WELCOME TO MOONJELLY

An exchange of words. "Are you from Korea?" "I'm from Guam actually." "Oh, Guam. I could tell." "Could you now?" "Yea, I can tell you have a very kind spirit." "Thanks." "Guam, eh?" "Yep." "Wow. Congratulations." "Thank you." And that was my most awkward interaction of the week. I've never been congratulated by a stranger for literally doing nothing outstanding. Usually I'm the awkward one, but man, that guy-- I actually should have congratulated him instead. For being first

I think I've developed an allergy to a particular liquid highlighter, and I think that's the universe telling me to cool it with the glow obsession. Which is a mega bummer, because highlighter is my jam. Not being able to apply that shimmery goodness on the highest point of my cheekbones makes my soul feel deflated. For now, I just have to let my skin reset itself, take it easy, and then figure out what highlighter products are agreeable with my sensitive af skin. Sometimes I

I'm a child of the 90's. I love the 90's. (Did you sing that to the tune of that one VH1 tv show? I hope so.) As a child of the 90's, I can tell you that I was all about "Ren and Stimpy." It was crude, it was edgy, it was silly, and it made me crack up. Not sure why my parents let us watch the show, it was riddled with gross out humor and a weird emphasis on butts, and the characters came off rather deranged and kind of dumb. I think my parents thought my older brother was ma

I have been told that I am SO QUIET a handful of times. It's true. I'm quiet. I dislike most people when I first meet them. They probably dislike me, as well, due to my soundless nature and my officially diagnosed Resting Bitch Face. (It is estimated that 74% of American women have RBF, so educate yourselves, people!) It takes me ages to feel comfortable enough around someone to be my REAL self. Maybe it's in my stars. Maybe it's my upbringing. Maybe I was born with it. Mayb

Here's a fun test. When you're at home, scream at the top of your lungs and see who comes running to your rescue. The one who responds first is the one who loves you most. In my case, it's my cat who comes speeding down the hallway to see what's up. Coming in second place is my husband who comes running around the corner, saying, "Babe! What what what?!" Who loves me more? I mean, I don't want to name names, but it's probably my cat. Granted, she is impressively fast. So this

My husband and I recently celebrated our first year of marriage. It’s our first year of wedded bliss, but our twelfth year of dating. Our love is as old as a sixth grader. We met in high school at our church youth group. I’m pretty sure he initially came to meet girls, but ended up getting romanced by the LORD ALMIGHTY. (He has since ended this relationship btw.) Meeting me was just an added perk. Homeboy slid into my DM’s—what we older millennials knew as MSN Messenger, the