Saturday, 12:45pm: My hand is resting under Makayla’s for her to squeeze when the tattoo artist’s needle buzzes her skin a little too much. She winces as I try to distract her with dumb questions and stories from my past. Her hair is piled on top of her head and I can see where our genes overlap. She’s taller and has a way cuter nose (I’ve always loved her nose) but both of our cheeks puff out when we smile.

Saturday, 3:00pm: It’s raining so we forgo our original plan of biking to the Rogers Park Art Walk and I book us a couples massage at my favorite small shop in Chicago. We follow the masseuses down a small hall to a lamp-lit room with rubber lily pads decorating the massage tables. We giggle as we tuck ourselves under the thin blankets and interpretive dance to the ambient music. When the masseuses re-enter the room we both settle our faces into the table. I hear Makayla’s masseuse leave the ground and I realize I forgot to mention how this place loves to take liberties with their style of massage. It’s less Swedish massage and more tango-on-your-back and punch-ya-like-you’re-bad. She leaves wide-eyed (although relaxed!!) and shaking her head. And I pat myself on the back for taking her to something she’s never experienced before. hehe

Saturday Night: I curl Makayla’s hair and she requests we play “Never Grow Up” by Taylor Swift. I am transported back to 2010: her tiny eight year old fingers are interlaced with mine as we sway our hands back and forth listening to this song. Back in our guest room, I’m tying a scarf around her body and dressing her up for a night of dancing. My most cherished memories are dancing with her and brushing her baby hair back while calling her a pretty, pretty baby. It takes everything in me to not call the 24 year old girl standing in front of me a pretty, pretty, baby but she always will be.

Sunday 11:00am: I take back the pretty, pretty baby remark because this acrobatic-circus-freak has me standing on a trapeze ledge about to back flip mid-air. I jump one time, which is enough for me, but I spend the remainder of our class watching her fly.

Sunday 3:00pm: Fearless Makayla stands on the edge of Lake Michigan nervous to jump. Girl, was just flipping and flopping 40 ft in the air but this measly ledge is psyching her out. She lurches off the concrete and splashes into the water. When her head pops back up, she gasps, it’s so cold! (It’s actually pretty warm for a Lake Michigan dip but I’ll give her Oklahoma roots this one).

More and more stuff: We had so many nice moments throughout her stay. We rode bikes together, went to a few fitness studios, had ice cream, and shopped around.

Ahead of her trip, I thought about all my friends who have aunts they've told me stories about. And now I think about my niece and all the stories she'll have to tell.

Maybe at lunch she's telling a story about dancing in Boystown, maybe she's mentioning the slushie drink we got or how diverse and packed the neighborhood was. I bet she's not mentioning how we held hands the entire night, how that's probably the longest I've ever held hands with someone I'm related to.

Maybe at one of her classes she's telling a friend how Niq cooked for us all week — how he made steak and baked potatoes while we princessed up on a blanket pallet wearing face masks in the living room. I bet she's not mentioning that she's my only family member to really witness my relationship. To see the way we live. To see how much Niq cares for me. All I wanted was to give her stories but I didn't realize she'd give me a witness to my life.

AND ANOTHER THING

• I’m reading They’re Going to Love You by Meg Howrey, I’m still deciding how I feel about it.

• We announced our third writing workshop and we already filled the hell up, I can’t believe it!!

• I’m watching this season of Project Runway and I’m rooting for Anna Molinari who I saw on TikTok as an unconventional materials designer before project runway and I don’t say this to be like I was cool and in the know before she made it but I’m so happy she’s getting her flowers because I THINK SHE’S SO CREATIVE AND COOL.

• In honor of Dolly Parton, I hope we are all adding one of Dolly’s favorite activities, as stated in her 1994 memoir, to our to-do lists: “run naked through the moonlight with my best girlfriends”.

• I picked up Caroline Chambers cookbook, what to cook when you don’t feel like cooking from the library and I’ve been loving it. Great, easy, recipies. She also has a Substack.

LOVE YA,
Sierra

💕 A little bit of the week

On Sunday evening, I bike over to Tyle and Austin’s to squeeze in a little extra time with Tyle’s mom. She’s visiting this week, so I snuggle up right next to her on their big comfy couch and we giggle about 90 Day Fiancé, past trips, and the shiny copper color the nail salon chose for her tootsies. If Tyle is the best person I’ve ever known, his mom is the other side of the coin. Heads and tails of my most cherished token.

When I’m not with them, I’m at home trying to decide what kind of curtains to buy. I dreamed! I wished!!!! I WANTED with all my might a sunlit apartment and yet, I didn’t realize what a pain picking out curtains is. Do I go pattern? Bold color? Two per window???? Linen? Sheer? LIGHT BLOCKING?? I hate looking at curtains.

On Monday afternoon, Tyle, his mom, and I meet up for lunch. I, shockingly, beat them to Sweetgreen so I try to sneak up on them by following their location. I fast walk on Clark gripping my phone, trying my best to watch their tiny blue dots slide up the road and watch where I’m going. I start kind of half galloping down Summerdale, breezing by a man walking his dog and dodging a few construction workers sitting on buckets outside a house. I feel my heart racing like I’m about to run into a crush; I want to scream, I can’t wait to see them. This is love, this is love.

On Tuesday, I rearrange a few things in our office. My niece is coming this weekend (she’s 30 minutes away as I write) and Niq and I have been puzzling together a guest area for her to stay in. My vision for the room is seventeen rooms in one — an office, a walk-in closet, a guest room, a studio for Niq’s bolo ties, a place for me to eventually get really into sewing. So of course when none of that fits, I get overwhelmed. Niq and I decide to ditch the rearrange entirely and go get ice cream. On the way, he waits outside the library while I pick up my book holds. This is love, this is love.

On Friday, I watch Makayla’s Uber ride up Lake Shore Drive. As she gets closer, I take one good look at my apartment. Newly hung shelves line our living room with trinkets and pictures from our life. Frames we can’t quite find a place for sit up against the wall. Bare curtain rods are hung, waiting patiently for their drapes. My home is sitting in an evolving place. Will she feel good here? Will she see a stable life? Will she feel loved? Winnie and I head out to the patio as a black car pulls up. She opens the door and Winnie starts howling for her immediately. She’s tall and beautiful, thanking the driver with her Oklahoma charm. I picture her at all the ages she once was. Three jumping on the trampoline, seven dancing in the living room, eighteen trying on jumpsuits for her high school graduation. My baby.

She looks up from the street and screams pulling her lilac bag behind her. When she gets inside, she doesn’t even look around, she wraps her arms around me and starts to cry. I’m so happy I’m here she wails. This is love, this is love.

📖 What I’m Reading

Speaking of library holds, I have a ton. I’m waiting paitently for so many good books that I’m hesitant to start a new one because I know that ANY DAY I’ll get the notification for a pick up. These are my highly anticipated ones:

Famous Men by Julie Buntin: I loved her debut novel Marlena, which is about an intoxicating teenage friendship with a backdrop of love, loss, and addiction in a small rural town (which hits very close to home for me). So when she announced her second book, about a woman looking for her father (re: me, ages 7–12), I put it on hold immediately.

Waist Deep by Linea Maja Ernst: This book was first published in Danish and became a Scandinavian best seller, it’s about five college friends who reunite for a week of swimming and sunbathing at a lake house.

You’ll Love It Here by Natalie Sue: I’m not even sure the plot here but once again I loved Natalie Sue’s debut I Hope This Finds You Well so much that when I saw her second book, I immediately put it on hold. If you’ve never read her debut, it’s not a romcom but its the “romcom” I’ve ever read. I’m going into this next one blind… but it might be months because I’m pretty sure Im about number 331 in line.

🎶 What I’m Listening To

I’m back on my Jessie Ware obsession. I just want to feel like any moment could be a sexy little disco. On a bike, walking Winnie, on the train. You might be commuting but I’m at the disco.

see you next week :)

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A few Saturdays ago, I woke up early to take an Uber to the burbs for a hair appointment. My hairdresser moved this year and I am so loyal (and she’s just that good) that I am committed to going the distance for her.

Afterwards, Andy and I share a multi-layer BLT with thick healing-power bacon. It’s so quiet on this corner of the neighborhood, it’s as if the afternoon slump hit us all in one swoop. The waiter shuffles slowly around us picking up chairs while we mumble about our lives.

I play the will-I-go-out-tonight game by texting Christine. If she’s free to get ice cream, I’ll leave the house. I bike over in a green-jungle patterned skirt, a black off-the-shoulder top, and orange sandals. Someone driving by sticks their head out the window to yell “pedal that bike, girl!” The neighborhood and I have overcome the afternoon slump.

When I get to Christine we both stare into the abyss trying to update each other about our summers so far. So much has happened but also nothing at all. And then, we can’t stop talking. Work stuff. Family stuff. Weird weekend stuff. Celebrity stuff. Tattoo stuff.

We walk with no destination in mind, still bouncing from topic to topic. The sky is golden yellow and cicadas buzz around us. As we walk, the bottom of our skirts sway together. We’re just two gals gliding around Chicago like cosmic rays, never concerned about our landing.

I see the glow of Timberlanes in the distance. This vintage bowling alley always makes me feel like I’m transported to another time. Before I know it, I’m shoving my bare feet into bowling shoes and my fingies into a maroon ball.

Christine keeps track of our scores even though we are both a little unsure about the points and the turns. Based on her calculations, we are both marvellous bowlers, and if aliens came down to see our celebrations after each throw, they’d think we were pros.

After the game we return to our no-destination walk, both of us spilling with giggles.

If we break it down — Christine and I had a very simple night. We caught up. We shared a watermelon salad. We walked. We had ice cream. We bowled. We laughed. We hugged at the train. Declared it a magical evening. Parted ways. And texted each other thank you when we both got home.

My dad used to tell me stories about his 30s. How he’d take his time off work (which happened in four-to-five week blocks, work for four, off for four kind of thing) and go on wild adventures with his friends. They’d kayak along the coast of the Sea of Cortez, sleep on beaches, and meet old women selling pies who’d invite them into their homes. They’d wait on the water all night until they spotted a whale. I always imagined my thirties would be this adventurous, that I'd never be at a loss when someone asked, "How's your summer been?"

But then I really think about my life. How I get to bike and swim and build a life with people I love. How I get to keep sleepovers, secrets, and deep belly laughter alive. How I get to witness little intimacies over BLTs like a bad day or a boring time. How I get to say, hell, wanna go bowling? And it’s so dumb, it makes our entire night.

Reading

I can now confirm Atmosphere (the book I was reading in my last letter) did make me cry! And I think it’s a wonderful book. This week I read Cleopatra and Frankenstein by Coco Mellors. I loved her book Blue Sisters so I was excited to finally read her debut. It’s about Cleo, a young artist in her 20s, who impulsively marries Frank, an advertising exec in his 40s.

The chapters are designed in a swapping perspective way that I really enjoyed. We not only get Cleo and Frank chapters but chapters from other characters who are impacted by their impulsive marriage. (I really liked Eleanor’s chapters.)

I admire the way Coco Mellors can write a sentence that is so beautiful it puts me right into the feeling. Her characters always stay with me after I read her books. I often think about the sisters from Blue Sisters and I think I’ll carry Frank and Cleo with me in the same way. The book is a toxic love story but it’s so much more — it’s about reckoning with the impact of our past, how sometimes, even if we want to change, it’s just not the right time. How we can love each other deeply but still not be ready to love them how they need to be loved.

Listening

On audiobook I’m listening to My Friends by Fredrik Backman and I am in love. It’s not shocking that I love it because it’s a book about friendship (which is the ultimate love story IMO). But the amount of times I’ve texted Tyle (my best friend, who is also listening to this) saying “this is how I feel about you” is wild. I’m not even done but it’s already made me cry! And inspired me to write more about friendship and love.

It’s almost every day I see a meme that says something along the lines of: we don’t celebrate friendship as much as romantic partnership. So I feel it is my personal mission to talk about it so often people get tired of it. This novel celebrates it with no shame, and I think it’s really spectacular.

Honorable mention to this song by Slayyyter! GO GIRL! I LOVE YOU. This song is a breakup rebound anthem but it makes me feel like I’m dancing in my room and all my hopes and dreams will come true.

OKAY lastly….. something amazing has happened.

If you didn’t know, I work at an educational toy company and I love it. I started working there in 2020, which is also the year I got deeply obsessed with the 90 Day Fiancé franchise. Like spin-off level, Darcy & Stacy are my girls, (not so deep I watch Pillow Talk, but) as the kids say, if you know, you know.

So… this week on 90 Day Fiancé: Last Resort (if you’re not familiar, this is where they send cast members who’ve been on other editions of the show but have reached their breaking point , they go to a resort to work on their relationship and go through therapy over a few weeks). ANYWAY, I was shocked to see Feelings Family puppets, a product I worked on, show up in one of their therapy sessions.

This is so niche and so funny to me. My worlds colliding in a way I could’ve never predicted. My dad was swimming with whales and my work is on 90 Day Fiancé. Gosh, why do I even compare, I’m a legend as well.

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On Wednesday morning I’m procrastinating getting out of bed by scrolling on my phone. Today is like any other day. I am not expecting any news about my brother because when news comes about him we are all pretty aware. (He is currently in prison in Oklahoma awaiting trial. I’ve written endlessly about him, he’s a good person, made some drug-infused mistakes, and is trying to be better.)

So, I was shocked to get a text that said my brother had been released. RELEASED FROM CUSTODY the text read. I sprang out of bed. My brain already leaving my body to be with Blake.

But before I leave earth I do three reality checks.

1. I call the jail to confirm his release.

I pace back and forth on my living room rug punching buttons on my phone to get to the booking line as fast as I can. A tired voice answers on the other end.

Booking?

Hi, I say, punching the air with my hopeful tone. Can you confirm this text was not sent in error?

Let me check, the operator replies, drawing out the end of every word.

I fidget with my hands waiting for a response.

Yes, he’s released.

Released? I squeal.

Yes. She replies. I imagine her with tiny black framed glasses, sitting in a bleak office room.

I hang up.

2. I look online.
   I rush to my computer pulling up the website that came with the text.
   RELEASED.
   It reads.

3. I compare all the texts I’ve ever received about my brother.

I’ve gotten a text every time he’s moved facilities and all of them have been very descriptive, which is kind of shocking, because as you may suspect the prison system is so unorganized. However each text tells me exactly where he is and what he’s doing. TRANSFERRED FROM X TO THE CUSTODY OF ANOTHER FACILITY; STATUS IS CHANGED TO OUT-TO-COURT STILL IN CUSTODY;

None of them have ever said released. RELEASED.

And with that, I let my hopeful heart take over.

What does this mean? What does this mean? What is he doing? I picture him sliding back on his jeans. His hurried hands buttoning up the green dress shirt I last saw him in. His belly already rumbling for a burger on the outside.

My brain flung itself so far into the future I pictured him walking down the highway, searching for a phone to use. Him stopping into a gas station. His smile so wide. His voice so syrupy asking to use the phone. My heart races. I hear him calling our mom. One of the only numbers he knows by heart. Hey mom, he’d say casually as if it was a regular afternoon. Welp, they let me out. Can you call someone to get me?

I look at flights home. When can I get there the quickest? When can I wrap my arms around him? When can I hold him so tight our bellies mold together? My makeup staining his shirt. He’d inevitably push me away, okay okay okay Sierrrrrdaaaaaa, get away, a grin on his face.

The place my mind had taken me to was so simple, so sweet; I wanted to call everyone I love and tell them about it.

But before I do, and I’d like to say this came to me on my own, but it was more to spite my older sister who pissed me the hell off when she said I was getting my hopes up, I call the jail back just to 100000% confirm.

The same woman answers the line and I explain that earlier I was a bit excited and forgot to ask a few follow up questions.

So, I take a deep breath, when you said released did you mean released to the public or released to another facility?

She hums, smacking her lips together.

Let me check.

I wait. Curating my I TOLD YOU SO text to my older sister as she clacks on her computer.

Yes. Released. She confirms.

Wow okay….so….. did he just leave…or?

Well wait, she interrupts.

He’s going to another facility.

Oh………. okay.

Before I can hang up my vision starts blurring, tears flood my eyes.
My body already missing the story I told it all morning.

It was a glorious few hours followed by some bad ones because truly I know better. I’ve been here before. I know how the prison system works. And still. Every single time, I let my glorious little brain take a trip to the future, dreaming it up so vibrantly.

Tyle has to remind me that Blake is actually none the wiser. He woke up today. They told him he was moving. And it was pretty routine for the world he is living in right now. He didn’t think he was going home. He didn’t slide into his jeans. He didn’t walk into a gas station. He didn’t dream up a burger.

As soon as I could I messaged Blake.

HELLO!!! I wrote.

Hi, missss u. He replied.

I got a text that you got released today, I thought you were walking home! :(

that wouldve been cool, he wrote back. hopefully soon, I think I’ll be home soon.

📚 Reading

I am currently reading Atmosphere by Taylor Jenkins Reid. It’s about Joan Goodwin, a college professor of physics and astronomy whose life changes when she applies to be one of the first women scientists in NASA’s space shuttle program. I am almost 100 pages in and I am falling in love with Joan.

I love how much I’m not only learning about women trying to break into space in the 80s but also how emotionally invested I am in her friendship with with her ASCAN (astronaut candidate) classmates Griff, Lydia, Donna, Hank and Vanessa. It kicks off in the middle of a pretty catastrophic space mission and sets itself up for a dual timeline (one at the beginning of her acceptance to the program and one in the mission). It’s also a love story and based on these reviews I know immma be crying. I’ll check in next week.

🪩 Listening To

Thanks to a recent legendary lip sync verses A'Keria C. Davenport & Kennedy Davenport on RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars 11. I have been nonstop listening to a dance remix of Deborah Cox’s song Nobody’s Supposed to Be Here. This song came out in 1998 hitting number one the Billboard Hot 100 and it’s now after all these years it climbing back up on her Spotify profile; all thanks to this lip sync.

Love you!

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10:30 am: After trying on the bathing suits we packed and then ultimately swapping (her wearing mine, me wearing hers); we head to La Sandwicherie to grab a turkey and a tuna sammie we will also swap and share at the beach. Our feet hit the warm sand and we jog dance to the shore, ecstatic to be two Pisces girls heading straight toward the water. We go back and forth between bellies up on our beach chairs and bellies up in the water, I ask Andy what she thinks her love language is and she says wine. I’d guess it’s compliments and quality time. We spend hours basking in the sun.

2:30 pm: We chose these dates based on our own life availability, so we were surprised when we realized Miami is a host city for the World Cup. Swarms of soccer fans filled up every bar and side street. We followed fun by grabbing an overpriced margarita and watching the tail end of a soccer game still wet from the ocean and covered in sand. We were like the rainbow fish, wearing our fabulous bathing suits in a sea of kilts and jerseys.

4:00 pm: We make our way to the hotel pool where a waitress brings over an amber-frosted cocktail. We both take sips, it's our new favorite: The Old Cuban. The waitress gives us the tip to hold the champagne if we order it in the future. A Scottish man across the way says something I don't understand while making eye contact with me, and I, much like a taxi driver, shout, "you talkin' to me?" He points to his ear. Andy squeals as my face burns red.

7:00 pm: I am determined to wear a scarf as a shirt so I cover myself in double-sided tape, slap the scarf on my body and head to dinner. I begged Andy to go to a restaurant that seduced me with spinning-napkin-dance-breaks last year. The menu was questionable and all the waiters looked like they escaped the same place the Count of Monte Cristo escaped from. But every 30-ish minutes we were clapping and swinging our napkins in the air. We shared two bottles of "Italian Summer White" which is what we call any house white that comes in a thick glass.

9:00 pm: The neon lights of Club Deuce beckon us in and once again our vibrant little outfits stick out among sporty bucket hats and vowels that stretch and dip like a throaty song.

10:30 pm: I am proper pissed (as the Scots would say) but I have one last mission before we head back to the hotel to watch Love Island. (My heart is with Trinity and Bryce btw.) SWIM AT NIGHT. With all my guards down, I rip off the scarf and barrel into the ocean. There are so many ways Andy and I are opposites. We have opposite schedules, which is why a Monday-Tuesday vacation had to work. We have opposite ways of loving; she hates touch, I could always be tangled with someone; she can let something run dry whereas I tend to overwater; over love; over care. But we both like to see each other happy. I'd take the crowded route, stay up late, and change my entire routine for her. She'd stand guard at the shore, waves pooling at her ankles, so I can flap around tits out feeling nothing but free.

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My lifestyle resume, if I had that kind of resume, could have a huge bullet that says, LOVES TO START A ROUTINE THEN PROMPTLY ABANDON IT. But, I'm proud to share that I stuck to something! Last May, I started a very messy gratitude list in my notes app. My intention was to jot down things I felt grateful for or wanted to remember from that day before I went to sleep, and at some point last month I hit a year of doing that. Now, to be honest, I did not write every day and some entries are martini-fueled gibberish I jotted down with one eye open, but I have nearly a year's worth of bulleted words and memories that make me feel lucky to be alive.

Here are a few from the past year.

• 05/26- hotdogs, dumplings, and riding a scooter through the city at 6 am. the park, my puppy, Niq.

• 5/28- I’m grateful for scootering to the boys place, for tyle and Austin and the years we’ve laughed together, hamburger tortillas, Mario party, past selves, people we used to know, how the years add up, how we can still laugh so much.

• 5/29: I’m grateful for dancing, drag queens, good outfits, stripped pants, dancing, an unexpected appearance from Daya, margaritas, and Shelby

  • lol dancing twice

• 5/31: I’m having the best time in a steam punk themed bathroom at a 2010s party like this is so fucking fun lol

• 06/22: dumplings, Sunday shows, coming back to myself, love island, books, long coffee dates

• 10/08: I’m grateful for laughing on the couch with ameila, making ameila laugh lol, for Claire and her just beautiful way of showing up, her molasses cookies, she cooked soup and we talked music. Claire made a music league that’s been so fun recently. I can’t believe my hair is so dark it’s shocking me lol

  • Brunette era.

• 10/14: I can’t believe I did it, I ran a mother fucking marathon!!!!!!!!!!!

• 11/03: Winnie; Netflix; Kayla and storytelling; getting dressed; DOING THE THINGS I SAID

• 12/30: we had a spa day we had a spa day we had a spa day hey hey hey.

• 01/23: I LOVE ATLANTA! MAMA CUTIE! And Amy amy.

• 5/17: I got dressed in a perfect outfit, grabbed emme wine, headed to the boys!! We ate virtue for Mimi’s bday, every bite was divine, we had fun in the uber, I just feel so easy and silly with them.

• 5/25: Andy on a scooter, her hair like a cinnamon roll on her head, got massages, (giggled about stupid shit like pretending to turn into a cat as soon as the masseuse touched her because she is so tense) stopped at target (felt a brief exchange of excitement for our upcoming trip To Miami*) biked home, took everything showers, feeling so fresh, orange wine coup glass (Andy hates a coup glass) ordered sushi, walked doggies, more wine, ordered ice cream (Rita’s) watching housewives, slick like dolphins, loving our lovely lives.

LISTENING TO

Someone call the doctor because I have Olivia Rodrigo fever! Her album has attached to my my heart and I cannot stop listening. This entire week has been scored by this 80s-inspired, experimental indie-pop album.

It chronicles the rise and fall of a relationship. I love it. I’ve blasted Stupid Song and Maggots for Brains on every bike ride I’ve taken this week. It’s crawled into my ears and wedged itself into my brain like a rockin’ thought loop.

I feel so Pisces listening to it. And I think the storytelling is done so well. :)


📚 READING
I’m slowly reading the Pisces by Melissa Broder and the slowness comes not from my lack of interest but more from the fact that Love Island is back on. Melissa Broder is one of my favorite weirdo writers who often threads magical realism and dark comedy in her novels.

A few years ago I read her novel Death Valley and enjoyed it so much, I immediately bought Milk Fed and The Pisces but wasn’t ready to read them at the time. For some reason, and I have no idea why, I thought The Pisces was about a woman who has sex/becomes obsessed with a fish. And because I read Death Valley, which is about a woman who crawls into a giant cactus and has a spiritual awakening, I thought fish-fornication made sense.

I was so excited for the possibility of this bizarre plot, that I told everyone who’d listen, I was reading a book about a woman who goes where no woman has gone before, fish-ionary position.

***SPOILERS AHEAD****

I was upset to find out it’s actually just a merman, which is a tail (hehe) ive heard before. HOWEVER, I am still enjoying it and curious to know what sort of romance happens.

Side note: does anyone remember the 2005 Movie Dirty Love starring Jenny McCarthy? I think it has a weird fish scene.

Substacks I’ve been lovin:

• Off Season by Marissa Martinez and The Weekly Round Up By Katie Casper: Both Katie and Marissa share links to vintage clothes & accessories they find online because scouring the world wide web is just as much of art as looking through thrift bins; it’s all in your dedication and these gals have great taste & do all the work for you.

• Deeply Madly by Kellie B. I found Kellie on TikTok where she showcases her eclectic interior decor style. On substack she combines storytelling with her love for interior design and gives wannabes like me tips on things like Browsing Facebook Marketplace and Making a New Place Feel Like Home
  

  ☀️ Other stuff that happened this week:

• There was a woman at the Cubs game telling every woman who went to the bathroom how beautiful they were and I watched everyone leave with a huge smile on their face.

• Andy and I went to Sushi San; had our first glass of Sancerre of the summer; and two PERFECT desserts: Japanese Butter Cake & Sticky Miso Caramel Cake.

  See you next week,
  Sierra
  
  

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It’s 5:15 and Tyle’s photo pops up on my phone. The photo is over ten years old and he’s wearing a yellow cardigan over a v-neck t-shirt, standing in front of golden leaves, his hands are in his pockets like an eager teenager. I remember him this way but I know so much more about this smiley boy nowadays. I tap to answer his call and we both say hello in a sing-songy tone.

Niq has coined the term Wacky Wake-Up for conversations after a sleepover when you’re still laying in bed recapping the night — the moment when everything is funny before the hangover hits. So if that’s Wacky Wake-Up, then what Tyle and I do on his drive home is Post-Work Wack-a-doo. We spend the top of the conversation talking about our plans to meet up in the next hour for margaritas, which is another thing that happens pretty often — calling each other on the way to meet each other.

He’s on speaker while I’m rushing to tidy and change and wrap up work all at the same time. Tyle narrates his drive — oh, I’m passing that taco place I really want to try — while I narrate my getting ready process, getting more and more upset because I can’t find a specific black shirt hidden in my closet with no light, by the way.

We share meaningless things like the specific way a stranger looked at me, or an update on a new coffee drink Tyle is trying (diet coke with espresso, that sicko). Our buzzing voices, saying anything at all, comfort each other.

I dot my face in moisturizer from Chinatown with PDRN. “I think it’s salmon DNA,” I say. “It’s salmon sperm!!!!” Tyle yells on the other end of the phone. “Kim Kardashian has been injecting it into her face for years.” I swipe blush over my cheeks. “Well my skin looks great.”

Twenty minutes later I see Tyle and Austin leaning against the wall outside the restaurant. Austin sees me first and starts waving with both arms outstretched, fingers hitting palms like a snooty lady. (Our favorite way to wave.) Tyle notices and starts waving his arms, wide and wonderful, as I cross the street.

Andy arrives shortly after, her hair freshly blonde and smoothly blown-out. She gives us a hair flip and we all scream. She’s wearing the same hoodie as Austin. Our hive mind becomes stronger every day.

We squeeze ourselves into the door, dodging waiters with big margarita pitchers and customers crowding the mariachi band. Trumpets and guitars blast through the room making it hard to hear. Still we move in unison, Tyle and I shaking our shoulders to the rhythm. Our hands smash into the chips and salsa. I can make out that Andy had a good day as she gestures to Austin, leaning in to hear her. I turn toward Tyle to ask if he wants to share fajitas.

“Wait.” He looks at me suspiciously.

“What?” I reply.

“What’s that smell?”

I take a whiff of my shirt.

“It smells like sperm.” He grins.

What I’m reading

I’m still finishing up Famesick by Lena Dunham. I am at the point where she started Lenny Letter, a popular feminist newsletter that started in 2015. I was in college working late nights at a hotel and I read every single article Lenny Letter posted. I still think about this beautiful piece by Kathryn Hahn.

I also enjoyed Lena Dunham’s recent substack:

Good Thing Going

40 Things I Want To Do After Forty

1- Get better at reading maps…

Read more

4 months ago · 1040 likes · 172 comments · Lena Dunham

Other things:

• I have been feeling so glowy thanks to this glazing milk toner by Hailey Bieber. I was skeptical of her products, but I’ve used it all month, and it’s so good.

• I’m moving soon to a place with a porch!!! So I’ve been obsessively thinking about comfy furniture, mood lighting, and ideal layouts.

• I found these shoes on eBay which I refer to as my light-brite shoes

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That’s it, I’m booking us tickets to Thailand. I’m not thinking about PTO or money or what I’ll wear. I’m thinking about Thailand. I’m thinking about eating my weight in mango sticky rice. I’m thinking about getting on the back of a vehicle that we both definitely shouldn’t be riding on because it’s meant for one person, but today it’s meant for us and the driver, and we are free and we are in Thailand.

I don’t want to wonder if we are doing it right. I don’t want to worry about growing old or keeping up. I want you to be obsessed with me and I want that obsession to never fade.

You’re the most reliable person I’ve ever met. Even when you were at your worst.

So we’re going to Thailand.

You’ve never been abroad and it’s likely we will both shit our pants, but I’d rather shit my pants with you than anyone else. I want to see luscious trees and pointy temples. I want you to hold me in water so blue our skin becomes iridescent. I want to calm you down when you feel overwhelmed by the markets. I want to order us food I’m certain you’ll like. I want you to point out wild animals scurrying by. I want us to encounter something magic enough it convinces us to go to the casino, if there are casinos in Thailand.

What I’m trying to say is I want to go anywhere with you and Thailand is beautiful, it’s a dream, but also I like the grocery store.

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In this letter:

• A run in with an ex

• A 70s-inspired album thats makes me want to spin around in a long glitter fringe gown

• Vintage market finds!

On every walk this week, I took the bloom route. Typically, I choose the sunny route, but we only have two weeks to take in the lilacs, so I insist we duck through alleyways and take the long way around the park so I can nosedive into soft-honey sweetness.

We grab vanilla bean soft-serve from Small Cheval and call Niq’s sister to catch up on the goings-on in Iowa. We end the call with a task to really consider going on the family cruise later this year. A cruise we’ve already said no to, and yet his sister is very convincing. I’m not really a cruise girl, but…. the things we do for love!!

The sun had fully set as we headed back home, and because we aren’t monsters, when a leashed fluffy puppy runs in our direction, we both greet it with enthusiasm. Niq and I are crouched down, occasionally lifting our knees to keep the leash from lassoing us all together. The woman attached to the leash is cooing along with us. I finally look up toward her, and when I do, I am stunned.

The woman attached to the leash is my ex-therapist, Lynn.

This is the second time THIS YEAR I’ve run into an ex-therapist. In March, at Zara Larsson’s concert, I made eye contact with Ella, another ex-therapist. We locked eyes, then quickly dodged away. (I stay with therapists that aren’t right for me too long because I’m scared of hurting their feelings. That’s why I have so many exes, okay!)

Running into Ella was fast, and we didn’t speak, but it still left me rattled. It feels so weird to see a person who knows the most vulnerable, unhinged things about me, and yet the only real thing I know about her is that she works in front of a purple tapestry and wears glasses with interchangeable bold frames. And now, I guess, that she’s a fan of pop icon Zara Larsson.

Lynn and I stare silently as I stand. “Oh hi,” I say, suddenly aware of how I look. (Thankful I didn’t have gem nipples glued on my tank top like I did at the concert.) “I thought I recognized your voice,” she laughs, leaning in for a hug.

We recover quickly. I introduce her to Niq. We say one or two more things about her puppy and go on our way. And again, I felt rattled. My heart wouldn’t stop racing, even though it was the most normal interaction. It just felt like my safe, therapy world was suddenly cracked open — standing very real in front of me in her dog walking outfit.

In a woo-woo sense, I keep wondering what the universe is trying to tell me with these two run-ins…. only time will tell.

☀️ other highlights from the week

• Overdressed (complimentary) my Chicago dog at The Sox Game

• Biked with a BubblePlush to Layne’s so I could make her do “partner poses” for a work project. lol

• Picked up some vintage goodies at Vintage House Chicago

• Took my scarf top from cocktails to dinner to boystown to the dive bar.

• Guessed the killer before the big reveal in Scream 7

• People-watched so hard on the train that when one person in the couple I was watching got up and left, I wanted to lean over to the other one and say, "So tell me what just happened there, because I have some theories."

🎵 Listening

I have been listening to the album nonstop thanks to a recommendation from Austin. It’s so much fun. To me, it feels like a 70s-inspired album. It’s dancy and sexy! My favs right now are Sauna & Ride.

🎵 Watching

Margo’s Got Money Troubles is one of my favorite books, so I’ve been so excited about the series. I mean, LOOK AT THAT CAST. Please allow me to recommend the book once again. I’m slowly starting the series and trying to watch it with a kind eye, which is hard since the book meant so much to me. I’m one and a half episodes in, and so far it’s as gloriously colorful and weird as the book.

📖 Reading

Like every other girl in the world, last week I started Famesick by Lena Dunham on audiobook. I’m throughly enjoying the marketing rollout Lena Dunham and her team have been doing on Substack. I’m not super far into the book but the first two chapters deep dive into her time on Girls which of course, I was a fan of and of course, I love a peek behind the curtain.

see you next week,
sie

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Last Monday, Chicago gave us a surprise 80-degree night, so I slipped on a flowy skirt and strappy heeled sandals to go to a show at iO theatre. This is my second time visiting iO since 2020, and each time I’ve visited, it’s looked different than the way it looked when I was there almost every night of my early 20s.

Before moving to Chicago, I spent a lot of time mapping the careers of funny women I admired, and all of them started at a comedy theatre, and a handful of them started at iO. I’d spent time researching teachers and classes. I wrote out my path months before I graduated from college. I wanted a foolproof plan to stardom. A foolproof plan to give my life meaning, really, and I thought meaning meant success under the walls of a well-known theatre.

When I moved here, I basically dropped my bags off in an empty room, welcomed Benjy to his new home, kissed him on the paws one last time in case my random Craigslist roommate across the hall decided to steal him, and beelined it to iO.

When I arrived, I took it all in. The huge bottom-floor bar was directly in front of a red wall where Del Close’s face was ghostly outlined as if he was still looking over the place. The long hallway is decorated with pictures of comedy legends like Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, mid-rep, before their careers took off. The way people in plaid crowded together was like tiny schools of fish. The show lineup blinked above the box office, full of interns who wore chunky jewelry, natural hair, and oversized tees.

Soon, every day was consumed by this place. If I wasn’t there for class, I was in the box office interning for my class discount, if I wasn’t interning, I was watching a show, and if I wasn’t watching a show, I was hanging out at the bar with fast friends I’d met doing all of those other things. It felt so good to be a part of something, I started to feel the kind of connection with people you can only feel in high school; like we are all coming up together; our futures hurdling to the ultimate outcome, but instead of graduating to a new life, we’d graduate to — if the big people watching allowed — a team.

I started taking “the path” so seriously that all the silliness inside of my body evaporated. I wrote intense notes all through my classes, I obsessively watched improv videos on YouTube, and I’d go home after an unsuccessful class and make myself write 52 ways I could’ve reacted when someone entered a scene saying “The elephants are loose!” (all of them not much better than what I did say which was, Peter, you a-hole!) I avoided good people who I thought were unfunny and clung to confident people who were probably also unfunny, but they had a perceived “in.” I molded myself into someone who seemingly didn’t care all that much, but I cared deeply.

When I ultimately didn’t make a team, it broke my heart. I felt like a dumbass, an unfunny swine who was BAD at something that should come so easy, playing make-believe. It felt like a bigger rejection than all the nos I got in college; those nos were easier to write off. I wasn’t an ingenue; I had an Oklahoma accent, so I wasn’t a Shakespeare girl. I was just different when it came to my theatre program but I find my wins by being funny. So standing in the middle of a conference room at my administrative day job, reading an email stating “unfortunately you didn’t make a team but feel free to enroll in more classes.” I felt like everything I’d done was all for nothing. Comedy was supposed to be where I thrived, and there I was failing.

I have been a long-time believer that creating things yourself is the best way to please your inner artist, but somewhere along my iO journey, I lost that belief and wanted, more than anything, validation from a random man behind a curtain.

That tough rejection clarified my desire to just perform and actually have fun doing it. I didn’t have to get bigger or become better; I just had to follow my whim. Take what I’d learned and go for it. After this, I followed my weird little ideas all the way around Chicago and even put up shows at iO. I’d dance and write and churn out the stupidest shit, and most of all, I was having the best time. No thanks to any big man giving me the go-ahead.

At the show, my friend Amelia — whom I met there years ago — was beside me. There are certain corners of that place where I am sucker punched with nostalgia.

I can still see my curious body climbing the metal steps to go watch Revolver at 10pm on Fridays. I can see myself pacing backstage before we debuted one of our Shitty Bitches shows. I can see myself meeting Amelia for the first time when I subbed into Susan Messing’s class. I can see myself wearing Tyle’s pink sweater, trying to hide my feelings for Niq at the bar. I can see myself meeting Kayla. I remember the way her hands felt when we hugged and the way she laughed. If I close my eyes, it’s that night all over again.

The way I see it, so many of us found alternative paths. Amelia found woodworking and makes darling miniatures and heart-warming gifts for everyone she loves. Kayla is leading programs at a theatre and teaching storytelling at a local library, and from the sounds of it, it’s way more rewarding than being on a Harold team. My friend Paula writes books and created a whole ass card game. Niq created a pin-back bolo tie that’s currently selling out on Etsy. I found storytelling and writing, and somewhere in there I found a way to believe in myself — because damn it makes life way more fun and way more interesting than any foolproof path I created.

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This letter includes:
- a short story
- a novel about an assistant editor in early 2000s new york
- something really i wish more people were talking about (the docu-series Neighbors)
- a poem I wrote
- recent eBay saves


I’ve had two clairvoyant moments in my life. The first time happened when I was 14. That night, I had a dream my older sister was pregnant, and in the morning I ran downstairs to tell her what I’d seen. “You were pregnant in my dream last night.” I gleefully shouted in her direction, laughing as I bit into a soft red apple. “You had a boy.” Turns out, she was pregnant but keeping it a secret, and my pastel-colored vision showed me my nephew Hunter (in my vision he was a purple alien boy with a ton of tentacles, and that hasn’t come true… yet..unless of course he’s keeping a Kyle XY secret of his own.)

The second time, I dreamed two distant friends were having a fight. And in real life, they were. Genuinely the least useful information I have ever received.

Anyway, my random psychic visions have never been helpful for my own life choices or decision-making. And yeah, I know all the time travel stories tell us that it’s a bad idea to know the future, but if it could save me from my anxious ruminations, I’d risk it all.

No dream vision prepped me for what’s happening now.

It's Friday night. I'm at my old apartment staring at a huge pile of Andy's and I’s laundry. She moved to Chicago in March for a job, (and because we should all live closer to our friends) so she’s at work. And Niq is in the kitchen cooking Skirt Steak with Red Chimichurri by Molly Baz (highly recommend!). Life did a little shuffle this year — the details are for another time — but the result is Andy and I are temporarily sharing a one bedroom apartment, which honestly feels like our own version of an early 2000s TV show.

On nights Andy isn’t at the restaurant we have a glorious time. Andy cooks I dance around the room sharing her tales from the toy factory*. We drink wine and I inevitably bring out whatever nighttime treat is in my current rotation, this week it’s yogurt with heath bar pieces. If we go out, the apartment is a full on girls room. Animal prints and denim flying through the air as we both pace back and forth stripping on and off clothes until our outfits feel right. We get to workout together and grab coffee; and I get to introduce her to all the people she’s heard about on our daily FaceTimes over the years.
*I work at a toy company

The road to both of us being here was rough…but one night a few days after she arrived we hit a fit of giggles that would not stop. Through tears Andy screamed, it’s true, it is all wine and chocolate and romance.

📖 Reading

Whenever I come across a book recommendation I usually put it on hold at the library and months later it will be a surprise when that book is ready for pick up. I put Workhorse on hold because I loved the cover but didn’t know much else about the story. It’s also over 550 pages which isn’t really my jam. I like to stay within the 250-350 page range. However, I am having a great time! It’s a story about an Editorial Assistant working at a New York Magazine in the early 2000s. It’s a way darker Devil Wears Prada and I love the way Caroline Palmer writes.

Clo the main character is an ambitious yet unreliable narrator who makes questionable decisions surrounded by some of the most toxic people throughout the entire novel. I’m still finishing it up but I am so intrigued I’ve starting swapping between physical reading and audiobook to get through it.

I Need More People to be Talking About The Neighbors

Neighbors is a documentary series on HBO that “focusses on disputes between homeowners that, in many cases, have evolved into debilitating, years-long feuds.” Each episode is a wild ride but the last episode of the season has left a yellow-thong sized hole in my heart. It’s the only one that features just one 71-year old guy named Danny who seems to have an on going battle with all of his neighbors because he likes to work out (on a bike in his driveway & on runs around San Diego) in a yellow thong. The episode follows him from California to a nudist colony in Florida where he tries to live in naked utopia for awhile.

I cant stop thinking about Danny because even though I’ve watch at least 500 episodes of 90 day fiance, I’ve never seen a person be so completely themselves on TV. It also got me a little obsessed with nudist communities and how people that live there have to live with little shame which might make for a really great community. After doing a little more research the directors apparently put a casting call out on Craigslist which is how Danny and all the other neighbors got involved. It’s an entire series that feels like a compelling character study on different parts of America that we don’t see a lot.

Is this a safe space to admit I was once moved by a man singing Wonderwall?

I was 14 in a Big City (Tulsa) sitting on a patio dreaming of the day I’d be old enough to drink a margarita from an upside down sombrero.

It was a nice moment. Measurable by the sun on my cheeks, the wind in my hair, and my growing crush on an older man strumming his guitar on a pallet stage.

I’ll admit, it still doesn’t take much to enchant me.

Cheese bread. Flowers on my doorstep. Locking arms with a good friend.

Inspired by Julianna Salguero; this is my second month writing a monthly 10. She wrote about it here. It’s nothing new, just a list of 10 things to do but mostly I like thinking of 10 fun things and not pressuing myself too hard if it doesn’t happen!

eBay Finds

80s Gemstone Clip-Ons: I went to a Antique store Saturday that had these really cool clip ons so I’ve been saving them like crazy on eBay. They also remind me of something Deborah Vance on Hacks would wear.

lol i love him.

See you next week!

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“Presence is the antidote to anxiety,” a British lady slowly recites in my headphones. Chimes ding in the background, but it doesn’t sound like an audio added later; it sounds like she’s manually chiming a wind chime while repeating this phrase: “Presence is the antidote to anxiety.” The chimes ring in my ears while I’m on a flight to what would maybe be my last trip to New York City for a while.

Over the last decade, I’ve had the great privilege of visiting my best friend Andy, who lived in New York, maybe three to four times a year. Last April, we knew she’d likely be leaving and our galavanting around the Big Apple wouldn’t be as frequent as it was over the last decade.

As life would have it, April was also a big, disappointingly sad time for me because my brother, who has struggled a long time with addiction, ended up unfairly, unjustly back in prison, but that’s a story for another day. As it is with loving an addict, when something big happens, even though I’m not directly affected like I used to be, it feels like tectonic plates shift, and I am a different person for a while. I’m soft, and raw, and worried about everything. It’s like if I were Thumbelina living inside a tulip; when something with him happens, all my petals fall, and I am exposed until I can bring them back to life. Give them a little sun.

I was visiting Andy because we were running the Brooklyn Half Marathon. I knew I had to get my anxiety under control, which is why I clicked on a Soundcloud link to Martha’s Meditations. I was determined to make this weekend a celebration. A hat’s off to all the visits of years past.

It’s hats off to the first time I visited. She lived in Harlem with four different roommates and no AC. That summer, we met two men outside of the Eataly, and they wined and dined us on the rooftop. And by that I mean, one old Italian man, wearing a tiny white tank top, confessed his undeniable love for me while Andy flirted with a young Basketball coach that looked kind of like John Tucker from John Tucker Must Die. We are often in these scenarios where I’m not really looking to flirt, but I know my gal is, so I end up talking to the freaky, deeaky friend while Andy gets her flirt on. I’ve gotten plenty of love confessions from freaky deekies, that’s just the kind of friend I am!

Hats off to the Thanksgiving Andy ran after a pedi-cab and made him drive us in literal circles around Times Square because I told her I always wanted to ride one.

It’s hats off to Andy coaching me on how to confidently walk into a smoke shop and ask them if they have Shroom chocolates. “No, you can’t act all quiet, they’re going to think you’re a cop.” She shouted at me in her Brooklyn accent; she was raised in Oklahoma, by the way.

​It’s hats off to watching my best friend Tyle pick out his engagement ring. Flaunting his hand around the jewelry boutique, beaming with certain happiness of his and his fiancée’s Austin’s future to come.

It’s hats off to all the places Austin and I have cosmically flailed our limbs—on sidewalks, in bars, on empty dance floors, and in the center of Andy’s apartment.

It’s hats off to Central Park layouts and East Side Highway Runs; to all the fabulous restaurants we ate at, the ones we cried in too. To the clubs, the bars, to our decade-long friendship falling apart and then coming back together.

When I got to Andy’s apartment, she was stomping around wearing only a sports bra with Windex in one hand and a paper towel in the other. We screamed, and she stretched her full hands out to me, squeezing me pantless while her tiny dog, Gio, barked at our feet. She took a second to get dressed, and I found my mind drifting into the ether—my heart quickening, the walls of her apartment blurring, her voice fading in the background.

Martha’s Mediations mentioned that naming real objects you can see can help get you out of a spiral, so I look around Andy’s apartment. Chair. I think to myself. My heart beating; Rug; My heart beats faster; Maybe I need to be more specific, I think. My eyes trail back over, green rug with big snake on it. Gray couch, I graze my hands over the cushions to try to identify the texture…. soft?… I question my brain’s thesaurus as my hand fumbles over a silicone something in between the cushions. Andy interrupts my meditations by pulling out the object grazing my fingers; Hell, I thought I lost this, she gives me an Oklahoma accent as she tosses her vibrator to the side.

Let’s go, she laughs, and we’re off to our favorite wine bar, Bebe.

____

On race day, I try to stay as present as possible; be here, I tell myself as we gear up at 6 am to head to our race. Be here, I tell myself as I grab a donated sweater to keep me warm while we bounce around in our corral on a chilly Sunday morning. Be here, I tell myself as we jog through a sleepy Brooklyn, pointing and lip-syncing our playlists to each other. Be here, I tell myself as Andy does a huge show of blowing a kiss to every mile marker. Be here, I tell myself as I ditch the stranger’s sweater, thanking it for keeping me warm. Be here at mile 11, at mile 12, at mile 13, as Andy and I cue up “Separate Ways” by Journey, loop our fingers together to finish the race.

​On my last day in New York, Andy leaves for work, but before she goes, she proposes one last New York hurrah: meet her at work around 7 pm, and we’ll bike home over the Williamsburg Bridge.

It’s so beautiful, she tells me. And I know it means a lot to her.

But as soon as she leaves for work my anxiety takes over—I’m scared to ride a bike, I’m scared to ride a bike, I’m scared to ride a bike; I’m actually scared to leave this apartment; if I leave I might get locked out and somehow that might lock Andy out and then we will both be locked out and ill ruin her life. I lay on the ground bargaining with myself while her dog Gio sits on my chest slowly punching my neck with his tongue.

I tell Gio that I’m scared to go, but I want to see New York how she sees New York. Because that’s the kind of friend I am! Her joy is my joy, and I cannot let my current state of exposure ruin it for me.

​So, I make a deal with myself. In order to be the most present tonight, I’m allowed to be the most anxious now. Instead of taking an Uber or the train to her work as I’d originally planned, I’m going to grab a Citi Bike and take the exact route there that we will be taking home, that way I can be fully immersed. So I can be here. So I can see the sun setting on our decade of visits.

I, with much hesitation, find the nearest Citi Bike station and fumble with the bike until I’m on a clear path to the Williamsburg Bridge. I stop at the top, trying to gauge how the locals are acting; how fast they’re going, are they passing each other, are they doing a subtle wave like people in the suburbs do when they’re on a walk. I take a deep breath, and I’m off. Pedaling seamlessly to Andy.

After her shift is over…. and we’ve had three proper glasses of wine… and a whittle bit of a joint. We walk over to a docking station to grab our bikes for the journey home. Andy and I decide to share a playlist for the ride—she adds “What Was That” by Lorde, I add “CUNTISSIMO” by Marina, she adds “Headphones On” by Addison Rae and I add “party 4 u” by Charlie xcx.

Andy leads the way, and once we whip onto the bridge, I see Manhattan reflected in glowy orange light. It’s.. magnificent, and I’m so focused on riding the bike.

The sun is setting, I settle myself, my feet are pedaling, I am safe. I relax my shoulders, and I try to let my mind get lost in it all.

“Headphones On” starts up, and my eyes are on Andy’s long blonde hair flowing in the wind. I imagine her in all the stages she’s lived in New York. 21-year-old Andy is arriving with just 2 bags. I’m so happy she got to live here; she always wanted it, and she did it, and even braver, she knew when to say goodbye.

We are nearing the end of the bridge when “party 4 u” starts playing, the sun is fully set, and it feels like our exit to another life, our last few moments around her neighborhood.

I’m still trailing behind Andy, but now we’re both in a bike lane. party 4 u is reaching its breakdown; party on you, party on you, party on you…. I’m lost in it. I’m lost in New York, but my mind is so present, and it’s so present that I see a person step out into the bike lane. I have enough time to scan their outfit: white oversized tee-shirt, white shiny basketball shorts; no shoes. If we zoomed out, you would see that this person standing wide-eyed in front of me had plenty of time to get out of the way, but I couldn’t go anywhere since I was bumpered in the bike lane. Party on, you party on, you party on…I pull the brakes as tight as I can, trying to stop the bike screaming as I grip, but we make contact anyway. COME TO MY PARTY, they SLAP me! Party on you, they karate chop my neck. COME TO MY PARTY. They hit my shoulder as my bike slowly grazes by.

I’m somehow still peddling behind Andy when we hit a light, she turns around to look at me with a big smile on her face, you okay she asks…. Yeah, I say… I just got slapped.

​Andy looks at me, confused… wait, just now?

​YES, I reply, stunned.

​We both start laughing, belly aching as the light turns from red to green to yellow and back to red again.

​My body is covered in presence.

​I am here, I am here.

​

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I’ve been meaning to publish this all month… so here is basically everything I liked in Jan!

🎤 You Are Here news!!
We had our lovely prom show in April and have since been on a break. A lot of things happened at once, including our beloved home, Ponnopozz moving into a smaller space, so we took a much needed break to figure out how we want to move forward with the show.

You Are Here is hosting a Tiny Apartment Series. It’s a workshop and a show all in one. If you’re at all interested you can check out more info on Instagram!

📺 A show that’s making me go down the theories rabbit holes ala pretty little liars

Based on a novel by Carola Lovering, Tell Me Lies, is a college-aged drama centered around an all too familiar manipulator and an impressionable freshman. Online people are calling it the Evil Normal People (lol) which I agree. It follows a toxic relationship over the course of eight years between, Lucy and Stephen. The entire series is a soap opera of cheating, lies, backstabbing, and even some “murder” mystery. As one reviewer put it, “by the 6th episode, when [the] characters basically go fully psycho to get what they want, that's when Tell Me Lies becomes a car crash you can't take your eyes off of.”

Season Three started in January, so you have three seasons just waiting to ruin your life. hehe

🎙️ A podcast series I told everyone about

Beth’s Dead is a limited series podcast hosted by Monica Padman about a parasocial relationship that gets super creepy. Monica interviews Elizabeth Laime and Andy Rosen about the abrupt ending to their podcast empire in 2010 because of an obsessive fan. It’s a crime-adjacent story that explores the complexity of parasocial relationships and how things can go from innocent to harmful super fast.

A podcast episode that made me cry: The Daily- An I.V.F Mix-Up and An Impossible Choice

An audiobook I sped through: Half his Age, Jenny McCurdy

A show I binged in one weekend: His & Hers on Netflix (My friend Madison recommends the book over the show but it’s an easy watch; if murder mysteries are what you consider an easy watch).

If you liked Death Becomes Her might I suggest She Devil (1989). Starring Meryl Streep and Rosanne Barr, it’s a campy story about Ruth, a housewife who seeks revenge on her husband after he leaves her for an uber-rich romance novelist, Mary Fisher. Meryl Streep has so many good moments of what I’d call dramatic bed acting, where she rolls around in a bed looking fabulous and only gasps acting where she gasps and it says so much!

A drag queen I fell in love with: Sam Landry, Canada Drag Race

A book that cured my reading slump!
Heart the Lover by Lily King
As a fan of Lily King, this one did not disappoint. It follows Jordan after she meets Sam and Yash in her literature program at college. Their relationship becomes a love and friendship triangle over three decades. It’s a tender, lyrically written story of regrets, heartache, grief, and the complexity of relationships.

🚲 DIVVY UPDATE
If you remember, a few months ago, I was trying to see how long my divvy riding would last. I got my yearly membership in July of last year, so I wanted to see how long I could ride into winter. I rode a few times in December and once in January. One time was way too cold, and I felt ridiculous, and another time was perfect. I easily get car sick in an Uber, and sometimes trains or buses aren’t the best option, especially when I’m going a short distance, so I’ve really tried to push it, and ultimately, Divvy riding has brought me so much joy, even if my fingies are frozen off.

Things I’m loving/keeping my eyes peeled for at the thrift:

eyelash yarn scarfs, floral, tapestry-ish jacket, zebra & tiger print, mandarin collar dresses, scarfs as ties, ties as bows, kitten heels (summer!!), pony hair coin purses, funky belts.

love,
Sierra

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As a young girl growing up in small town Oklahoma one of the most fabulous places I could visit, outside of Olive Garden, was Dry Gulch. At the time, Dry Gulch was an 1800s, western-themed town that I think hosted summer camps and events year round but in December they transformed it into a Christmas village with gift shops, tiny cafes, and workers dressed in waistcoats, capes, and cloaks.

The main event was a 10-minute narrated train ride that took visitors through a Biblical experience, including the Creation and an acted out Naivety scene; also randomly sprinkled in was elements of Santa Claus and his elves and Mrs. Claus and I think little Christmas ghosts? I wasn’t exactly captivated by the God-like narration or the magical ending where Santa himself rode by on a sleigh (I knew it wasn’t the real Santa because he had to be at the North Pole, duh all Tim Allen Santa Claus girls know). I didn’t take away the story of Jesus because that story had been told to me in many different ways throughout my young life. But what I did learn, at Dry Gulch, was the power of a good coat.

I was a long time lover of a good outfit; I spent hours planning my first day of school looks, my picture day fits, and made-up scenes I’d dramatically play out in my moms closet.

The year I went to Dry Gulch I wore a Dalmatian-inspired faux-fur coat with red tights and mary jane shoes. I was an 8-year old icon, if I pulled out a long cigarette I don’t think a grown-up would’ve batted an eye. As I walked along the dirt roads people left and right complimented my coat. Grammies ran out of the swinging saloon doors to tell me how darling I looked. I felt like a celebrity among the townspeople.

Sure, I saw Santa in his deep red velour white fur cuffed suit; but everyone has seen that look before, it was hardly impressive compared to my softly dotted ensemble. To me, the main event wasn’t the ride-by-birth of-Jesus, it was me standing 4ft in a fabulous coat.

When I got to college, I admit, I lost my appreciation for a coat. I couldn’t imagine covering up my tribal print glitter bandage dress. I’d rather get frost bite!!!!

But nowadays I’ve been building up a closet full of vintage, faux fur numbers I can waltz around town in. Living in Chicago is beautiful and gorgeous but you have to savor your chances to wear a great coat. Dirty snow and sub-zero temps kind of dictate how killer of a fit you can wear. Most of the time I’m looking like an over stuffed duvet cover but that doesn’t stop me from scouring the thrift stores for a structured peacoat from the 60s or a belted Burgundy jacket. My eyes are always peeled for a faux fur in whatever solid or print the thrift gods have to offer.

Pinterest released its 2026 trend forecast and to my inner 8-year old surprise, alternative (to the very common leopard print) faux animal prints are going to be in: think Zebra, Tiger, Deer.. and… you guessed it Dalmatian! Someone call Cruella de Vil (she’s very misunderstood!)

Some of my other favorite predicted “trends” are shoulder pads (honey i love them), chunky gold jewelry (ugh mama, I never stopped), and over accessorizing with brooches (okay something I could get into!)

Anyway, all this to say, here are some pre-loved coats I found because I have a scrolling on eBay addiction that doesn’t match my bank account & I really do believe anything you want from Revolve, Reformation, etc. you can find a better, more unique version second hand!

eBay has so many Leopard print coats that are really affordable; my tips are to filter by Pre-Loved, smoke-free, and under $100, you will find some gems.

Do you like this?
love,
sierra

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Ideal Night
Me and the girls have a ceremony
behind the bathroom door.
We compare each other’s beauty to
cathedrals,
her style to early 2000s classics.
we wipe away our tears,
sweep blush across our cheeks,
vow to a lifetime
of holy secrets,
and reciting
each other’s stories.
We tell our trauma to take the night off
We spin in a circle, chanting
I love you, i love you, i love you,
until they make us leave.

To do list for a modern woman

10-30 minutes of walking
Open computer for work
Shift to online shopping
Abandon cart

Consider a hobby like
making candles or studying wine,
or learning nail art

Imagine a sister life;
the one where you leave,
the one where you stay,
the one where you became a doctor
(and looked really sexy in blue scrubs)

Remember you hate blood
and fluorescent lights
and that
you would still be you in whatever life

You have access to love
in all lives

Drink a diet coke
Think of your friends

Will anything ever be as romantic as
Charlie XCX’s Fall in Love
again & again?

It’s easy to regret things
It’s easy to wish
It’s harder to focus
on what’s happening.

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Beautiful Soul
a song by Jesse McCartney

It opens with a light strum on an acoustic guitar. Bright, clean, sandy. It catches your eye from across the room; like a puka shelled blonde in 2004. It says, hey and you say hi. There’s something sweet but also edgy about the way it layered a short sleeve tee over a long sleeve tee. It beckons you with synths and shimmer; the first few lines are rules you’d do anything to follow.

I don’t want another pretty face : Okay, Ill be more than a pretty face
I don’t want just anyone to hold: I’m not just anyone!
I don’t want my love to go to waste: On me, it wont!
I want you and your beautiful soul: *faints*

A crisp snare and a gentle kick drum catches you before you hit the ground and the poppy, smoldering vocals float you down so gently, it’s as if your playing light as a feather, stiff as a board. Except this time, your brother doesn’t drop you. An electric piano sneaks in and rises you to your feet. It’s earnest and for once you choose not to look away. It takes your hand and the two of you run off toward the sun.

As the melodies lifts, it’s playfully slinging you around it’s shoulders; it’s taking you and you’re flared jeans on a car ride; you’re sticking your head out of the sun roof; you’re holding it’s hand.

Then, it slows.

The drums lighten.
The guitar softens
The harmonies fade

It steps closer. It becomes more alone in the mix of warm tempo and up ticks, it becomes a steady glow.

Then it asks.

Am I crazy for wanting you? NO; you shake your head!
Maybe, do you think, you could want me too? YES, you shout!!!

THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO HIDE!!!!!!!!

And I wont hide the fact that the song, Beautiful Soul, did something to my 12-year-old body and mind. So, a few summers ago when I agreed to go to a New Kids on The Block Concert, it was the surprise of a lifetime when I learned Jesse McCartney would be opening for them.

I didn’t keep up with Jesse McCartney that long after his album, Right Where You Want Me came out in 2006, I thought I’d see a happy, blonde-haired heartthrob, singing a few of his hits but what I actually saw was a bitter grown man wearing jnco shorts and a bright red, cropped, puffer coat. For context, it was September in Iowa and I almost fainted earlier that day either from watching a bunch of sweaty people eat “free boiled egg on a stick” or from the heat.

He sang a few of his classics; made a few dreary comments about making music that no one listens to; made a bitter comments about Leona Lewis’s success with Bleeding Love, which is a song he wrote and also a song his label basically told him would never work for him.

He signed off announcing his tour, to which I think he said, Come or whatever, I don’t know.

And then the chaos of NKONB began.

I thought about poor Jesse for awhile after that concert. I thought he was like some of the other fallen fathers; Ryan Cabrera, Justin Timberlake.

But I’m happy to share that he has found his stride. His way to get the people back on his side. His thing, if you will. And that thing is Judge Judy lip syncs.

From my research he started doing them on TikTok after a trending Judge Judy audio went viral and he had some success; so now he’s fully doing them while he’s on tour.

I’m not saying that I think Jesse can have a full comeback (or at least I wont be the audience for whatever he comes out with next) but I do this is a lesson in not taking everything so seriously all the time. The summer I saw Jesse, he just hadn’t found his whimsy yet; he hadn’t found his Judge Judy.

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Reading

• I’m almost 100 pages into Matchmaking For Psychopaths by Tasha Coryell, yeah, you read that right, I can overcome a reading rut! To be honest, I’ve been really excited for this one since reading her previous novel, Love Letters to a Serial Killer, last summer. Matchmaking for Psychopaths is about Lexi, who is an unconventional matchmaker. Her life changes when her fiance leaves her for her best friend; and THEN A HUMAN HEART shows up on her doorstep! It’s a fast-paced true-crime, rom-com (and there are a ton of reality tv references, which is fun for me.)

• I’m listening to The Midnight Library by Matt Haig on Spotify, which if you didn’t know, Spotify has Audiobooks! I pay for regular ole Spotify Premium and I’m surprised when people don’t know there is books on there too! So if you didn’t know, now you do. Right now, my by the bed book is all serial killers and psychopaths and my audiobook for walks is earnestly asking the question: what if, nestled somewhere between life and death, there was a library stocked with infinite variations of the life you could have lived? And what if, just as you’re about to check out permanently, you get to browse the shelves? I’ve been swinging between a chaotic and a really hopeful (tender!!) fictional world all week. So far, I like it.

• An all new Kate Baer poetry collection dropped this week,
  How About Now!
  this is one of my favorites:

  
  How About Now

  We are born dying, which is one way to look at it.
  Another is to wake up knowing
  we are made of impossible things:
  crystal caves, singing dunes,
  dark matter held in mortal hope.
  
  It’s true, time has a way
  of making lists and ledgers.
  

  You say you want a garden,
  beds of lavender and daffodils.
  You say we have a lifetime.
  Love, we’re in our lifetime.
  How about now?
  

Eating

• This is Chicago specific but a few weeks ago I got dinner at YooYee in Uptown and I truly cannot stop thinking about it. I tried it after reading a Reddit Thread about perfect dinner & night out combos on Asia on Argyle. YooYee is a casual, Sichuan place with a BYOB policy and delicious noodles. It has an 8+ on Infatuation and a 10+ IN MY HEART!!
  

  ---

  Playing & OBSESSING

• On Repeat: Lily Allen’s new album: West End Girl. I’m sure by now you’ve heard about Lily Allens EARTH SHATTERING album drop; that’s basically a boppy-divorce-tell-all. She used to be married to David Harbour (of Stranger Things, which btw, I’m still excited for the final season hehe) and this album tells the story of how he asked her to be in an open relationship and basically everything fell apart. As Rolling Stone put it, “While many songwriters may opt for coy innuendos to discuss similar subject matter, Allen has detailed revelations of butt plugs, condoms, and a husband who is quite possibly a sex addict — all set against honeyed pop scores”

• Dallas Major & Beg For Me are my favorite back to back songs as of now.

  ---

  Recommending sourcing lol

• I’ve accidentally fallen into a Brittany Murphy movie marathon, I’ve watched both, movies I’ve seen: Uptown Girls, Clueless, Little Black Book, and movies I haven’t like, Love and Other Disasters, which is insane…lol but like most Brittany Murphy movies; she has some of the best outfits. So I’m currently “resourcing” aka keeping my thrifty eyes peeled for: boatneck tops; a pink coat; cookbooks as clothes (jkjk); I cant get behind the tiny eye glasses trend because past trauma (see below) but she does look so cute; short sleeve turtlenecks; and not pictured, AN AFFORDABLE VINTAGE LEATHER JACKET.. right now, I’m rocking an Old Navy one that’s peeling pleather so badly I convinced myself the flakes on my floor were from the mice making a house somewhere in my closet, thank goodness that was debunked by my own insane investigation.

  

  

TREAT(ing) MYSELF WITH!!!

• Books from the library!!!!

• Daily check ins with my Co-Star App (eerily accurate horoscopes!!!)

• Live Theatre! (trying to see one show a month!)

• BIKE RIDES.. okay I got a Divvy membership at the start of the summer and I’m trying to see how long I can use it going into winter. Last weekend I tipsily biked home, in the rain, with my taco bell order tucked safely in my tights. This is, what I assume, Dr. Seuss meant when he wrote, Oh the places you’ll go! I’ll likely bike home tonight, so we are well into November!! I’ll keep you updated hehe.

• My friend Paula got me some Salt and Stone hand cream and I LOVE IT. It smells so good and i feel RICH!!!!

Anyway, thats all for now!

Love ya
Sierra

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