Somewhere between sober culture and scrolling culture, we lost the plot. This episode follows that thread — how going sober became the new cool, how being online became a full-time identity, and how we quietly forgot how to log off.

I talk about the rise of self-diagnosis, comparison, and jealousy as background noise, and how living online long enough changes the way you feel in your own body. And when you zoom out far enough, it all points to the same thing: why making friends feels harder than ever, why adult friendships feel fragile, and why so many people are walking around feeling disconnected without knowing how they got there.

This is a conversation about the friendship recession — the emotional cost of never signing off, and the quiet loneliness that comes with it.

This episode is a holiday-season panic attack disguised as a podcast. I ride shotgun through seasonal depression, Black Friday/Cyber Monday marketing insanity, and the endless flood of sale emails that turn “retail therapy” into retail trauma — because saving money never looked so triggering.

The anxiety of trying to survive while working nights, missing daylight for weeks, Uber becoming my makeshift chef, and realizing cooking three meals a day is a luxury even for people without kids. I talk about the grind, the burnout, and the creeping materialism — like the internet turned us into collectors of things instead of creators of memories.

Somewhere in the chaos, I get into the dating-app fatigue, the fantasy of meeting someone organically again, and the hilarious way married women gravitate toward me while I’m out here explaining, once again, why I’m actually not a lesbian. I touch on taking Plan B, questioning who the hell my pre-internet self even was, and dreaming about taking this podcast to a stage one day — Unwell, if you’re listening, hello.

It’s messy, overstimulated, under-slept, and weirdly comforting — the perfect holiday-season meltdown.

This week Rough Drafts I get into the story I never told properly — mostly because it sounds like a fever dream written by a bored screenwriter during lockdown. But here we are.

In this episode, I finally talk about the time I got stuck in Italy, went mildly viral by accident, became the unofficial “pandemic girl” for half the news stations in Canada, and somehow landed a six-month radio show because life loves a plot twist.

I get into the version of me that existed before the internet swallowed all of us whole, the weird ways your brain rewires under pressure, why shaving after 30 should qualify for Olympic recognition, and what happens when your personal growth gets broadcasted to strangers.

It’s chaotic, it’s messy, it’s very Barely Edited — and it explains a lot more about me than I expected.

Rough Drafts… you’re getting the uncut version.

Seasonal depression, vape regrets, murder mysteries, and the time I told a bride to fire her maid of honor — welcome back to the chaos, Rough Drafts.

This episode is a full-course meal of chaos — equal parts caffeine, confession, and Christmas panic. I talk about seasonal depression and how the sound of someone chewing can turn me into a full-blown villain, giving “holiday rage” a whole new meaning.

Then there’s the part where I told a bride to fire her maid of honor — which, for the record, Stefano specifically told me not to do. But because I have a big mouth and a savior complex, I did it anyway. I just couldn’t stand there and let this poor girl’s wedding implode in real time. Sometimes you’ve gotta ignore logic, ignore Stefano, and follow your inner wedding therapist. Choose your maid of honor like you’d choose a business partner: with strategy, not guilt.

From there, it’s a spiral of THC-induced shopping sprees, murder mystery birthday planning, and the last-minute chaos of building my Christmas sets with zero time and too much ambition. Somewhere between giving up vape pens and giving up control, I realize: maybe I thrive in disaster.

It’s unfiltered, unstable, and somehow still festive.

Episode 27 is what happens when you hit your vape pen and accidentally open every tab in your brain. I start by revisiting all the weird jobs I’ve had — the questionable interviews, the unhinged managers, the “how did I even end up here” moments — and somehow spiral into a conversation about people who are too much.

The good kind of too much — funny, loud, magnetic — that everyone loves. Until it flips, and suddenly you’re “too emotional,” “too opinionated,” or “too much work.” Because apparently being human comes with a return policy.

I talk about feeling boxed in by what people expect from me on this podcast — how the minute I started talking about Tinder, Bumble, and threesomes, everyone wanted that version of me. But that’s not the only story I have. Being a creator means still showing up when you’re not in the mood, still filming when your hair’s falling out from Mounjaro, and still finding ways to make chaos entertaining.

Somewhere between burnout, event planning, and my sister’s Gossip Girl–slash–murder mystery birthday, I realize maybe this episode doesn’t need to make sense — because neither do I right now.

Call it unfiltered, call it a breakdown — either way, it’s a show.

This week is the definition of chaos cuisine: I start in the kitchen, where my attempt at making simple veggies and rice turned into a full-blown crime scene — burns, cuts, broken nail, the works. From there, the universe decided to spice things up by throwing me face-to-face with an ex I didn’t even recognize… until I realized he now has kids. And honestly? Nothing feels more like instant karma than watching a man who treated you like shit suddenly raising a daughter.

Then we get into friendship breakups — the kind that leave you realizing you were more of a convenience store instead of a forever home. I spiral into the whataboutmeism era we’re all living in, where people don’t listen anymore; they just hijack every story as if life is one big comment section.

And to top it all off? Stefano has been swiping on my dating apps like he’s auditioning for a role in my personal soap opera — accidentally matching me with people I actually know, including a friend’s girlfriend. Bon appétit.

We open with blood. A lot of it. After 22 years of getting my period, you’d think my uterus would know the drill — but instead, it showed up like a hitman. I’m at a wedding on a tampon scavenger hunt, whispering to strangers like I’m trying to score coke. One of them delivers like she’s handing off a baggie. It was dark. It was powerful. It was hot af.

Then we head to the strip club — for Italbae's birthday — and a reminder that Montreal might actually have the hottest women on the planet. We didn’t get a lap dance, but we did fall in lust. Deep, horny, confusing lust.

And yes, I did get banned from Tinder. But the real issue? Every single woman on there is either looking for their soulmate or trying to get me to fuck their boyfriend. Every profile feels like a Craigslist ad for a unicorn, or it’s someone’s blurry selfie on the streets or kissing their cat. We talk dating apps, red flags, bizarre bios, and what it actually means to explore your sexuality when the internet feels like one big group chat you didn’t ask to join.

This one’s unhinged. And if you’ve ever felt emotionally confused in a strip club bathroom, or swiped through seven poly couples before 9 a.m., this one’s for you.

In this episode, I talk about what happens when just enough time passes for you to almost forget why you left — until you remember everything all at once.

When you start to miss someone you reshaped in your mind just to survive the way they treated you. But softness isn’t love. Distance isn’t closure. And time doesn’t replace an apology.

I unpack what it means to grieve the role someone played — or the version of them you had to invent — just to make staying feel safe. I talk about the weaponization of guilt when you finally speak your truth, and why repeated hurt isn’t a mistake — it’s a message. Patterns aren’t accidents. They’re choices.

If it hurt you again and again, it wasn’t a phase. It was them. People constantly show us who they are. It’s time to believe them.

This one’s for the version of you who swallowed your pain so no one else had to feel uncomfortable — and the version of you who’s finally done carrying that weight.