Deuces

I literally cannot sleep lately.  I cannot sleep unless I write a blog. It's actually pretty annoying.  I lie there with my eyes blinking at a dark ceiling.  Even my cats are annoyed.  Lando was lying at my feet just moments ago and my constant shifting caused him to stir, meow disgruntedly, and trot over to daddy's side of the bed.  So the lights went back on.  Into the loft where 2 other cats were resting.  They both lifted their heads simultaneously at me as if to say "can't sleep again, huh?' I tore into bread that was still in a to-go box leftover from dinner.  I was waging a confrontation with my body.  Because if my body is going to keep me awake I say "screw it" and sabotage it by breaking into that delightful yet sinfully carbohydrated treat.  Oh.  Yea.  And with extra monosaturated butter, mmm please. I'm bitter.  I'm so bitter. I want to lie in bed and drift away.  Holey, Holey Crabmuffin.  I totally just seg-wayed. 

My husband and I often have conversations as we lie in bed.  Confession:  I do my best to keep him awake so that "I'm not left alone with my thoughts."  He laughs when I say things like this- but it's true.  He wakes up quite early and therefore has a wonderful gift of falling asleep very quickly, so I often engage him in these whispered conversations in an effort to keep his undivided attention on me as he drifts off to sleep. And if my conversations aren't interesting enough I will fling myself atop his chest, sometimes slinging my pillow as well, and proceed to rest on his warm and heavy heartbeat.  I know it must be uncomfortable for him, and this gives me a sad sense of satisfaction to know we are both awake and thinking of one another in that moment. But tonight I managed to engage him in chatter.  I was seeking attention so I told him I was feeling lonely and needed him to stay awake with me.  Of course he laughed because he knows I am just in a mood. 

Sometimes she forgets who is who.  Like sextuplets, she seems to mistake one for the other who is similar looking, although distinctly different. My mama has 6 kids.  As kids, when she was mad at one of us, she would sometimes forget who we were mid-squabble and call me 'Camille'.  Sometimes it was 'Cherise', sometimes it was even 'Ariel'- my niece's name.  And then as I was being chastized I would remind her: "Cambria- I am Cambria, mom".  And her reply was always the same- "You know what I meant" And I did.  I was just being bratty.  But it usually ended our disagreement as she blushed with slight embarassment, and I chuckled at her feistiness. And she does it everytime I see her.  My mom forgets that I am the daughter that isn't a huge fan of cheese.  So I walk into her cozy single story home that rests at the bottom of the cul-de-sac, and her eyes open wide and in her most earnest Julia Child reminiscence she will say &q

The rain scares me.  But not usually.  Just right now as I sit awake listening to that fierce howl that's banging on my window.  And yet in this fear I feel a sense of amazement.  Listening to nature work, beat down on my rooftop, and remind me that there are many things in life I cannot control.  And I know myself so well- and I am, admittedly, a bit of a control freak. I am taking in that sound.  No music, no t.v. Just me, the wind and the rapid typing-backspacingovermistakes-more typing.  This storm will pass.  The Expressway that runs near my house will cease to flood, and I won't wait nervously for my husband to get home safely from work. This morning I drove in that rain.  I left my house before the sun came up, and the wet sky fell on my face.  My adorable ballet flats became soaked as I ran to pack up items into my van for a busy work day.  No time to change shoes.  Out the door for a morning breakfast with a colleague. 15 hours later and those flats still haven&#

I have been physically out of commission the last week or so.  "I be up in the gym just workin' on my fitness".  True Story.  So all of my blogging energy has gone to Yoga, Spin, and Zumba. I should be honest when I say I pretty much hate the gym.  Yoga is great.  Zumba is okay.  In general the classes are my calling.  Once upon a fit time I used to have my own routines and had the will-power to self-motivate and do x amount of minutes on my cardio and then independent lifting.  But then it bored me.  And I slowly transitioned to taking the classes.  Of course, this is when I actually go to the gym.  I get all amped and go every week for a month and then something comes up that alters my routine for the next 3 months.  So is the life. But one class I usually take and have a strong disdain for is spinning.  I mean, I love it (right after the class ends), but it is like this little community of matchys.  Matching spin shorts with the matching hair tie, with the matchin

When I was in college I had the fortunate pleasure of living with girlfriends that I had known since high school.  I know for every college kid out in the world, there are a number of nightmare room-mates, but... uh-un.  Not mine.  I was lucky.  Super lucky.  I haven't thought about that apartment for years now, but I recently had the esteemed pleasure of hanging out with these roomies and it brought back a flood of warmth and memories. What I will always remember most about that apartment was the getting ready scenes.  4 single gals ready for a night on the town.  We would turn on the music, and 9 times of out 10 we played the soundtrack to "The Beach".  I'm not sure why we never got tired of that soundtrack.  It was just awesome.  So the CD played, on loop, while we prepped and pampered. We rifled through one another's closets.  We chose our outfits.  We took turns in the shower, generally based on who was going to do what with their hair that night to s

So today is Monday and I couldn't decide what was a more daunting task: back to work, or back to blog? Don't worry.  I'm not being an ungrateful snatch.  Blog was the lesser of 2 evils.  Significantly less so.  I love you mystery readers.  You come, you read, you analyze and maybe even roll your eyes.  It's awesome.  I love you. But last weekend a mystery reader said to me "I read your blog- trust me, people read it".  What a sweetheart.  And she's gorgeous, too.  So that makes it seem all the more legit. We were out and about living the high life of us 30-somethings to celebrate the birthday of a new club member.  Some people think 30 means your officially getting old.  But I adore the 30-somethings.  We throw caution to the wind.  We live paycheck to paycheck and we enjoy it.  Yes, it gives us a near ulcer some days wondering if we couldn't cut back just a little bit more to put into savings, but that LBD on the rack at Charlotte Russe says &quo

The Big Easy.  That's what they call it. Them Nu Awlins folk.  And it really, really is. I am sitting here in this cold hard airport chair patiently waiting.  I am waiting for my delayed plane to come on over here to pick me up and take me home.  I can't complain. I have my fancy-schmancy blog to tend to.  I have a belly full of kinda' gross airport pizza and am eyeing the fruit smoothie stand.  I have a couple hours yet, but since the travel Gods blessed me last week by allowing us to make the flight we almost missed to get to this big easy place, I am telling them it is okay to send me home a bit later than originally anticipated. Last week we were those people.  The ones running through the airport in a frantic rush to board.  Them long lines at LAX, man.  That almost started our vacation off on the wrong foot, but as it were we made it and had a wonderfuk time. I have a horrible sense of direction, and yet found the Big Easy very easy to navigate.  I was even d

January.  Snow.  A New Year.  January used to mean back to school after a long holiday that went too quickly.  In high school January marked mid-terms- right?  A new quarter in grad school.  A new semester in college.  A new diet.  A new resolution to be more this, and a little more that.  As you brace the cold, you think about spring time.  Because that's what we do, we think about what's ahead.  But this year, I will revel in the present-days of January, in all their chilly splendor, and all they have brought to my life. January is my Januversary with my husband.  Well, I haven't told him yet, so here it is babe.  I got to thinking when I booked our tickets to New Orleans that I don't appreciate January enough.  Everyone always talks about December and poor Miss January gets left in the cold.  Literally. But it was a cold January day when I first met Lloyd.  It was a January day when we had our first date.  It was a brisk January evening sometime later that