Posted: August 12, 2012 in Uncategorized

This is some good, relevant stuff written by an old friend from college. Take a read if you’re a 20-something post-grad who is struggling to maintain finances and living paycheck to paycheck. Thanks, Kaitlin!

Young Without Money

At work, I shyly told one of my sweet co-workers (who is also a graduate, living with a partner here in San Antonio) that I had started a personal finance blog for people our age. She remarked how awesome she thought that was and that she should start reading it. We commiserated on the pitfalls of being young without money. And we talked about how depressing it is to not have money to do things we really want– like shop, or see movies, or eat out, etc– and that life can become a monotonous routine of:

Get up. Go to work. Go home. Go to bed. Repeat.

And that is really depressing.

After I nervously published my first post, I got an overwhelming (and unexpected) positive response! So many of my friends are struggling with finance, even after years of post-graduation under their skinny, brown leather belts. The comments I…

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I don’t know if this is clearly presumed based on how I am now, but I was a fucking weird kid. I grew too fast and was always bigger and taller than my friends, I wore these thick coke-bottle glasses that took up half my face (Thanks, Mom), I did the robot when I didn’t know the answers to questions, my brain moved too fast to handle, and I talked like a cartoon character. I was always well known, but seldom tolerated by kids my age and sometimes picked on because, as told by my mother, “Honey, they just don’t get you. I don’t think many adults get you, either.”

Harry Potter glasses? Check. Tweety Bird shirt? Check. Condescending grin? Check.

Little Kendra was just odd. (She still totally is, only now she drinks Svedka instead of Capri Suns.)

I started reading and writing at an abnormally early age and would write stories phonetically, then I’d bind them into “books” to sell to my family. One of my stories was about a “carrot top boy named Brian” who had a dog named Buster who drank milk and could communicate with humans. Brian was a secret agent who killed Chinese spies (but they had Mexican names?). Brian was also “light on the loafers” – which is obviously a term I had overheard at my young age, but had no earthly idea that it was a euphemistic way of saying “faggot.” My mother kept this book and showed it to all our relatives, which only added to the pile of evidence that I was an undeniably strange small-human.

I got my first journal when I was six years old, and I wrote in it every other day (given some periods of hiatus) until it was full. I decided it would be a great idea to transcribe one of my journal entries. Some people would say this is exploiting my childhood feelings, but after reading through that shitshow of a journal, I don’t think I had real feelings. My mind was all over the place, I was the biggest dork on the face of the Earth, and I had some comical moments that I’m willing to share. So… here you go, world. For shits and giggles, welcome to my young brain.

Yep, that smiley heart will keep intruders out.

Dear Journal,

My name is Kendra. I am 6 years old. I live with Mom Dad and 1 Sister but she hates me. I live in Pearland, Texas. It is so hot here I sure do hate it!! My birthday is January 18. I think January birthdays are swell. My best nonhuman friend is my dog Tory. She has long white hair and sometimes I accidently think she is a white pillow oops! I wish she was my sister and not Kristen. Tory wouldn’t blare Smashing Pumpkins at 7 in the morning!! Billy Corgan sounds like he has a cold. Someone should give him kleeeeeeeenexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I wonder what music dogs like. SNOOP DOGGY DOG that is very funny. Doncha think? Anyways I hate humans but I have a best human friend: Alex. He made me learn basket ball and now I’m better than he is! I think I want to be a basket ball player. Oh and there’s Josh but Alex I have a secret crush on. But I think he knows. But that is the point of marriage I think because if you have a crush on your husband (woweeee!!!) then you are married. I think so. I will ask mom.

This is wiiiieeerrrddd I don’t know what to do with you Journal! Do I just tell you stuff?

Today I saw fliers in the hall for presidents. I wonder who will win! But I don’t care because I don’t know what a president does. Maybe they give candy to everyone and make sure the halls are monitered! Maybe I should be president. Of the world. My teacher is Mrs. Landry and she is a B word. She has eyelashes that are spiders. Not real ones. They just look like spiders when she blinks her eyes she is very scary. At recess she pulled me real hard by my arm and she yelled at me because I tryed to pretend I read the pirate book we had for reading group but I didn’t. So I made things up and she was very angry. I hate reading! It is stupid and pointless. I thot the book would have skwocking parrits and those red scarf things the pirates wear and those black eye coverers so I talked about that. I got cought! She yelled at me in front of my friends!!! I tryed not to laugh at her because spit was flying out of her mouth when she yelled. I hate schooooooool why do I do it??? First grade is hard. I want to go live in France. I had a banana for snack.

Her eyes do kinda look like spiders... You be the judge.


I’m so worried that I’m gonna get bad grades. If I do, I wont have any privilages! Like basket ball. I love it but if I don’t shape up, I AM DONE FOR!!! I hope I don’t lose you Journal that would be so sad I would cry so many times and every day. MOM IF YOU ARE READING THIS PLEEEEASE DONT TAKE JOURNAL AWAY AND THEN STOP READING THIS. Now I know “No work is bad work, and bad work is hard work.” I am going to create a super hero named Wacky Woman and the secret is that it is ME! But you have to keep the secret! I hate secrets. I think my dog thinks I am a cat because she chases me. I am getting a new poster of Ginger Spice she is soooooo pretty I go crazy when I see her in her dresses!!!

Your friend – Kendra!

My poor blog is just a tick of time away from being a neglected ginger child, because I only seem to remember it in the Summer. So here I am, paying it some due attention like a good mother would (God, if you’re listening, I should never be a real mother. Note: All my pets have either exploded or gone into severe depression). We mustn’t think on all the times I’ve blown off my writing for 30 Rock marathons, looking at cat pictures on the internet, and bouts of strenuous day drinking.

Liz Lemon + Oprah = 4ever

Let’s review my year, in a nutshell.

My summer thus far has consisted of being a hermit, taking a couple college classes at UAA, editing a film, Skyping with good friends, writing a screenplay, and avoiding all human contact (see above: hermit). I like to think of summer as my detox period where I unwind and reflect on my shitshow of a year, my third and by far most chaotic one at Trinity. So I’m going to break it down for you in bits that one might see in fortune cookies. I like condensed versions, because nobody really  gives a shit about the ingredients, they just want the good stuff. So here we have our zen cookie bits of advice, based on my experiences of 2010-2011:

1. Just because they are Jello shots, doesn’t mean you can have 27 of them.


2. When a professor sends you a Gmail chat, it’s a little weird, but highly effective.

3. Sometimes they play Nickelback in the Student Commons. Sometimes I throw granola bars at the cashier lady while shouting, “CHANGE IT OR EVERYONE DIES.”

4. My little college in San Antonio got it’s first snowfall! This doesn’t normally happen. The Dean berates me for bargaining via e-mail to have a snow day, because being Alaskan means I’m a Yeti of sorts and I can “handle it.”

What I am to Dean Tuttle, apparently.

5. When the cooks at the dining hall throw leftover pizza in the trash at midnight before closing, I start seeing the beady eyes of starving children crying slow tears along to that Sarah McLachlan song. And this is why I know Aramark is the Anti-Christ.

6. Writing 15 page papers 4 hours before class is a great idea. But only if you’re a confident psychopath who likes playing College Roulette, which is essentially gambling your grade against your quick thinking, extensive vocabulary, bullshitting ability, energy drink abundance, and time management. This is the most terrifying and exhausting game, but to some, it’s a lifestyle. Kind of like Fight Club.

Abs. These are what you DON'T need for College Roulette. Though they are preferred.

7. When you know you have no business being in a relationship – just don’t get into one. Don’t deal with ambiguity, don’t believe you’re invincible to outside interference, and don’t play with fire. Stay single and keep your crazy to yourself while you’re in your prime. We’re all human, and humans have earned the reputation among the Animal Kingdom of being the supreme fuckups, next to the Alpaca.


8. Parties and mixers start to lose their shine real quickly by this time. If I wanted to be blacked out and surrounded by a bunch of annoying, hyper-sexual, drunk people who smell like bad sex and cigarette smoke, I’d just go to colleg-… wait… shit.

9. I’m glad I was a socially aimless tool in high school, because it has served me well in college. All of my friends were the same way; we always thought Homecoming and Prom were the most pointless events ever, everybody who was a total shithead ended up going nowhere in life, Showtunes WERE cool, Mormon kids were creepy, and sports can only get you so far. In college, theatre kids really are the best, and all those jocks and Aberzombies who peaked in high school are always the most annoying people at good parties, and discussion-based classrooms. “The Diary of Lisa Frank” is not a Holocaust document, darling, it’s a 4th grade notebook with rainbow cheetahs on it.

*Not the Diary of Anne Frank.

10. No one-person is capable of writing, directing, shooting, and editing a film all by themselves without developing a severe anxiety problem, acute agoraphobia, alcoholism, irreversible insomnia, or night terrors of being filmed eating lunch by a large cat with a monocle. Even though I’m proud of the work I’ve put into Rapture Police, I will not do a feature alone ever again. It even made me rethink being a director. I think I may just stick to writing and producing. The night terrors? Still happening, bro.

11. Even though I abuse the modern terminology, being a bona fide troll is hard work. I fucked shit up. But I did get a 15 day paper extension and a delicious cupcake out of it. (Meister Tonberry, anyone?)

lol y u mad tho

12. I never thought I’d be in a sorority, because I simply don’t feel that I ever fit that stereotype – but my sorority is just the absolute best. Despite some differences that have come up, I ultimately just adore this shitshow of a group for being my backbone. They are some of the most confident, honest, bright, free-spirited girls I’ve ever met and my college experience would have been very plain without them. I’m pissed as a bitch that some of my favorite girls have graduated, however – and no, I’m not letting that go.

13. Bossypants by Tina Fey is one of the few books I’ve read cover to cover in under a week. I just loved that book, and now I want Tina Fey to be my mom. But if she can’t do that – then I’m petitioning to get her to speak at my college for either a lecture series or my own commencement. For as much as I pay to go to Trinity, I think it’s the least they could do after charging me for cheese on my omelets, thus causing me to have a nervous breakdown. It’s the least you could do, TriniStaff.

14. I’m over it. San Antonio is cool and everything, but I’m just over it. I’m ready to graduate and get that $200,000 piece of paper so I can move to Los Angeles and prove to people that I am worthy because I went to the same school as Barney the Dinosaur and one of the Charlie’s Angels. We also have a penis tower and a sensually suggestive YouTube video of our Dean. Not impressed? We caused a scene in public and auctioned off slaves in front of high school prospectives in order to promote a comedy show. Our campus security turned into a police troupe over night, which makes them much scarier in real life. Still not amazed? Well fuck it, I didn’t want to work for you dweebs, anyway.

15. Paula Deen’s voice is alarmingly soothing during finals week. Intense study sessions and days of sleep deprivation caused my brain to become temporarily overheated. So instead of drinking tea and laying on a hammock to calm myself like a normal human being, my bloodshot eyes stared at my computer screen while I played videos of Paula Deen’s cooking show, and somehow I was as tranquil as a baby lamb. Just hearing that woman’s soft southern twang as she is instructing me how to make potroast with mayashed putatuz was like valium for my soul. Thank you Paula Deen, for making finals season more tolerable for college students, and for making me hate myself because I don’t know how to cook anything. Thank you.


So that’s basically it. Those are my 15 fortune cookies for 2010-2011. More things happened in between – important things – but I’m sure I’m far too lazy to think of them or I’ve purposefully blocked those memories out. Now, if you don’t mind, I am going to finish Season 4 of 30 Rock for the 80th time. Happy Memorial Day tomorrow. May we hopefully remember everything…



Math, Drugs, Aliens, O-Face.

Posted: December 29, 2010 in Uncategorized

So… being a junior in college apparently means I have to start giving a shit and actually work hard to maintain my life schedule. Whatever. Now that we’ve addressed it, maybe that gives it less power? One can only hope. In any case, I apologize for the, um, five month hiatus? Yes. I am very, very sorry. Let us address a few other things! I’ll catch you up on the main points of why I’ve been too busy to write. (This is a very awful thing.)

1. Pre-Calculus. If you really know me, you know that I’d rather take a class on clubbing baby seals than a math class. My brain computes numbers in quite the same manner that a toaster computes water: It fucking doesn’t. And everything is ruined. That is basically what happened this semester. My math professor was a gentle soul who wore pastel polos and seemed to be more excited about logarithms and matrices than Christmas break. Somebody who isn’t excited about gifts, overeating, and vacation time? Well they are the Antichrist. This professor seemed absolutely terrified of teaching, to the point where attendance was practically subliminally discouraged. Naturally, the class followed suit and just didn’t show up. Ever. I’m sure this made it easy on him. As wonderfully nice as this professor was, it just wasn’t enough. I admittedly have the attention span of a goldfish, a Charlie Brown level of complete apathy, and my brain translates mathematics into Chinese.

I should have been doing this.

Instead I was doing this.

So I kind of needed more. I needed a professor that was aggressive and enthusiastic about teaching math, not someone who mirrored by “Who the fuck cares” attitude. This semester was hard. Math sucks. I basically had to neglect my other classes just so I could stay afloat in math… which generally never happens. Long story short: I bombed every test except the final – on which I earned the first B letter grade I’ve ever earned on a math exam in my entire life. This is good. I passed the class. No more math. GREAT.


2. Rapture Police. I’m an independent filmmaker, which is a euphemism for ‘creatively-inclined starving artist bitch who doesn’t care about anything else.’ Filmmaking has engulfed a large portion of my time and my college career, which I am completely okay with, and my experience in the field has become increasingly pleasant and successful. Also, it has driven me a little crazy. I was already crazy, so this can only mean the good kind of crazy (let’s pretend this exists). My new film is a feature-length called Rapture Police, and it’s basically about drugs, college, a chaotic network web, awkward coincidences, and missing links. My cowriter and I took about a year in the preproduction blueprinting stage, and we’ve been filming for five months now. Like always, filming always takes longer than anticipated, I keep forgetting that my actors actually have lives, and overall there are more hurdles than a fucking track meet. Scheduling was chaotic and scenes were pushed around because some of my leads are going abroad in the Spring, and you just can’t finish a film when your main character is hobbling around in the Middle East.

A picture from on set of Rapture Police. Aren't these sorority jerseys amazing? Doreen, you're the best!

Also, special effects are a gigantic thorn in my ass, because they require time and money – two things that I never have. So the more detailed scenes are postponed to the Spring so they are better planned. But! I am proud to say that RP production is exactly halfway finished and is being edited during this break before we pick up filming again in mid-January. My actors are amazing – each one of them extremely talented and some of Trinity Drama’s best kept secrets. The story of RP is actually coming to life. My Canon Rebel T2i, Carlotta, is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’m always excited about filming, but as usual I end up biting off more than I can chew. BUT GUESS WHAT, WORLD? I can chew a lot. I mean, a lot. I’m writing, producing, scheduling, editing, and directing this film very much on my own, with the help of a few extra hands. But I am basically a solo kind of working girl; I like it that way. Control freak? Maybe. Out of my mind? Absolutely. The scheduling is a total hell show, and my directing is very off-the-fly and free-thinking, but I get what I want every single time and I get shit done. I think this actually makes me cut out for film in the real world, because I take on more duties than I should, but I force myself to just handle it. I’m also kind of making up for lost time from my first film, which was basically destroyed (but we don’t talk about that). The independent filmmaker/college student lifestyle is batshit crazy. Emergen-C and Flintstone Vitamins might as well be my crack cocaine. I have the sleeping patterns of an elderly woman on ample Red Bull. My cramming has been perfected down to an art. But I’ve learned that it’s just what I need to do in order to stay sane; passion comes before requirement. Yes, this means I might neglect other areas of my life – but they’re not vital areas or anything. I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

Productivity, kind of. The Swedish Fish will be relevant someday...


3. TriniLand. I say this as a general topic, because it regards my life in a nutshell. Let’s just say I don’t remember what my own room looks like sometimes, because I’m never there. I had five classes other than math. I worked for our campus TV station, I learned about Jesus and dirt, I filmed many montage shorts… all that great stuff. I’m in a sorority. That takes up a lot of my time. Rush this year has been crazy, but I’ve loved every minute of it. Our formal rush date party, War & Peace, was a huge success and I went dressed as Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell (PEACE OUT, by the way). I’m in the AcaBellas, which also takes up a lot of my time. We arrange stuff, we sing, we make shirts, we argue about singing cuss words in songs – it’s actually quite great. We had a combo concert with the Trinitones, which was part awesome, part pre-show disaster, part hilarious. In short, the AcaBellas rehearsed a secret song in the men’s bathroom in an effort to hide from the Trinitones. We’re cute.


There was that Trinity Idol thing, which happened to be on the same week that I was the Lips in Rocky Horror Picture Show… so it goes without saying that I never slept and drank just a whole lot. Health win!

Flash Gordon was there in silver underwear. Honest to God. I saw him.

Anyway, Trinity Idol was alright. I was backstage frantically trying to remember the lyrics to “Hallelujah” and when it finally came time for me to sing, I couldn’t see anything because I was blinded by the spotlight… and somehow managed to remember the words. I won and it was awkward, and the Trinitonian plastered what appeared to be my O-Face on the front page – that was charming. Even my mother lol’d.

I can't even deny it. O-Face, or I'm about to devour that microphone.

Along the same lines of forgetting words, I was also in a theatre lab show called The Long Christmas Dinner directed by my wonderful and talented friend, Chelsea. I played some old, senile broad who was the matriarch of a dysfunctional family – it was a great show that carried through several generations of fucked-upness that goes on in families where people are stubborn, haggard, and can’t tolerate each other. Anyhow, I had a few lines that were fairly easy to remember. One of them was when I was sitting at the dinner table, eating, in a delirious stupor: “I can remember when there were still Indians on this very land… and I wasn’t a young girl either!” Not so bad. Meanwhile, I’m backstage trying to collect myself and rehearse my lines before my entrance. For some awful, unknown reason, something compels me to say ‘aliens’ instead of ‘Indians’ so I’m desperately trying to correct myself.

The Long Christmas Dinner cast recreates The Last Supper with the director as Jesus. Lolz? Lolz.

I go on stage, and all is well, until it comes time for me to spit out that line. I mindlessly act and recite my line, until I realize in a split second that I just said: “I can remember when there were still aliens…” and I try so hard to hide that “Oh fuck” look on my face from everyone in the audience. So I do the logical thing and just play it off like I lost my fucking mind and I’m knocking on death’s door with my nonsense: “I can remember when there were still aliens… *pause* Indians and aliens on this very land… and I wasn’t a young girl either! Oh YES!” and the audience bursts out in laughter. Meanwhile, I’m shitting so many bricks that I could literally build a nice house for my director, who is practically beside herself in the audience. Since I was in the first part of the show, I was expecting everyone to forget all about my extraterrestrial fuck-up. They did not.

What else… oh yeah, Storch Cat died. I was really sad about it. So I dressed up as her for Halloween. I don’t remember much of that night… because I was feral! Yes. Feral.

Viva La Storch Cat!

So there you have it. All of the above is why I’ve been too busy to update my site. I have a feeling that this semester may allow me some time to catch up, but shit happens. Winter break has been lovely. I’ve been editing RP, writing, drinking copious amounts of tea, finishing crossword puzzles, and spending money like it’s my job. Hopefully I have the time to continue this. Christmas was nothing short of a shitshow, as my family is full of too much estrogen and ego. We played La Loteria on Christmas Eve, which ended up lasting until 3AM with a large money pot and people arguing over their wagers. I’ve been taking cat naps like they’re going out of style (they never will) and mimosas have been a regular component of my diet. I can’t complain.



The Undertow and The Living.

Posted: November 22, 2010 in Shorts

I felt you dashing through that coiled light tunnel the day the color bled out from the world. Everything went white, and there’s been a heaviness floating low over this place ever since. I remembered starless skies and scarce paintbrush clouds and the way your silver ring felt icy cold when you grasped my hand. We were laying flat on a hilly, short-grassed terrain and pretending we were members of space. We talked about our mothers, how they raised us, what TV shows we weren’t allowed to watch as kids, and how afraid you were of death. You let me stay quiet when I had nothing of substance to say about those private terrors. I kept tumbling away into that black space, drifting farther away from every real thing and squeezing tighter onto my hold of you. But you became sand traveling in the lines of my hands, and I wept for weeks.

We rode on the backs of elephants of the dullest kind of blue, and their trunks swung with delight as we hobbled away to the village. We took decent pictures. We ate fresh fruits from trees and burned incense to intoxicate our souls and make our minds start swimming. We played in rivers and painted on each other. We held hands under my blanket that night we had to sleep at that sterile airport in New Delhi. We buried what would have been our family dog, because some cars drive too fast and life isn’t fair. We bought a cat and found out I was allergic. We watchedRipley’s… Believe It or Not! and never believed it. We watched Peter Pan and knew it was real. I believed in everything you ever cared about, and I held you up so high that your hair grew wet from the dampness of the clouds. I never got the chance to tell you how many things you made me love, just because I saw that glow in your eyes when you talked about them, and I wanted to glow with you. We used to finish off pints of ice cream while watching crime shows at 2 AM of a rough night, and you said those dead bodies and unsolved murders made me so lucky to be sad over a pretty girl, or a failed exam, or even just the brutal monotony.

I had nothing poignant or poetic to scratch into the light pole that killed you, so I just wrote “Everything else can stay here” because not a single planet has moved since you left. And while I etch away into the metal and fight the cold with mittens and an uncomfortably tight scarf, I know it’s only a matter of time before we get sucked into the furious Sun.

I walked home by myself in that grey reality after signing away my memory, and with every step, I let small pieces of my faith fall into the ground with you. I waited outside on the porch until the morning paper arrived. It was freezing. I played Tetris on my phone until there was no more battery. The paper came, the battery died.

January 9th, a Tuesday – you don’t breathe my air anymore, and the Earth stopped, and the snow fell as fat confetti celebrating your departure.


As promised, it has been another 12,000 years since my last update. Whoooops, I’m so NOT sorry because I have this big tree branch called ‘WORK’ digging up my ass, and I just can’t muster up the motivation to give a rat’s ass about anything other than mimosas and borderline sloth relaxation. But I digress… the topic of this post has been on my mind today as I was reconstructing a commercial for a cute little insurance company. This proves just how much I daydream on the job… let’s just be thankful I’m not doing any physical labor on oil rigs or anything, because were that the case, we’d be swimming in my carelessness and colossal mistakes. Whoops again.

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LOLLLLL hold on. Wait. I don’t know why the font is so small… thank Oprah for zoom. Before you form an angry mob and start running towards my house with flaming torches, pitchforks, and rakes (lolz), I would like to plead my case. There is a reason why I haven’t written anything in about six thousand years… and it’s not because I’ve been consumed in the World Cup (I hate sports, men, and large crowds in general – so you know I’m not lying), or that I’ve been ‘giving back to my community’ or whatever the shit that is…

There is this thing called ‘work’, and after discovering it this past month, I do have my qualms. Despite the cozy atmosphere, and the fact that I have the coolest starters internship in Anchorage – I must say that I am less than enthusiastic about waking up every morning at 6:00 only to go work out at the gym while still asleep, and then go to the studio where I am literally just wingin’ it. It’s a cool concept, but I’ve never been one for routines. I’m not 90 years old yet. I’ve got a lifetime of irresponsibility and hazardous spontaneity ahead of me. Yes, it’s great that I get to do what I love for the summer – which is writing, editing video, drinking tea, auditioning people, and dicking around on the internet – but just know that this is the reason why my posts have been slow. Though I am now a part of the corporate world (kind of.), I have still been paying lots of attention to my first love, Pop Culture. Let’s take a look at the things that were fascinating, annoying, and downright awkward in the month of June 2010. Hey, Ho, Let’s GO!

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