C1C4C550-932F-4645-A99C-B9976DE5ADC0This season was especially meaningful to me, because it helped me find purpose after losing Alli. Everything was hazy, nothing made sense. You could have asked me what 2+2 equaled, and I would have given you a blank stare. I spaced out a lot, sometimes in the middle of when I was talking. But going to volleyball every day helped me develop a routine.
Routines I can do.
A routine provided structure when it seemed like everything was crumbling around me. A routine made seemingly insignificant actions feel like great accomplishments. And that’s what I needed: to feel like I was accomplishing something. And that’s what volleyball provided: a sense of accomplishment.
The past three post-seasons I’ve always questioned myself and had doubts about some of my decisions, but this is the first season I’m completely confident and satisfied in how everything unfolded. It definitely sucks that our first round playoff match was against the team that went on to win the entire division (Thanks, SS-CIF 🙃🙃), but I’m appreciative that our loss came from a deserving team.
These girls worked their butts off throughout the season, and it made me so proud to see them do the damn thing. We grew with each practice and match, shocking those who came out to support us.
The amount of times I heard, “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe how well the girls are doing! They’ve gotten so much better in such a short amount of time.” Like, yeah. I know. I’ve always known what these girls are capable of— not sure why everyone was so surprised by their volleyball abilities. But I am going to refrain from going off on that tangent. 🙃😉
The girls were so patient and gracious with me this season. For that, I am forever grateful. 💫💛
Cheers to another season in the books 🥂🏐
p.s. S/O to Sandis, who doubled as my statistician and assistant coach. You da real MVP.



I don’t even know where to begin. I am torn between starting from the beginning and starting from where I am at right now. What is easier: the entire story, which may lead you to become biased, or the current situation, which would not include any backstory?

The past three months have been hectic and confusing.  But I think more than anything, these past three months have been silent.

On August 13th of this year, I lost my best friend unexpectedly. She was just gone. I spoke with her at 2:09am, then she left this earthly world around 3:00am. We still do not have any answers as to what the fuck happened. And that kills me every day. I think about her every second of every minute of every hour of every day.


It’s a new reality of mine— I’ve never lost anyone. And I made a post on here sometime last year about my biggest fear being losing someone I love. And I fucking love Allison Paige Bertozzi.

I refuse to refer to her in the past tense. I can’t. It’s not that referring to her in the past tense would make everything “more real.” It’s because I feel her all around me every second of every minute of every hour of every day. How can I refer to someone in the past tense if I continue to feel her presence?

I feel the loss of her and I feel the love of her. Hence the confusion and aching.

And the silence. Dear, god. I hear the silence. Oxymoronic— I know. But Alli would be the one to fill the silence. She would make small talk, which always lead to somebody telling an embarrassing story about themselves. Actually, it was usually me or her telling the embarrassing story. Her way of easing strangers into a flowing and captivating conversation is something I will forever aspire to do.

Wait For The Right Man

Wait for the right man. That’s what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to save myself for marriage, or at least for a man I loved and was in love with. I didn’t do either of those things. I traded the magical, romantic first time for a stoned and drunk fuck. Oddly enough, I’m not regretful. I don’t feel ashamed that I lost it to a known “player”, and I don’t feel embarrassed over the fact that I sneaked out of his house that morning. We both know what happened, but we’re not going to make a big deal out of it. If we did, we would both get murdered. Him more than me, but I’d get my fair share of an ass kicking. I saw him the very next night and everything was normal. We said our hellos, we hugged, and we flirted. Honestly, if I didn’t feel what I feel on the inside I wouldn’t think anything had happened. But trust me. My body is telling me that something happened. I get these little flashbacks, little clips of us.

Me whispering in his ear. His hand clutching my thigh. My tongue tracing his ear. His hands gripping my breast. Then our faces turned and mouths met. His teeth clashed against mine, and my tongue was trapped in his mouth. I pulled back and sucked his bottom lip with me. His hand slid up my back and grabbed my hair. I moaned. Loud. Then I attacked his mouth again. There was no shame. I didn’t think about the fact that he had a girlfriend back home. I didn’t think about the fact that we intended on hooking up with different people that night. I didn’t even think about how he played Samantha. All I could concentrate on was pushing him back onto the bed and getting closer to his body.

There was a second when I remembered that we were both drunk and stoned, but the moment passed and I was back at it. My hands couldn’t get enough of him, and his hands rested on my ass, grinding me against him. I pulled back and mumbled something about hating my long hair. I don’t remember if he responded, but it doesn’t matter now. Soon I lost my shorts, but still had on my stockings. His shirt was off, and so were his jeans. He got up and asked if I minded him taking off his pants. Of course I didn’t. The damn thing needed to come off. He got off the bed and his jeans were off. When he came back on the bed he was hovering over me. I probably should have felt intimidated, but I bit my lip and accepted his challenge. One of my hands brought his face down to me, while my other hand slid down his back and played with the waist band of his briefs.

Things start to blur from there. I do remember going down on him. I remember falling off the bed, trying to get the condom out of his pants. Then I remember him filling me. I woke up the next morning, makeup all over my face, and my hair looking a mess. I rolled over and saw that he was knocked out, with his arm around me. It took me a second to realize who I was lying with and what had happened that night. When I realized that I needed to get the fuck out of there, I grabbed my jacket, shoes, and socks. I stuffed them in my purse and called for my ride. Like I said, I don’t regret anything. I’m pretty damn happy with the way things happened. If that makes me a hoe, then I guess I’m a hoe. If that makes me a slut, then I’m a slut. If people want to judge that one action- create a whole lifestyle for me based off of one night- then let them. I don’t care. I’m not here to please anyone, no pun intended. If I can live with my decisions, then everyone else should be able to accept me too.


I came across a quote the other day that I can’t escape.

“I must be a mermaid. I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living.”

Before you ask, yes. Yes, I do believe in mermaids and their existence. You ask why, but I ask why not. Why not believe in a creature so mystical, powerful, and evasive?

By the way, the quote is from Anais Nin.

I Can’t and I Won’t.

I’m sorry

That’s what you want to hear from me

I’m sorry

Choking on apologies

My tears staining my face

My sobs cleaning our slate

A new beginning

A forgotten ending

I’m sorry

Is that all I have to say


I can’t

I won’t

Your dick fucked her

My heart hit the earth

Your tongue pushed its way in

I’m left coping with your sins

I can’t and I won’t apologize

One day you will sink beneath your lies

I try to believe

I try to trust

I try to love

But you make it tough

I’ll never be enough


‘Cause I give a fuck

I’m the one who loved

You left me behind

You left me in the dust

And I’m stuck here

Trying to find a way to cope

I’m stuck here


‘Cause you’ve stolen all my hope