That Time You

That Time You...Surrendered Loudly

  I was twelve the first time I really heard myself. Ms. S. is what we called the choir director at school. She was a sharp, interested woman, tasked with breathing art and fantasy into a rather vanilla set of…

That Time You...Gave May the Middle Finger

  I’m pretty sure I broke three cardinal rules of parenting within 55 minutes last Friday morning. Somehow May has become the busiest month of the year, busier than December, busier than February in New Orleans even. It is a…

That Time You...Ousted Sheryl

It’s not that I think I need to be perfect. It’s not even that I strive for close to perfection. But, a passing grade would be a little nice from time to time. It was Friday afternoon. A surprise boil…

That Time You...Were Kryptonite

A friend told me a story the other night that sent me into a tailspin. She’s been seeing this guy. I use the term “seeing” loosely, as they make no public appearances as a couple.…

That Time You...Didn’t Know What You Believed

What I find most difficult about grief is the disobliging nature of it. Its waves come without warning. When we try to stifle them, up they rise. When we will the pain of it gone, it sticks to our bones…

That Time You...Were the First to Laugh

It was in second grade that I first experienced total and complete mortification, leaving a scar on my psyche against which all future blunders would be measured. It was taco day, and I was biting into one of Ms. Marie’s…

That Time You...Put Your Finger on the Fire

In New Orleans, no matter how much we grow from tech booms and film booms, championships and top ten rankings, that small-town vibe we’re known for stays put. We are well aware of the risk we take ducking into the grocery…

That Time You...Had “It”

I was six years old when I started going to dancing school, and I took to it instantly. At my first recital I tapped to “Me and My Shadow” in a sparkly minidress and top hat. For ballet we were dolls with…

That Time You

Honest insights into surviving oneself!

about

Annie D. Stutley was born in New Orleans and spent her childhood listening to the Bangles, crimping her hair, eating Twizzlers, and journaling. She graduated from Southern Miss with a degree in speech writing and since then, has survived several careers in both New Orleans and New York, proving that you don’t have to have it all figured out to live a good life.

She’s worked in theater with Tony-winning producers, in marketing with local gurus, and in education with people probably smarter than herself. However, it’s her time spent working with or volunteering with young people that she has found the most rewarding.

In recent years, she volunteered for her national sorority as a rush advisor, finding joy in building leaders and guiding young women through the murky waters of where college life meets real world. She eventually stepped down from that post because the powers that be didn’t see eye to eye with her approach of frankness and honesty. She turned that conflict of opinion into a new adult fiction book, currently in development, and this blog.

Annie loves music—especially alternative, shenanigans with girlfriends, and all things Mardi Gras, particularly her two walking krewes. But mostly she enjoys movies on her sectional sofa with her husband, three children, and two dogs in her Carrollton home.

Annie welcomes comments, topic ideas, and glasses of rosé. Surprisingly, rosé pairs well with Twizzlers.