​​Spent childhood in my grandma's mexican restaurant, attended my mom's mariachi jam sessions, played soccer with my dad, and tried to survive as the whitest-skinned Mexican kid on my block, the "guera."

Tomboy lifestyle is blamed on my dad's influence but my mom's grateful for my pretty hair.

2 days after I was born, my mom's friend from her Tijuana beauty school pierced my ears at the hospital.  

Doctor in disbelief.

My mom has been vain since her own birth.

In the 80s she wins the OTI (Latino 'American Idol'). She acts in plays in Oakland and has a Saturday entertainment show on Univision, before Univision is Univision. My dad loves her for this. My dad's family does not.

​Due to my parents' car factory jobs, we moved from the Bay Area to a small town an hour away from St. Louis, Missouri. One stop sign in town.  WTF.

I begin creating stories in my head for survival. My mom continues singing boleros and mariachi music at weekend get-togethers with other Latino families. We live in a Republican state. My life is black and white here, not brown.

​My mom decides we should attend Catholic schools now because...no reason.  My older sister runs away after one week of this but I don't mind since I hate choosing what to wear.

All-girls' school taught by nuns...for better or worse this is what shaped me.

In a misunderstanding, my mom calls a nun a racist.  I love my mom even more.

​I break my dad's heart by quitting soccer.  I fix his heart  by getting a scholarship to a Catholic college in California.  

I work where I can eat free and quickly gain the freshman 15. I start writing lots of random shit and I'm given a "woman on the street" segment for the college TV station.  My inappropriate questions offend the nuns and I'm axed.  Family is still proud of me.

My dad dies unexpectedly from a heart attack. I demand to be the pallbearer. It's a first in the family. This changes everything.

I'm in love with SF's Dot Com lifestyle until it crashes.  I take my severance and move to L.A. to become a TV writer while I work as an ad writer.  I am now like everyone else.  I fall in love in a karaoke bar and marry a geeky guy with an MBA.  His family asks if we'll serve tamales at our wedding.  Um, no.  We serve enchiladas.

I get encouragement from several working writers.  I quit my fulltime job and devote my life to scripts while I freelance.  It pays off.

I use my Mexicanism and get accepted into the NHMC Writing program.

I get my first TV writing job at ABC.

No, I don't know how to make tamales, but thanks for asking.

I still curse and adopt a parenting style that's more 1973 than 2013.


Comedy feature writer for Sony, Columbia, Universal, Paramount, and whoever wants to do modern Latinx stories.

I still don't know what my Hubster does for a living.


I'm a recovered Catholic.

Boston after college. I memorize 800 numbers as an ad agency receptionist and try to become a copywriter.  Takes me longer than anticipated but it happens here.

I do many things that are good and lots of things that are bad. I come out unscathed after 4 years. There are no good burritos in Boston.