And We Watched Football

We looked at the stars while he passed me my drink. This—this was how I always imagined life should feel. The beach chairs in his parents’ backyard gave us the perfect view of a sparkling night sky.

I met Pedro through a mutual friend at a club. From the start, our personalities just clicked. I couldn’t quite pinpoint what attracted me to him—it wasn’t his style or even his looks. There was just something about him that made me stay.

“Hey, the game will be on in about 30 minutes. You wanna jump in the pool for a quick swim before kickoff?” he asked, a little too confidently.

I nodded, smiling. We stripped down to our underwear and I jumped in first, only to realize—I forgot my drink.

“Hey, Pedro!” I called, “Can you grab our drinks?”

He turned around, grabbed our red plastic cups, and walked them over to the edge of the pool. But instead of handing them to me like a gentleman, he splashed me right in the face.

“Hey! My hair isn’t naturally curly!” I yelled through laughter.

He handed me my drink, and we slipped into a conversation about how stars were formed, wondering if they’d still exist at the end of the world. You know, nerdy stuff—the kind of talk that makes you feel like the only two people on Earth.

Maybe it was the high. Maybe the drinks. Maybe the chemistry. Whatever it was, I was having a blast.

Pedro eventually climbed out of the pool, grabbed our towels, and reminded me the game was about to start. It was our team—one we weirdly always watched together because they won every time we did. Superstitious? Maybe. But we didn’t mess with the ritual.

His parents were out of town visiting family in California, so there was no need for me to rush home. Still, I couldn’t help but notice: he was in his 30s and still living at home. I didn’t know when he’d last been in a real relationship. It was clear he wasn’t in any rush to settle down.

But in that moment, I didn’t care. I enjoyed him. There were no expectations, even though feelings were starting to bubble beneath the surface. I knew deep down that this wouldn’t last—but it didn’t make the memories any less special.

I plopped onto the long sectional while he settled into the recliner.

“Hey,” he said, looking over, “Come over here.”

I didn’t hesitate. I curled into his lap just as the game began. We clinked cups, I grabbed snacks from the table, and we rode the emotional rollercoaster that is football.

Honestly, I don’t know what’s more dramatic—watching Grey’s Anatomy kill off yet another character or watching this team blow a lead in the last five minutes. Either way, my heart can only take so much.

We laughed, shouted, cheered, and—yes—I gave up too early, and he teased me for it. But our team won. And for the two of us, it felt like magic.

Later, we made our way to his childhood bedroom. And what happened after that?

Well, let’s just say—I never kiss and tell.

The Old Role Switcheroo

I’ve noticed something in my relationship with my parents—it feels like I stepped into the parental role way too early in life. Recently, I read an article in the Chicago Tribune that confirmed this isn’t uncommon. More and more kids are becoming the “grown-ups” in their homes before they even hit adulthood. And honestly? It feels a little unfair.

I remember my own teenage years being mostly secluded. Sure, I had moments of escape, like going to band camp. But when I came home, I was expected to take care of my younger sister. It always felt like my mom either didn’t notice her misbehavior or just let her do what she wanted. And my dad? He stopped being a part of our lives when I was 14. He only resurfaced about three years ago.

By 16, I was the one keeping an eye on my sister, trying to make sure she wasn’t sneaking around with the neighbor or coming home with a hickey that my mom would notice. I felt like I had to be responsible for her, and it left me longing for something deeper with my mom—a connection I never really got.

When I finally left for college, it felt like I was doing something just for me—a bold step toward independence. But I carried a heavy guilt. After I left, things seemed to fall apart for my sister. She dropped out of high school, moved in with her boyfriend at 16, and I constantly wondered: What if I hadn’t left?

After many years of therapy—and lots of sessions with the Comedian, my in-house therapist—I’ve come to realize something important: I was too young to be anyone’s savior. I wasn’t responsible for my sister’s choices. But that early sense of responsibility shaped me. It showed up in my relationships too. I kept dating people I thought I could “fix.” (If I had a dollar for every time...)

I mean, I once picked up an ex-boyfriend from a bus stop just so we could hang out—because he “couldn’t make it all the way.” That was the norm for me. Until I met the Comedian. He was the first person who took care of me, and in return, I got to take care of him. That mutual support was a whole new experience.

The Chicago Tribune article described kids just like me:

“A straight-A student comes home and starts supper, knowing she’ll spend the evening listening to her dad talk about his troubled personal life.”

“A young beauty-pageant contestant beams at her mom, who is proud to call her daughter her best friend.”

I know people who lived this. And even as adults, it feels like our parents pull us back into those same roles—the ones where we had to grow up too fast.

That instinct to take care of everyone? It still lingers. I still catch myself wanting to fix everything for my family. But for my own well-being and sanity, I’ve learned something critical:

It’s okay to step back.

Let them figure it out sometimes. Because healing your own inner child often means releasing the need to parent everyone else.

No One Likes the Same Flavor of Ice Cream

ice cream cones

In the mornings, I like to indulge in a little talk radio. I know it’s not the healthiest habit, but there’s something comforting about listening to other people ramble about their opinions—until the topic turns shallow. That’s when I quickly changed the station to something with no talking, just good music.

The other day, though, one segment really got to me. The hosts were discussing whether people get upset when they spend time getting ready—hair, makeup, outfit—and no one compliments them. Honestly, it made me a little sad. Not because of the topic itself, but because it showed how many people rely on validation from others to feel beautiful.

I might sound judgmental saying this, but really—who cares?! Beauty comes from the inside. I’ve learned over the years that when I exude confidence and feel beautiful, others notice naturally. Growing up, my younger sister and I couldn’t have been more different. She was thin, popular, the one everyone noticed. I was awkward, insecure, and unsure of myself for most of middle and high school. She made it a bit of a competition to have all the boys like her, and for a long time, I felt invisible.

Then, one day—someone liked me instead of her. Shocking, right?

But here’s the thing: it didn’t really matter. Because I came to understand something powerful—the same guys who liked her weren’t going to be into me, and that’s okay. We were different. We are different. Different styles, different personalities, different everything.

And that’s where my favorite analogy comes in:

"No one likes the same flavor of ice cream. They just might not like my flavor."

That doesn’t make my flavor any less awesome.

What bothered me about that radio topic was the way it justified insecurity. Like if you spend two hours getting ready, it only matters if someone notices. But the truth is—do it for you. Get dressed up, take time for yourself, wear the thing that makes you feel like magic. That glow? That’s yours. And you don’t need applause for it to matter.

There’s a saying:
"Dress for the job you want."

But I’d argue—dress for the life you want. Show up for yourself in a way that reflects how you want to feel. Beautiful. Confident. Whole.

You don’t need everyone to like your flavor.
Just make sure you do.

The Evolution of Val

The other day, I was perusing my old laptop when I stumbled upon some college-era blog posts. Reading through them felt like time-traveling into the world of my younger self—a drama-filled, boy-crazy, party girl phase that I remember all too well. It's wild to think I’ve been blogging since 2004. Back then, I was writing on MySpace, convinced I was the next Puerto Rican Carrie Bradshaw.

Honestly, I’ve been journaling since middle school. (Yes, I even found those too.) One memory that still makes me laugh—though it definitely wasn’t funny at the time—was when my sister took my high school diary to the neighbor’s house and read it out loud. I was going through puberty and “discovering myself” (you know what I mean), and I thought that diary was a safe place to write about… certain experiences. Spoiler: it wasn’t.

Still, reading through those old entries made me proud. I’m in awe of how much I’ve grown. Some of the same thoughts and values are still with me, but the woman I am today is more grounded, more intentional. I think growth like this often starts after hitting some kind of rock bottom—a moment where you say to yourself, “I don’t want to be this version of me anymore.”

That moment came for me at 21. I won’t go into all the details—that’s a blog for another day—but I made a conscious decision to be better. And I stuck with it.

Life is a constant evolution. I truly believe we should always be learning, always growing. The last time I felt like I was spiraling, I found comfort in positive thinking and faith. And with those two things on my side, I know I won’t return to that place again.

My 20s were full of messy dating experiences, adulting lessons, and self-discovery. And honestly? I think my 30s are going to be fabulous. Maybe 10 years from now, I’ll look back and write “The Evolution of Val: Part II.” And I hope I’m still proud of the woman I continue becoming.