. Popular. Nice. Fun… a party girl; nice on the outside, friends for a few months. Not long lasting with nothing in common. Strong routine of mine.

We started cordial like most roommates start for the first month or two. With my long-term best friend, me, I knew it could be worse. We could not be getting along at all, but at least I have Pumpkin; my childhood cat. He took a liking to you, which was good news for me. Pumpkin is a good judge of character.

All Hallo’s eve. Time of year where I go to my yearly party. Disgust and a fairy walk down Church street, taking in all the sights. First time to legally drink. First time to legally get wild.

First stop, bar one. A spot that became our regular. With drinks and board games, what could be wrong? The fun is just getting started when someone from your past walks in. A group of girls from our college. Snobby. Caty. Nasty. We all hang for a while but, we say goodbye and head to stop two: my friend’s party. Bye ladies.

We are stumbling down Church Street. Church turns into Pearl. As I feel the freezing air sober my mind, you disclose to me about your old friend group. The story sound eerily similar to mine. I have lived it too many time over to count.

Friend meets friend.

Friend and friend become closer and closer.

Best friend and Best friend promise to be there for each other.

Best friend meets a new friend.

Best friend dumps old Best friend for new friend.

End of story.

1:03am. Home at last. Party was adequate, it filled the hunger I get every year. But now I am physically hungry. Thank god for 24 hour McDonalds and thank god for friends.

As time goes on we bond over getting busted, the beautiful musicians, massages, roommate dates, and driving for no reason at all. From Gin Wigmore to photography to Cider Mill. We connect like two puzzle pieces. Meant to meet. Meant to be united. Meant to be friends forever.

And when I heard the worst noise in the world, you were there with a bottle of wine or… two. When he died and I cried tears of relief, you were there with a shoulder to lean on. When I thought, I was better off dead than alive, you were there with a thirty second dance party.

You helped me through some of the darkest times and I thank you for it. For all of it. Wine. Shoulder. Dance party. And everything in between.

Thelma and Louise. Partners in crime. Ride or die.

And first impressions are wrong. When you met someone for the first time, your fight or flight instinct kick in. Yes or no. Friend or foe. Yes… or no. Snap judgements are made in the blink of an eye.  And first impressions are wrong.

As I stand in an empty apartment and relive all the wonderful memories. I think back to my first impression of you. A stuck up looking girl who reminded me of high school. As I laugh to myself I think

Thank god first impressions are wrong.



I am a isosceles triangle with two even sides and one odd one

I am a private jet with beds and a pool with a full bar

 I have no security line and I have a movie theater

I am a 7-layer dip with re fried beans that taste like the Cinco de Mayo

I have many different textures,  flavors, and tastes

I am a red brick house that has a frayed tire swing in the backyard

The blue shutters have been worn with time

 And the egg-shell door with painted finger prints from years past

I am a weeping willow because sometimes it is okay to be sad

I am the strong red planet that had many stories to share

I am a graceful giraffe that gallops across the grasslands

Free as a bird

I am a small child who has lost their parents in a department store

Hoping to find them before they leave without me

I am a kitchen table with love initials carved into the light brown wood

I am charismatic with a dash wanderlust

I am the person you approach to when the drama of life comes




Tiny Ants

Wandering through the universe

Like tiny ants

on a sidewalk

Hoping to not be stepped on


We are the tiny ants

Without even knowing it


We are more worried about irrelevant things

Things that we think are important







None of that really matters in the end

We are just tiny ants

on a sidewalk

Hoping to not be stepped on

The Quiet

Walking to the car with friends at 11:47 at night


last time was too

close to the wire.

Talking about nothing

Wave good-bye

Get in the car and


Parked car in a

salty spot

Turn off the engine

power down

open the door

to the quiet night

take it in

smell the wintery air

feel the midnight breeze through your hair

listen to the quiet

no birds

no talking

no crowds

just peace

and quiet

Strictly Salad

For Shannon

We had never been the couple to take pictures in public.

To live the fairytale

But now

We are strictly salad.


We have lost the blaze that keeps us alive

We used to be like Jack and Rose

But now

We are strictly salad.


We sit at the dining room table

Playing with our food like a child

Moving the lettuce from one side to another.

Feeling the conversation slip for years

Dripping from our lips like dressing


Turning us into

Strictly salad.

The Yogurt Party

When going to a yogurt party,

one must decide what kind of yogurt

is the best.

Blueberry or Strawberry

Chunks or no chunks

So many options


The sweet tanginess of having the yogurt

enter your mouth is a religious experience.

Feeling the rich flavor flow down your throat.


When going to a yogurt party,

one must decide who to invite.

The best people to invite is any one who

loves yogurt!


The brilliant bonding of everyone

having the experience the tangy of yogurt


When going to a yogurt party,

one must decide what kind of music to play.

The best music for a yogurt party,

is polka music.

Polka music is yogurt in a song.

The crazy sounds and flavors

co-mingle to create a unique


Welcome to Snob Cobb

I am from a place that smells like fish trees and pollen

With cheap hair spray and gas exhaust

With fake nails and fake tan that make you look like an oompa lumpa

With the expensive perfume from soccer moms worn to their meeting

With the PTA

Thinking that their opinion about school lunch really matters


Smelling the grease from Chick-Fil-A


The sweetness of the house wine of the south


The true meaning of

Bless your heart

And that spaghetti junction is not a restaurant


Knowing that right next to your neighborhood is a cemetery with a confederate flag

And no one understands why you don’t put up christmas lights

Why you only get along with one set of your neighbors because anti-semitism is still a thing

Being one of the only non-christian children in your neighborhood


Wishing for the snow so that school will gets canceled

Even if it is just a forth of an inch


Hearing the gaggles of girls at Perimeter mall in their uggs and shorts even though it is only

40 degrees


With the T-shirts that cover their sports shorts and the girls on their iphones


The place you call Snob Cobb

Where nobody walks and only drives

Where you hear the sound of a crying child gasping for air in a hot car


Wanting to be somewhere else

Anywhere else

Feeling the sweat drip from their brow and getting angry because this will be on the 11alive news


Knowing that even though all this bad stuff happens here,

You, are still from Snob Cobb