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I was born in Fremont, California, the oldest of three children. I, of course, was mature and responsible. My brother and sister were brats who purposely annoyed me by looking at me and breathing too loud.
When I was three, we moved to Merced, a small central California town nobody’s ever heard of unless they got a speeding ticket there on the way to, well, anywhere else. I spent my time reading and making up stories. In my stories, the heroine was always an only child.
I grew up thinking I'd be a writer someday. I spent a lot of time not being a writer while I waited for someday to arrive. Finally, on the plane ride home from New York after my sister’s wedding, I decided it was time to start writing. I waited till we landed, then went to work as a “real” writer.
Turns out, being a real writer comes with petty annoyances like real writer’s block and a perpetual lack of real financial security. So I started writing web content to deal with the financial security issue. And I discovered improv comedy in an effort to alleviate the writer’s block. Now it’s hard to say which is more important to me, writing or improv, but it doesn’t matter anymore because in my world one can’t exist without the other.
I’ve been happily married to my husband, Scott, forever. He’s got degrees in math and physics and engineering and is a pretty swell guy. We live in Long Beach, California with our Jindo, Koji, in a house that’s a perpetual work-in-progress. The brats (and their spouses) are now some of my best friends, in large part because they quit looking at me and learned to breathe normally. My favorite food is sushi, my favorite color is orange, I work out with an Evil Trainer twice a week to keep in shape, my dream car is a ’63 Corvette. And if I could have any job in the world, I would be a writer. Or an improv performer.
Hey. I’m already both of those things. How friggin’ cool is that?