Wednesday, June 29, 2011


Thirty days and thirty nights, Been putting up a real good fight, And there were times I thought you'd win...

The water lapped at my bare, bronzed toes. My dress danced around my thighs, begging for it's freedom. The sand gave in to my feet as we walked down the shoreline. The sun was slowing sinking, leaving everything basked in it's golden glow. The tequila had done the same hours ago. It made me feel invincible and the words out of my mouth delectable. It made the water exciting, and the sparks running through me, electrifying. His hand was glued to mine, squeezing so tight, maybe to keep me from running. Maybe to keep me moving. Either way we walked down the beach, laughing and comfortable. Caught up in our own buzz. His hair shone in the setting sun, my eyes sparked. Our real life seemed so far away and yet so close. We had rocked vacation. We had rocked the wedding, and the only thing left to do was to climb on a plane and take the long ride home to the real world. 

But for the night, we were content to just walk the beach, party with the wedding goers, and enjoy what the other had to offer. Tomorrow was still hours away and the real world could wait. 

Paradise was calling... and we had to answer

'Cause you and Tequila make me crazy, Run like poison in my blood, One more night could kill me, baby, One is one too many, one more is never enough...

Monday, June 6, 2011

yummy yummy

My roommate is a very routine oriented person. I can tell you exactly what she does in the morning, without even having to be out of bed. She plans her morning to a 't' so that she can maximize her sleeping time. She drinks her coffee strong in a matter of seconds. Eats blueberries with oatmeal in the morning (the bags of blueberries we buy are humongous) and stops the microwave at one second so that she doesn't wake me.

We are quite opposite, but it's cute really. I drink coffee for breakfast. I take my time in the morning and get ready in a different order every morning, just to switch things up. I don't like blueberries. I don't like oatmeal. I'm not a big fan of routine. It gets too boring.

But then there is the kitchen. Our apartment's kitchen is small enough that we can't have the dishwasher and fridge open at the same time. We can both hardly fit without invading personal space.

Surprisingly we are quite similar. In our little kitchen that we both can't fit into at the same time, we never measure, though we have measuring cups and spoons coming out the wazoo. We are adventurous with the spices, throwing whatever we can pull out of the cabinet onto the dish for dinner. I think though, in this category I'm a little more brave. I like my jalapenos.

We cook for hungry boys. These hungry boys

(Okay so the one on the far right is a cousin or something and we don't actually cook for him. But we would if he came over...)

We cook for ourselves. Delicious yummy things with pasta or cheese or lots and lots of garlic and herbs from our balcony garden (if i don't kill them) and vegetables and chicken and fruits...

It is quite fabulous. So much so, that I couldn't resist todays late night bounty. See for yourself and you'll want to be our roommates too. But we would require a bigger kitchen. And you would have to do dish duty...

The faint smell of cinnamon and the sweetness of raspberries floats from our little kitchen, tempting us with promise of sweet homemade goodness.

A promise for another morning of strong coffee, and this time another berry. A better one in my opinion