We asked “Spirit” about the direction of my life and career. This wasn’t an organized reading, just a few girls hanging out at a mutual friend’s apartment on the westside. We got on the topic of life and career after eating Thai takeout, as mine are both currently…in transition. I got laid off, moved across town, and am generally figuring things out. I really thought Spirit would throw me a bone, tell me that everything was going to work out this month. Especially in front of my new and enchanting tarot-reader friend. I was so confident that Spirit would deliver me a positive message that I joked about the time my friend’s older sister gave me a “love reading” about my situationship in San Diego. I pulled the death card and cried about it and left the house on Mount Soledad and drove home. An incident my friends still like to remind me about 5 years later. “Remember when Fiona did the tarot reading about [REDACTED] and cried about it?” I didn’t listen to the cards, and the cursed situationship died in my arms a few days later. I looked pretty stupid trying to resuscitate it. All in all — Spirit doesn’t lie.

“So the money…it’s not coming this month.” My new, enchanting tarot-reader friend with perfect skin looked up at me compassionately. “And this, the lovers in reverse,” she raised the card and extended it forward. “Means celibacy.” I titled my head back and closed my eyes. “What the f**k,” I exhaled with a defeated chuckle. This was the death to the situationship reading all over again, but worse. My dream of fantastically coming into a large sum of money, meeting the love of my life on the sidewalk — both of which would require little to no effort from me — shattered in my lap. According to my new, enchanting tarot-reader friend with perfect skin and hair it wasn’t going to unfold like that at all. I regretted asking Spirit for guidance.

The other cards in the spread accurately reflected my uncertain state. “You’re one foot in, one foot out.” She folded her legs and straightened her spine like a yoga teacher at the front of class. “This month you have to commit to the vision,” she delivered firmly. “No distractions.” I scratched my head. Felt some dry pieces of skin flake off from when I burned my scalp two weeks ago. “Okay, yeah. Commit to the vision.” I pretended like I knew what that was and we moved on to the next girl.

After hours of conversing with my new, enchanting tarot-reader friend with perfect skin and hair, a great job, and a direct line to the divine, I discovered that, she also had a boyfriend. Also. Of three years. A boyfriend of three years who’s tall and good-looking and employed. I made her show me a picture of them and shuttered. No swag gap detected. Now my “broke, celibate, and needs to commit to the vision” reading felt even more abysmal. Especially because my new friend didn’t lead with having a boyfriend. My absolute favorite type of straight woman. One that doesn’t make “having a man” the most interesting thing about her. A woman that values her career and identity and connection to self over her value to a man. It makes the revelation of her romantic relationship even sweeter and juicier, like biting into a truffle and tasting an unexpected, creamy, caramel filling. It’s a part of her life, not her entire life. A woman who is like this feels intrinsically defiant of the patriarchy, when all she’s doing is centering herself.

I have been single most of my life for two reasons. 1. I operate from the belief that I need to: a. figure out and b. commit to “the vision”before I can effectively be in a relationship and give it the time, energy, and space it needs. Great. And, 2. I have a compatibility issue. Maybe not an “issue” but — difficulty with compatibility. Potentially because I’m preoccupied by this unforeseen vision. Or it’s my off-putting sense of humor. Or both.

I badger my girl friends in relationships. “Does [INSERT HER BOYFRIEND’S NAME] have any friends you think I’d be compatible with?” I say with a straight face, holding back laugher, pursing my lips. I know the answer, because I’ve asked before. “Mmmm…” they look up at sky, roll their eyes, search for an answer. “No.” They shake their head. “No. You’re too…” and trail off. I know what they mean, I’m too committed to the vision for a relationship, YES! I get it. Except, what the f**k am I doing to decode the puzzle that is my purpose? I stay up late on Reddit, lately it’s been r/skincancer following my horrid scalp burn. I scroll, I text, holy s**t all I do is text, on my computer, on my phone, on my iPad. Bought the iPad for no reason. Drink so much coffee I’ll probably get another kidney stone. Bet a salt deposit is floating around in my kidney right now waiting to latch onto the fleshy walls. I hang out with friends when I should be working, do yoga in the middle of the day to “decompress.” From what? What am I doing? Go on a walk for cardio, but does walking even count? I’m not getting any skinnier. Star isn’t getting any brighter. Stacks aren’t getting any bigger.

Last week I moved into my own apartment, which I think is a solid stride in A direction. Spring has brought flowers and taxes and dual rent and expenses and health insurance so there will surely be a bridge to cross when I arrive at May 1 in the meadow. Hopefully the vision is all mapped out and realized by then. I have 23 days to see the vision fulfilled.

One of my upstairs neighbors is a woman named Eden. She’s lived in the building for 20 years and doesn’t pick her up her feet when she walks. After just a few days, I began to recognize her shuffle from my bedroom window as she sauntered down the alley to her Mini Cooper. I helped her carry her groceries up the stairs and caught a glimpse of an easel by the west-facing window. A portrait of a young boy done in acrylic paint. OK, so Eden is an artist I noted. I imagined Eden and I becoming companions, like Jessa and Beadie in Season 3 of Girls. Jessa is hired to assist Beadie, an eccentric and ailing artist in New York City. Jessa becomes somewhat of a pseduo-daughter to Beadie, who is estranged from her actual daughter. As they grow closer, Beadie suggests she’s going to leave her estate to Jessa (which would be a fantastic way to come into a large some of money with little to no effort). I decided to rewatch Girls Season 3, Episode 12, “Two Plane Rides” and Season 4, Episode 1 “Iowa” to jog my memory. I seemed to have forgotten a major plot point, which is that Beadie also asks Jessa to help her kill herself. Jessa reluctantly agrees and gets her pills, but after Beadie swallows them she decides she no longer wants to die. Beadie ends up moving to Connecticut with her daughter that she hates and Jessa doesn’t get the money. After the Girls rewatch I of course no longer wanted to call in a Jessa/Beadie storyline for Fiona/Eden. And, it wouldn’t have unfolded as desired anyways, because Eden told me that she was broke. One afternoon after getting home from physical therapy she stopped in front of my door in the entryway.

“I’m so broke right now,” she huffed.

“Mmm.” I titled my head and gave a slow nod in agreement.

She started making her way up the stairs, gripping the handrail. “My therapist told me I should either get a cat or a boyfriend or sell a painting,” she yelled over her shoulder.

“I’m with you girl.” I cheered her on from down below.

You can’t help but be inspired by the vivid, red roses and spiky, green dracaena (DRUH-SEE-NUH) leaves that fan across my French windows. By the monarch butterflies and wild iris and aquamarine tile. It’s an artful space, no wonder Eden has lived here for so long. I invited one of my childhood friends over to watercolor. Stretched out on the hardwood floor, we drank orange wine and played The Sundays and stippled our paint methodically. We ran through our usual topics and found new dissections amidst life updates. She has a boyfriend but doesn’t lead with having a boyfriend so I can talk to her about relationships and not be misunderstood. I feel as though a lot of people in my life assume I’m not interested in romance or partnership because I don’t put a lot of effort directly into dating. My friend organized the cluttered observations I’ve made about me and my single friends with an astute conclusion. She said, “Some people want to meet their person first, and think everything else in their life will fall into place after, while others want to figure their life out first, and then ideally meet their person.”

I suppose now that I write this out, it isn’t quite as groundbreaking as I thought it was when I was drunk off the orange wine. But I do think her philosophy correctly depicts how most of us in our late 20s approach dating. I’ve noticed a lot of the single people I talk to think their life will begin once they meet their partner. They’re in a state of anxious waiting until they can attain the sense of stability and security they anticipate will come with meeting their husband, wife, partner, soul connection etc. Once the relationship is ironed out, then they can address the decade-long career they resent, then they can freshen up the resume, leave the city they no longer enjoy, pursue their hopes and dreams, seek happiness, reach enlightenment. “Once I have a man, I’ll start running, and I’ll read before bed, and I’ll eat papaya, and I’ll wake up early, and I’ll dress classy and wear a Staud bag and have great skin,” they think. Everything will be great, once I have a man.

“They” aka “me.” I’ve played with this idea many times. It’s addicting to play with — irresistible. Intoxicating is the idea that someone is coming to save me. An indistinct, handsome image hangs on the end of a stick like a carrot, tantalizing my running subconscious every time I close my eyes. It would be a holy experience for someone to appear in my life, love me unconditionally, pay off my credit card, soothe my inner child, accept my fatal flaws. Anointed by Source, saved by someone else, I’d finally sleep at night without taking Advil PM.

I find that women who don’t lead with having a boyfriend recognize that you can’t place happiness on anything outside of yourself. Unfortunately. It f*****g sucks but it’s true. I am constantly trying to place happiness on things outside of myself — likes, videos, brand deals, clothes, external validation, expensive skincare. It doesn’t work. I wake up the next day with the same existential dread and grogginess from the Advil PM. What sucks even harder is that once you accept no one is coming to save you — believe it, and know it and live by it — you end up making stronger, more soulful connections with people. Everything in life is backwards I swear to g*d.

Standing in the glow of my refrigerator light I ate the remnants of the cold Thai takeout 4 days later. The pad see ew had coagulated into one massive block. I shoveled it into my mouth, knowing it would make my stomach hurt, but my brain couldn’t stop my movements. We decided that I was the rightful recipient of the Thai takeout in light of Source slapping me across the face. I took it home happily.

In the past month, I’ve desperately scoured the internet for new freelance opportunities, most of which involve championing someone else’s dream, building someone else’s brand. Which I am more than willing to do for a check so I continue to bang, bang, bang on the doors to no prevail. I’ve re-downloaded Hinge, I’ve tried forcing myself to have a crush on a bartender at the wine bar. Maybe I better get used to mustaches and men who wear cropped trousers now that I live on the eastside. A little brown box on my doorstep brings a wave of immense joy, only for me to feel empty upon opening it.

The only thing I seem to relish is sitting in front of the French windows and watching the roses sway in the breeze and the monarch butterflies flutter past the glass. Watching the light fade from a bright white to a slow, golden honey. Listening to Eden walk up and down the alley. She sold a painting, I overheard her talking to another neighbor. A few thousand dollars, not so bad.

As much as I search, the only thing I can ever find is me.

thanks for reading <3-fiona

things I’ve been obsessed with lately:— at one of our writing workshops my friend said, "in order to change myself i must understand myself, but once i understand myself i don’t want to change her.” — le labo thé matcha. i did spend $100 on the small bottle but it’s truly my favorite scent of all time — fishwife tuna, fire— i’m reading ottessa’s short story collection “homesick for another world” — she’s gotta be one of my favorite writers of all time. i don’t even read that much but i absolutely LOVE her writing. the characters in these stories are so weird/fucked up— nyx lip liner stain, $12 can’t be beat— anything spiral ꩜— calling my apartment “mermaid manor” it’s so obnoxiously funny to me

I have a lot of life updates, realizations and downloads for this month’s episode.Topics include: — My personal work update, insight on how I’m approaching my career and creative endeavors — Discipline as a form of self-love— My relationship with marriage and having kids now that I’m 28— Backhanded compliments when your path is abnormal or extraordinary— Should I go to a bar alone this week? — Social life feeling vastly different at 28 than it did at 24. Is it my fault or is this normal? — 2026 wants & needs, gotta speak it into existenceAny and all feedback is welcome, thank you for listening!

it travels beneath the trash and hits the bottom of the dumpster with a “ding.” i contemplate diving in to fish it out, but ultimately decide against it because the dumpster is infested with flies and i saw a raccoon in there once.

faux freckles can’t make me look that much better. can’t make me that much more appealing, that much more of a natural-born beauty.

i can’t help but wonder how i’d feel if i had worked out like i said i would, and had remembered to put mousse in my hair before blowdrying, and had found a secondhand handbag all my friends would compliment, and hadn’t accidentally thrown the faux freckle pen in the fly-infested dumpster.

maybe then i could let myself live.

i met the girl i stalk on depop a few weeks ago at an influencer event. it feels unnatural saying that because i’m not really an influencer. maybe an influencer of thought. a modern-day philosopher without the academia or the discipline. she was there with her friend by the pool, a palm tree draped over them as they sipped on martinis, careful not to smudge their lipliner. capris and polka dots, patchwork tattoos on tan skin. chunky silver rings and naturally good nails. a cherry phone case and a missed call from her boyfriend with a mustache. she was my pinterest board embodied. the screensaver of her and her boyfriend in a photo booth almost made me throw her phone in the pool.

we got to chatting and i think she liked my reassuring personality, with which i will not pretend i don’t admire your outfit if i do. la girls in polka dot capris and just enough lip filler to make you question if it’s natural sometimes like me and sometimes don’t. there’s something to respect about my rejection of the “i’m cooler than you” game that often makes people with a social media following uncomfortable.

she told me she got the polka dot capris on depop so i found her and stalked her and lost sleep and skipped dinner, crazily reconsidering everything i’d bought and couldn’t afford. just because i don’t participate in the “i’m cooler than you” game verbally, personally, maybe i want to aesthetically. i don’t want to completely count myself out of getting a brand deal one day. i mean s**t, skims, garage, roadway moving. sue me, i want an original apartment in silver lake and to go to canyon coffee and bar seco too!

what does a girl have to do to be brand friendly any boyfriend safe? i don’t even really like mustaches but f**k, i’ll take one. like a green tea shot on someone else’s tab i’m not gonna say “no.”

the other night i sat at a bar in venice beach with my friend. she told me that i won’t like the guy she’s dating, but that she likes him, so we agreed that’s all that matters.

how is a person supposed to know that they’re beautiful if no one’s there to tell them that they are? you can tell yourself something incessantly but it’s an undeniable sensation when it radiates off of someone else’s lips.

i’m not above dating a guy with a mustache that my friends don’t like. i’m no better than lip filler and instagram stories i just can’t pretend that all of this isn’t negatively affecting me.

quite frankly, i’m not the type of girl you wanna look like. the type of girl who makes you wrestle in your closet and poke at your stomach fat. you won’t dye your eyebrows and pierce your nose cause of me. slip a ring through it and call it edge.

instead, you braid your hair because it reminds you of middle school. when you loved art class and made collages with magazines.

instead, you pick out the baggy camo cargos that you wore to concerts, when you drank svedka and kissed your friends on the mouth.

instead, you skip mascara, because your dad tells you it reminds him of summer 2005.

instead, you thrift a pair polka dot capris because it reminds you of watching the nanny at sleepovers, and because they make your ass look great.

thanks for reading no hobbies, just vibes <3

I haven’t done a solo podcast episode since I got my job at Unwell in November… For those of you who just followed me on Substack (thank you, btw) I’m a host of a daily, live pop culture show on Sirius XM called The Daily Dirty (you can follow us on Instagram, TikTok and you can listen on ch. 109 or in the Sirius XM app).

I LOVE my job (it’s truly an opinionated, leo girl’s dream…I get to talk s**t on-air everyday) and I want to continue doing solo episodes to expand my hosting abilities.

In today’s episode I’ll talk about: ✨ getting my job (from making TikToks to manifesting and the power of Halloween) ✨ how having an on-air “talent” role has made me both more confident and more insecure ✨ creative & sexual energy come from the same place…tea✨ turning 28 and comparing timelines ✨ my current approach to dating✨ your identity creates your reality, beloved

Please feel free to leave comments on this post, I love any & all feedback. I know my mic isn’t great I need to update that lemme get this paycheck first. xoxo, Fiona

In this episode I talk about the Halloween party I went to in LA where everyone looked the same and had a perfect nose (I thought I was bugging) manifestation techniques (that have been WERKING for me), how to deal with negative people, bad kissers, a little prayer to God that Kamala wins...And the awkwardness of curving guys especially through text or DM.

Live from Connecticut, in this episode I talk more about growing up with an autistic brother, my recent longing for New York and how I'm starting to reimagine my life there (I'm going down for the weekend tomorrow, so more insights and observations to come next week). I discuss Monsters: The Erik and Lyle Menendez Story on Netflix, how I haven't had a real crush in so long (besides Nicholas Chavez from Monsters), DMing guys first, and some current likes & dislikes.

I talk about a date I went on with a 40 year-old, sleeping on the floor of a boat in Catalina, my life as a freelancer (and why I’ve had to end some work relationships recently), small things I’m doing to change my life, and lunar eclipse rituals for releasing and letting go.

Stay tapped in & turned on baddies. Suggestions are welcome!