Defining MA-ruh-REE-tuh:

I like;
Long walks on the beach, a nudist beach…whiskey straight…and to raise hell at a bar.
I kid, mostly.
  • I prefer whiskey sours and love me my bourbon with honey and a slice of lemon.
  • I have an infatuation with books and yoga, and am still trying to figure out how to do both simultaneously.
  • I come from a shitty past and hope to write a memoir about it someday. It’ll be fun, I promise.
  • I’m obsessed with Harry Potter and watching Korean Dramas. Sorry, not sorry.
  • I have a horrible knack for remembering names, but I will recognize your face. So, careful.
  • In regards to memory, I have a bad one. I can say one thing and ten seconds later I can’t even paraphrase what I just said. Whoops. Trust me, you’ll win in any argument.
  • I’m prideful – it’s one of my biggest sins, but I am no longer Catholic, so to hell with it.
  • Speaking of, I like Buddhism. Or Universalism. It’s a thing, look it up. But I refrain from being religious, per se.
  • I have always been overly conscious about my body, and have held an impressively low self-esteem for a while now. But I’m constantly working on it. As you should. We should be grateful of our bodies, and treat them with such gratitude.
  • I have freckles. On my face, my arms, my shoulders, and oddly enough, my lips.
  • My blood reigns from Sicily, Italy and I have some Japanese and Filipino descent. In other words, I’m a mutt – but there’s my “ethnicity.”
  • Also, surprise, I’m a Millennial. I know, Millennials don’t like labels, even though they find themselves chronically searching for them. But I like it. It sets me apart while simultaneously including me with my peers.

Even with regard to all of this, I am an individual who is also indistinguishable. I have faults, make faults, underscore faults, and behave like any other person. So welcome to my blog, I look forward to evoke contradictory emotions and opinions from your self.

The best type of people to surround yourself with are those who question everything, and settle for nothing.
Meet Cheza, not “Cheese-ah,” but “cheh-zah.” I admit, I do call her cheese-ball.