I don’t understand a lot of things. I don’t understand why my neighbor is pursuing a career as a 1990’s electronic music artist. I don’t understand why the ice cream shop near my house considers two scoops of ice cream one scoop. And I don’t understand how women, educated journalists, can be so…
This is well-put, well-written and well copy-edited (hi Katai!) Let’s all titty-bump gibblertron next time we see her.
I am Julie Brister. I'm an actor, writer and improv teacher living in Los Angeles. I'm writing a novel.
I like campfires, strong coffee, board games, super spicy Thai food, desert jaunts, creepy puppets, cats, wearing socks wrong side out, California living, napkins, artsy fartsy stuff, reading novels, the caramel corn at the Arclight, binge-watching TV, vegetable purees, French pop, cotton percale sheets, horses, good weird art, gulpy summer wine, skulls, comfy shoes, chile rellenos, bold accessories, my wonderful dog Wolfgang, Jacaranda trees, lakeside vacations, Kubrick, true crime stories, croissants, green and woodsy smells, funky cowboy boots, redwood trees, Trader Joe's, eavesdropping on people arguing in public, Bach, travel fantasies, groovy rugs, dining al fresco, ee cummings, memories of camp, saffron, long chats, hummingbirds, mean old nuns, old timey stuff, cloudy days, art deco LA, vintage cocktails, scary things, drive-thru car washes, bougie candles, Antiques Roadshow, dusk, english muffins, squeezy hugs, fluffy towels, Diane Arbus, Frito pie, thunderstorms, Victoriana, cinnamon, Mexican knick knacks, schadenfreude, owls, good manners, Texas, interesting pottery, cooking for friends, lists, NPR, road trips, orange and chocolate together, good stemware, layering, Southern literature, New Orleans, people watching, Hitchcock movies, paint by numbers, Japanese incense, needle crafts, Nazi documentaries and cheese.
I dislike d-bags, j-holes and flip flops.