Coffee and Curiosity

My favorite thing to do on a day off is go for coffee and watch the world go by. There’s something oddly mesmerizing about sitting in a café, sipping something cold, and noticing the little details about the people around you—the way they tie their shoes, the colors they choose, even the subtle expressions on their faces. One of the most unforgettable people I’ve ever seen was at work once. A couple walked in, and immediately, they turned heads. Both had wild dreadlocks that bounced with every step, and their faces were painted in vivid, almost theatrical patterns, the kind you’d see at a juggalo show. Every inch of exposed skin seemed to carry a piercing—eyebrows, lips, noses, ears—like their bodies were covered in tiny, glittering constellations of metal. Their presence was bold, unapologetic, and impossible to ignore. I couldn’t help but stare, fascinated by how much personality they carried in their style alone. Moments like that make coffee breaks feel like a front-row seat to life’s little curiosities.

A Weekend Before “I Do”

The weekend started with a car full of laughter, music, and the kind of excitement that only comes when a big life moment is just around the corner. Eight girls, overnight bags stuffed with outfits and snacks, and one very special reason for the trip—we were heading to New Braunfels to celebrate Viktoria’s bachelorette weekend. The drive itself already felt like part of the adventure. Between missed turns, one of us always asking if we were “almost there,” and spontaneous sing-alongs to songs we only half remembered the lyrics to, the energy in the car never faded. When we finally arrived at the Airbnb, the place immediately filled with life. Bags were dropped, rooms were claimed, and everyone scattered around the house exploring like kids on a field trip. Julia had done an amazing job booking the place—it was cozy, welcoming, and perfect for a weekend of chaos and celebration. Once we settled in, the first adventure of the weekend began almost immediately. Before the sun dipped too low, Viktoria, Adrienne, and Julia decided to head out for a canoe ride on the river. It was the kind of peaceful Texas evening that makes you slow down for a moment. The water moved gently, the sky slowly changing colors as the sun lowered toward the horizon. While the rest of us stayed back at the house to decorate, they got a quiet moment on the water—one last calm adventure before the full bachelorette festivities really kicked in. And once the sun went down, the night officially began. After getting ready and piling into cars, we headed out to Moonshine & Ale, where the energy of the weekend really came alive. The music was loud, the dance floor was full, and the whole place felt like it was buzzing with excitement. Viktoria looked absolutely glowing the entire night—laughing, dancing, and soaking in every second of it. There’s something special about watching your best friend celebrate a moment like that. It wasn’t just a night out—it was a celebration of everything leading up to the biggest day of her life. By the time we made it back to the Airbnb later that night, the energy hadn’t slowed down much. Conversations carried on in the kitchen, people were still laughing about things that had happened at the bar, and the whole house felt alive with the kind of joy that only happens when a group of friends are completely comfortable around each other. Saturday brought another round of adventures. One of the highlights of the weekend was visiting Natural Bridge Caverns. Walking down into the cave felt like stepping into another world. The air was cool, the ceilings stretched high above us in winding stone formations, and every corner revealed something incredible carved by time. Some of the girls decided to take on the ropes course nearby, while Allison and I explored the caves and took everything in. Later that afternoon, we went to dinner at The Gristmill. Sitting out on the patio overlooking the river felt like the perfect Texas afternoon. The food was great, the conversation even better, and when a light sprinkle of rain started to fall, the staff kindly moved us under better cover. Instead of ruining the moment, it made everyone laugh as we shuffled around and continued our conversations like nothing had happened. But honestly, some of the best memories of the weekend happened late at night. The spontaneous Whataburger run. Half the group was exhausted while the other half somehow still had energy left. We piled into cars, laughing about the night and grabbing burgers and fries like we hadn’t eaten all day. Back at the Airbnb, the night continued with Cards Against Humanity, which quickly turned into the kind of laughter where everyone is trying to catch their breath between rounds. Those were the moments that made the weekend unforgettable. Not just the planned adventures. But the quiet river before sunset, the dancing at Moonshine & Ale, the caves, the late-night Whataburger run, and the ridiculous card game jokes that somehow kept getting funnier. By Sunday, none of us were quite ready to leave. Bags were packed a little slower, hugs lasted a little longer, and everyone kept saying the same thing: “We have to do this again.” But this wasn’t just another girls’ trip. It was the weekend before Viktoria says “I do.” And being there for those memories—the loud ones, the quiet ones, and everything in between—was something none of us will ever forget.

Letter to Future Me: October Evenings and Growing up

Hi, it’s yourself, Zoe. You’re writing this at the age of 26, and when you eventually find this, you’ve probably forgotten all about it — written on a quiet Tuesday night, October 14th, 2025, at exactly 8:42 PM. Your laptop’s screen is glowing softly, your blog is open in another tab, and you’re staring at the cursor like it’s supposed to hand you inspiration. You’ve hit that weird crossroads where adulting is finally starting to feel real. You traded in your old car for a brand-new one — something most people your age only dream of, considering how impossible it’s become to afford anything lately. The cost of living is through the roof, but you’re still at home, and that’s okay. Because there’s comfort here. There’s your grandma teaching you how to cook “the proper way” and your mom who matches your silliness beat-for-beat when you both start laughing at the smallest things. It’s a time where AI is everywhere — videos, art, writing — and ChatGPT has basically taken over the internet. Who even uses Google anymore? You’ll probably laugh reading this, thinking about how you used to ask it for everything from story ideas to life advice. (Let’s be honest, it helped more than a few times.) Driving around, you’ll still see those ridiculous CyberTrucks — big gray beasts trying to look futuristic but somehow missing the mark — and those round Tesla “Eggs” that you and Caroline can’t help but nickname every time one drives by. You’ve fallen into a new rhythm lately — reading romance and fantasy novels, of all things. Younger you wouldn’t believe it. The same you who once said, “I can’t focus on books,” now has a growing stack on the bookshelf. Your guitar still sits in the corner, quietly collecting dust, like a patient friend waiting for you to pick it up again. But that’s okay, because you’ve found your rhythm elsewhere — behind the camera, capturing live music, editing band footage, and feeling most alive when the lights flicker across the stage. You’ve learned that your passions evolve, that it’s okay to change directions and let go of what no longer fits. You’ve grown more confident — not always loud, but quietly sure of what makes you happy. Oh, and yes — your fear of bugs? Still there. Probably forever. Let’s just accept that one. If you’re reading this years later, I hope you still chase that feeling — the one you get when the world feels big, and you feel small in the best way. I hope you still take photos, still write when inspiration strikes, still laugh with your mom, and still find magic in the everyday chaos. And if things ever feel uncertain again, remember this version of yourself — 26 years old, typing under the soft light of a laptop screen, dreaming of what’s next. You may not have it all figured out, but you’re doing just fine.

Chapters of Friendship

Recently, I’ve gotten back into reading thanks to my best friend Caroline. For those new to my stories, let me backtrack a little. Caroline and I instantly became friends when I first started working at Cinemark in May of 2022. We were both ushers, scheduled to clean theaters together, and quickly realized we shared the same sense of humor—that’s what sparked our forever friendship. Fast forward to now, every week we plan around our busy work schedules to hang out. Our routine usually involves grabbing lunch—most often McDonald’s, sometimes Chick-fil-A if we’re craving a change—then browsing books before heading back to my house, where we sit at opposite ends of my room playing games on our Nintendo Switches. It’s become a running joke that as soon as we set a hangout date, one of us asks, “Are we feeding our addiction today?” If the answer is yes, we hit a bookstore with the best intentions of limiting ourselves to one book each. But of course, we always end up breaking that promise and leaving with armfuls. For me, romance and fantasy have become my go-to genres. Caroline first introduced me to Laurie Gilmore, a New York Times bestselling author known for her small-town romance books. Her debut, The Pumpkin Spice Café, even won TikTok Shop’s “Book of the Year” in 2024. Her Dream Harbor series is filled with quirky townsfolk and charming, rugged men, and I’ve been hooked ever since. So, when I saw Laurie post on Instagram that she’d be touring to promote her newest release—with book signings included—I immediately told Caroline we had to go. We marked the date on our calendars and counted down the days. Last week, that moment finally came. We pulled into the parking lot of Half Price Books, both of us quietly panicking over the fact that we were about to meet our favorite author. It honestly felt surreal, like we had stepped into one of her novels. Inside, we joined a few girls from our book club and waited for the event to begin. Sitting through the Q&A, I felt like my feet were gliding—I kept thinking someone would have to pinch me to bring me back down to reality. Finally, it was our turn to meet her. Standing there with our books in hand, ready to be signed, it hit me just how far this little “addiction” of ours had brought us. What started as fast food lunches, bookstore trips, and late-night gaming had led to this incredible moment—one we got to share together. And that’s the best part: no matter how many books we read or how many games we play, the real story is the friendship Caroline and I continue to write, chapter by chapter.

Sparks of Inspiration

When I think of a truly creative person, I immediately think of my mom. Inspired by both family and herself, she decided to take a welding class at our local community college—just for fun! She’s 62 and deals with arthritis pain every single day. Most people in her shoes would shy away, complain, or regret the idea altogether. But not her. She simply told herself she wanted to learn, and she did. One evening, while listening to music, our longtime friend Patricia Verrall described my mom’s approach to welding and her hilarious artwork as “balls to the walls, very out there.” Then looked at me and said I was “quiet and reserved.” Honestly, both descriptions couldn’t be more accurate. Patricia has known my mom for years—long before mom ever thought about taking seven-year-old me out to live music shows. To put it into perspective, here are some of her creations. She made me a small bird sculpture I call “Butt Bird.” It’s a freestanding, stylized bird with simple, sturdy legs and oversized flat feet—complete with a bubble butt. It’s playful, almost cartoonish, and I proudly display it on my bookshelf. Then there’s her Abstract Swirl Plaque—a square piece covered in dense swirls, waves, and dotted textures. It’s one of the family favorites. Another standout is her Fish Sculpture, which she mounted on a rock base and named Old Man Angler Fish. With its fierce, wide-mouthed expression, bulging eyes, detailed fins, and a teal ball dangling from a wire, it’s equal parts lively and fantastical. She even crafted a replica of her own spine, reflecting her arthritis and surgeries. Mounted on a wooden base, the “bones” fan outward like branches or leaves—turning her pain into art. In our garage, a red Devil Sign grins down from the pegboard, horns and tail in full display. And on the fireplace sits her heavy metal razor. Anytime guests visit, Mom insists they try to lift it—usually to their surprise at just how heavy it really is. Each of these pieces tells a story—not just of her creativity, but of her resilience. My mom takes her challenges and transforms them into something bold, funny, and inspiring. She’s proof that passion doesn’t fade with age, and that creativity can spark even in the face of pain. For me, she’ll always be the definition of a creative spirit.

Laughter Lockdown

Someone who endlessly makes me laugh is my Uncle Ty. I don’t know what it is about the two of us, but whenever we end up in the same room, we’re constantly cracking jokes and laughing until we’re nearly in tears. It’s the kind of contagious energy you can’t help but love. I’ll never forget one holiday at my grandma’s house. The whole family was gathered in the living room, and Uncle Ty and I were doing what we always do—goofing off, making each other laugh, and being totally over-the-top. Eventually, we got so out of hand that my grandma had enough. She sent me to her bedroom, shut the door behind me, and told me I wasn’t allowed to come out until I calmed down and “learned my lesson.” At the time, it was a shock—but that only made it funnier. Uncle Ty and I pointed at each other and laughed like, “Ha! Look what you got yourself into!” It’s still one of those moments we look back on and laugh about to this day. But as much as we love joking around, I’m also incredibly grateful for the big help he is to our family. He knows his way around mechanics—cars, motorcycles, you name it. Anytime someone in the family has an issue, he’s the one we call. Recently, my brakes were on the verge of giving out—honestly, I was probably on the verge of giving out too—and he stepped in without hesitation. Not only did he help me put on the new brakes, but he took the time to teach me as we worked on it together. That’s just who Uncle Ty is—funny, generous, and always ready to lend a hand. I wouldn’t trade that bond for anything.

Shells, Scampi, and a Side of Laughter

While it wasn’t exactly something new, last week I cooked Shrimp Scampi with my grandma—Nonnie—and every time we do this, it feels like I’m learning something fresh. We have a little tradition where we pick a meal and make it together. It’s our thing. This time, Nonnie showed me—again—the proper way to clean the shrimp. Most people skip that part and go for the pre-shelled stuff, but Nonnie says by saving the shells to use for the sauce. It’s a little gross, not going to lie, but once you smell the way it deepens the flavor, you get why she’s stuck with it all these years. One of these days, I’ll probably try the easier route just to compare, but for now, I’ve found that the longer process really does make the dish taste richer. Cooking with her is always fun. We laugh, we mess up, we multitask like it’s a cooking show in fast-forward. I’ve finally figured out where most of the tools are, and I’m learning how to move faster so nothing burns while we’re goofing off. She keeps me on my toes, and somehow we still make it all work. When everything’s done, we both set the table together—plates first, forks next, and that quiet little moment before we dig in. It always feels rewarding to see the meal we made sitting there, still steaming, ready to be shared. It’s not just about the food—it’s about the time, the teamwork, and the memories tied into every bite.

This is what the meal looks like, so delicious!

A Weekend at the Dallas International Guitar Festival

Friday morning, I was buzzing with energy—The kind of electric, can't-sit-still excitement that only happens when something big is about to go down. The Dallas International Guitar Festival was finally here, and my camera was fully charged, ready for whatever magic the day had in store. I left the house early, making a quick pit stop at Walgreens. The night before, I’d bought everything I needed to create my own business cards—And today was the first time I’d be handing them out. A small act, maybe, but for me? A huge leap. It felt like I was finally putting myself out there, promoting not just what I do, but what I love. The skies were gray, but I wasn’t worried. I figured I had plenty of time to get to the venue, cards in hand, before the rain hit. Spoiler alert: I was wrong. As I pulled up to Dallas Market Hall, it started to sprinkle. I thought, “If I move fast enough, I can make it inside without getting soaked.” Wishful thinking. I made it to the security tent when—Boom! The sky opened up like a waterfall. It poured so hard, it felt like the rain gods had unleashed a full-blown storm just for fun. But in the chaos, something beautiful happened. A kind stranger with an umbrella noticed my drenched, camera-bag-carrying self and offered to walk me to the entrance. Just like that, I was reminded that good people still exist—And that not even a downpour could wash away my excitement. Once inside, the rain shuffled plans around. Bands were moved indoors, time slots were all over the place, and the echoey acoustics made filming a nightmare. But despite the curveballs, there was still something magical about being there. Even soggy and slightly disoriented, I felt proud—Of the moment, the cards in my pocket, and the boldness it took just to show up. This Friday was one for the books. After a rain-soaked Friday full of surprises and soaked sneakers, Saturday arrived with clear skies and a promise of better things. The sun was out, the weather was perfect, and the bands were finally back outside where they belonged. You could feel it in the air—That electric buzz of excitement that only live music and good weather can create. And me? I was glowing right along with it. But this wasn’t just another day at the Dallas International Guitar Festival. This day was special. My mom and her boyfriend were coming to see me in my element—Camera in hand, surrounded by amps and guitars, doing what I love most. There’s something deeply powerful about being seen doing what lights you up inside. It’s vulnerable, but it’s also incredibly rewarding. The morning began with me helping out at the booth, keeping busy and soaking in the energy building around the grounds. Before long, I made my way outside to catch my good friend Rockin’ Robert Tomberlin as he took the stage for his set. Things didn’t go exactly as planned—The sound system had technical issues that ate up most of his time. But in true Robert fashion, he turned it into a moment of connection, calling out friends in the crowd, thanking them for their support. To my surprise, I was one of those people he mentioned. Slightly embarrassed but touched, I shrank into the crowd, trying to blend in—But also silently beaming. It meant a lot. Once the music finally kicked in, the rhythm of the day swept over me, and I got lost in it. When my mom arrived, I lit up all over again. I couldn’t wait to show her everything—The energy, the talent, the joy of it all. I practically dragged her from one end of the venue to the other, wanting her to see every spark of what made this place feel like home to me. Her smiling face, watching me work and capturing moments on camera, filled me with a pride I can’t quite put into words. It was more than just support—It was understanding. She saw me. Sunday brought that same vibrant energy, but with a new twist: my boyfriend was coming for the first time. When he arrived, I could tell it was a bit overwhelming at first. There’s a lot to take in — guitars for days, music pouring out from every direction, and me in full-on excited mode trying to drag him everywhere at once. But as we wandered, the awe started to settle into appreciation. I watched his face light up with every performance, every interaction, every wild and wonderful detail. He was experiencing my world — and loving it. It was like I got to fall in love with the festival all over again through his eyes. We walked hand in hand, laughed between sets, and I got to share the heart of what I do with someone I care deeply about. Even though he couldn’t stay as long as I would’ve liked, just having him there was enough. It meant everything. And so, with tired feet, a full heart, and memory cards packed with moments frozen in time, I wrapped up the final day of the festival knowing I had captured more than just photos — I had captured a piece of myself in the process. The weekend reminded me not only of why I do what I do… but who I am when I’m doing it. 

Why is it so hard to meet new people as an adult?

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how I want to build more friendships, spend my days off more meaningfully, and simply have someone to talk to or go out with. It sounds so simple—yet putting yourself out there can feel like climbing a mountain when you’re naturally shy or anxious. I stumbled across a local book club on Instagram, hosted by a girl who also shares book content on TikTok and YouTube—an influencer of sorts. When I saw they had an in-person event happening at a coffee shop just a few minutes from my house, something in me lit up. “This is my chance,” I thought. I even offered up my work shift to make sure I could go. When it got picked up, I had no excuse. I was going. Fast forward to Thursday afternoon—I was dressed, ready, and sitting in my car outside the venue. And then... I froze. My nerves kicked in so hard I seriously considered turning around and going home. I gave myself five minutes to breathe and calm down. Just walk in, order coffee, take it from there, I told myself. Eventually, I did it. I walked in, ordered a drink, and joined a group of around 20 other women, most in their 20s to 40s. Everyone was talking books, sipping lattes, and getting to know one another. At first, it felt a little cliquey—many already knew each other. I sat back and observed, trying to feel out the energy. But after a while, I started chatting with two girls next to me about the books they’re reading, their jobs, their lives. Just casual conversation—but it meant a lot. For someone as introverted as me, this was a huge deal. Younger me would have never done this. But stepping outside your comfort zone, even in small ways, can change your world. There’s a quote I love that says, “Everything you want is on the other side of fear.” And today, I think I took one brave little step in that direction.

April 11th - Off to Houston for the Art Car Parade

We kicked off the weekend early, waking up to get ready for the road trip to Houston. Spirits were high and the car was packed—but of course, no road trip is complete without some kind of obstacle. Ours came in the form of three solid hours of traffic. We whined, complained, and watched the clock tick painfully slow. Just when we thought we couldn’t take another minute of crawling on the freeway, we hit 4:00Pm… and what do we see? Construction workers calling it a day and heading home. The traffic suddenly started to break up, as if the highway was just messing with us the whole time. We finally made it to our Airbnb around 6:00Pm. Honestly, not bad. The place was pretty nice—even if the bathtub was so slick that Nonnie said she had to cling to the wall as if she were Spider-Man just to avoid wiping out. The ice cubes in the freezer trays? Absolutely massive—like frozen bricks. And the backyard, while advertised as a charming hangout spot, turned out to be so boring the family agreed there wasn’t a single reason to step foot out there. Saturday morning, we fueled up at a tiny coffee shop that screamed “aesthetic vibes only.” The drinks and food were pricey, definitely aimed at the Instagram crowd more than the hungry traveler. From there, we embarked on a mini journey—about a mile hike through a park to reach the parade route. It sounded easy enough until we were halfway through and realized we had to drag our wagon up the stairs of a bridge. By the time we got to the stairs, Nonnie and Ed Dees were practically crawling, clinging to the wagon and each other for dear life. We made it, though—because we had to. The Houston Art Car Parade? Absolutely epic. Words can barely capture the creativity on display. There were cars with animatronic creatures that somehow all moved in perfect sync. One guy drove a cardboard robot car that looked straight out of a sci-fi film—and even cooler, when he talked from inside the vehicle, the robot’s mouth moved with him! We also got some unintentional entertainment: one car featured a live band that was so offbeat, none of the other musicians bothered to perform with the drummer. Right behind them was an attempted karaoke bus—emphasis on attempted—with singers so tone-deaf we were all trying not to laugh. After the parade, we decided to take a detour down to Galveston to feel the sand beneath our toes. But by that point, Nonnie and I were so drained that we stayed behind in the car while Mom and Ed Dees wandered down to the sand. When it was time to find dinner, we quickly realized that everyone in the area had the same idea. Every restaurant had an insane wait time. We finally came across one where the line practically spilled out the door—and to top it off, the air vents inside were so powerful that napkins were flying off the tables. We had to pin them down with our glasses just to keep them from being blown away. On the drive back, Ed Dees made it his personal mission to cook us a homemade breakfast. Unfortunately, the nearest “grocery store” was a gas station, where he managed to find only eggs and plain white bread. He was determined, though—until the next morning when we all realized that without butter, seasoning, or literally anything else, the eggs and bread were basically pointless. So, we ditched the breakfast plan and headed out instead. We made a quick stop at another gas station that looked a little sketchy (cue the jokes about the nearby Huntsville prison museum), then finally found a Tex-Mex restaurant down the road. On the way, we passed two houses with a  boot and cowboy hat on the roof. Classic Texas. All in all, it was an unforgettable trip. From the chaotic traffic to the hilarious car displays, the over-the-top iced coffee to the questionable band performances, I loved every second of it. Even if I’m going home a slightly burned lobster, I honestly don’t want this trip to end.

A Night To Remember: My First Dallas Stars Hockey Game

There’s a special kind of excitement that comes with trying something new—and Thursday night was no exception. I was invited to my very first Dallas Stars hockey game by my boyfriend and his dad! The anticipation leading up to the game was enough to have me on the edge of my seat. Between coordinating plans and imagining the night ahead, I could barely contain my nerves. Around 4:00 p.m., I hopped in my car and began the journey to my boyfriend’s house in Denton. What should have been a straightforward drive turned into a test of patience. Traffic was absolute chaos, and the two-hour car ride felt endless. Every minute stuck in gridlock had me glancing nervously at the clock, worried we might miss the start of the game. By the time I finally pulled up to his house, I was practically bouncing with relief. We quickly piled into his dad’s car and headed for the DART station. The train ride to the American Airlines Center was surprisingly quiet, with only a few passengers getting on and off at each stop. The calm before the storm, I thought. But as soon as the train arrived at our stop, the energy shifted. We made a mad dash to the entrance, weaving through the crowd with a shared determination not to miss a second of the action. Inside the arena, the atmosphere was electric. Fans dressed in green and gold filled the stands, their excitement palpable. After grabbing some food and drinks, we found our seats and settled in just as the pregame festivities began. To my delight, it was ‘80s Night, which meant an endless stream of nostalgic music and playful references during halftime and breaks. It was impossible not to get swept up in the fun. The game itself was a rollercoaster of emotions. By the second quarter, the score was tied 1-1, and the tension in the arena was palpable. Then, out of nowhere, a fight broke out on the ice! The crowd erupted, leaping to their feet and cheering like it was the highlight of the game. I had never seen anything like it and couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer spectacle of it all. Twice during the game, players managed to break their hockey sticks—a detail I found oddly fascinating. It was a reminder of just how intense and physical the sport can be. Unfortunately, the Montreal Canadiens weren’t making it easy for the Stars. They scored a second point, much to the dismay of the home crowd. By the third quarter, the energy in the arena had shifted. Fans began trickling out, sensing that a comeback wasn’t in the cards. As much as we hoped for a last-minute miracle, the Canadiens sealed the night with a third point, leaving the Stars without a win. Despite the loss, the experience was unforgettable. From the lively music to the passionate fans and the thrilling moments on the ice, my first hockey game was everything I hoped it would be and more. As we made our way back to the train station, I couldn’t help but smile. The night may not have ended in victory for the Stars, but it was a win in my book. Here’s to many more adventures, both on and off the ice!