greetings, earthlings.

Let me just get this out there—this is not a blog about dance. I am not, nor will I ever be, interested in the cha-cha-cha, though if you happen to be, go here. I am, however, immensely interested in me—as most twenty-somethings are (interested in themselves, that is, not me).

When I was a kid, I went almost exclusively by “Cha Cha”—so much so that, when Grandma Katie would ask me my name, my two year old self would respond, “Cha Cha Diguez!” As most nicknames do, “Cha Cha” ultimately faded into relative obscurity, I assume around the time I began kindergarten (something tells me Mrs. Plowman wouldn’t have let the whole “Cha Cha Diguez” misnomer fly). Luckily, Grandma Katie, ever the classic, has not only miraculously preserved her jet-black hair, but has also kept the “Cha Cha” nickname alive and well.

To those of you who have known me since the Cha Cha days—the fam (hi Mom!), the nannies (look how I’ve grown! Or not, if you were my nanny post-4th grade…), and the oldies-but-goodies best friends (scarred witnesses of the disastrous glasses/braces/bushy hair combo)—this is for you.

To more recently acquired friends, acquaintances, and random strangers—it’s for you too, though I doubt you have built up the years of tolerance to me that the above have...

The past few months have been exciting and jarring—I graduated from school and began my first job, leaving behind the relatively carefree lifestyle of a student and reluctantly adopting the early-to-bed, early-to-rise schedule of a worker bee. I moved from beautiful, frenzied, alive Manhattan to the sleepy, not-so-exciting D.C. suburbs. And I’m attempting to move on from the boy I loved since I was seventeen to other pastures...not greener, perhaps just a different shade.

So since I can’t seem to muster up the self-discipline to keep up my journal, this feeble, embarrassing, probably TMI effort at documenting these changes will have to suffice. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to comment!


Welcome to my life.