Hotel California

Yesterday I was driving to LA with the radio on—old-school style—when Hotel California came which reminds me of my cousin Leisa Beemer. I haven’t talked to her in sooooo many years, all because of some family drama that had nothing to do with me—just threats and a whole mess involving other people—but somehow, I ended up on the outs. And in some weird cosmic twist, Sheila’s cousin had also come down from San Diego to see her show. Watching them laugh and joke around made me wonder if I ever really had that kind of connection with Leisa… or if I just wanted to believe I did. My family’s probably no more chaotic than anyone else’s, but let’s be real—they’re not exactly the greatest people. That bitter, cold-shoulder Italian energy runs thick through the bloodline. I’ve either been excommunicated or chosen to walk away because I just couldn’t keep playing the game. And the kicker? Anytime I say anything even remotely honest on social media, it somehow stirs up drama with people I haven’t spoken to in years. It always leaks back—like they’re sitting there lurking, just waiting for a reason to be offended. It's exhausting. But at this point? Honestly... game on, bitches. 

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