your time is gonna come.


Hello, Wednesday. I’m happy to be spending this workday feeling much better than I did this weekend. My entire office was plagued by the flu it seems, and of course it got me on the one weekend I wanted to spend writing. I don’t have much to report, except that I am fever-free AND! that a true babe, that just so happens be a fellow writer/blogger nominated me last week for the Versatile Blogger Award (exciting! even though it took me forever to see it)

Addison,, (an awesome blog with sweet reads) I stole this part from you:

The Rulesvba

1. Link the person who nominated you

2. List seven facts about yourself

3. Nominate 15 other blogs

Okay, so here you are, the ever intrigued reader that wants to know seven super (ha!) interesting facts about yours truly; so, without further ado….

1. My favorite color is grey/gray – I interchange the spelling depending on when I’m using it, and my reasoning for it has absolutely nothing to do with anything (isn’t that the best sentence you’ve ever read?). It pairs nicely with yellow, white, black and cobalt blue, so its perfect. It IS the perfect neutral. (also, goes nicely with my blue eyes when I wear it.)

2. I was adopted at almost-age two, from the Women’s Hospital in Baton Rouge. I lucked out with incredible older parents that shaped me in to the odd-ball blonde girl you casually read every now and then. My mom is also adopted and works for CASA – we’re just two non-profit, children loving gals trying to change the world.

3. I play six instruments (in the order in which I learned them): piano and guitar – simultaneously as my parents couldn’t agree which one to start me on – bass guitar, cello, violin (no matter how mediocre) and the drums. I am completely crazy about the piano even though it frustrates the hell out of me and I feel super hippy-dippy-happy when I play the guitar, but my absolute favorite, my love….is the drums. I was born to play percussion – it’s loud, so I guess its befitting a gal like me.

4. I haven’t finished college yet, but when I do, I will have a degree in English (language/lit,) a degree in theatre and three minors: philosophy, photography and history. I figured out WAY too late that college wasn’t for me, and I owe it to myself to finish since I only have twenty-one hours left. *though I would like to make a note that you don’t have to have a degree to consider yourself intelligent.

5. I get super emotional when I hear the National Anthem or when I see a giant American flag waving in the wind. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY. My dad was the patriotic one in our house, not me. Maybe it’s because I watched nothing but WWI & WWII movies, Civil War documentaries and the history channel nonstop from the time I could walk until he passed away. Regardless, I have a strong sense of patriotism and it often makes me cry like a baby.

6. Though I am extremely extroverted, I am equally as introverted. It doesn’t take much to make me happy and I don’t require many people in my life or a large audience – no matter how much I feed off the energy when I have one.

7. I would elaborate on the coffee bit, but most of you – if you’ve read any of my posts – know how obsessed with coffee I am. I would like to further define this: I am a beverage person. Coffee, Jameson and water being the favorites, but I’m really fond of anything that will wet my whistle; I prefer it to food. Is that weird?

I’d like to nominate these blogs ( I am only selecting ten. it’s a good number):

Creative Talents Unleashed


Doug Warren

Goddess in the Belly

Oneika’s Yoga Life

Kendall F. Person

Shithead Central

Girl in the Hat

The Homegrown Hippie

Cristian Mihai


Now for what’s been on my mind in the last 120 hours –

I take a community yoga class at the local art museum; I think I’ve mentioned this before – it is a beautiful and inspiring place to practice. It really gets me out of my element as I usually practice in my room at my mom’s house (not for long! scored my own place last week with my kickass roommate Jared and I can’t wait to move in! yay!) I like my at-home practice, but I think it puts me in a rut sometimes, or shortens my session and I really don’t like that. I’ve come to understand that I need a solid hour of asana, sometimes additional and definitely fifteen minutes of meditation following, if not more. Thankfully, on Tuesdays when I’m at the gallery, I get exactly what I need….ten fold.

I wasn’t really willing to go to class last night. I was drained, exhausted from fever and being sick over the weekend and REALLY pooped from work, even though it was a mild day at the office. I get really, really sad when I’m sick, I’m not sure why. Something in my chemical makeup I suppose; it puts me in a mental funk that’s hard for me to get out of and it’s miserable. Fortunately for me, I am a firm believer of keeping plans and I’d told my best friend (who is actually more like my sister) that I would be there, and she was bringing another one of our friends – I just couldn’t cancel, regardless of how hit-by-two-trains-twice I was feeling. It wasn’t just the plans I had made though that pushed me to go, there was something in my body encouraging me. Subconscious saying, “yep, you feel and look like total shit but get it together and get on the mat.” So I clocked out at five, made the block from my building to the Alexandria Museum of Art, swapped my heels for my bare feet and headed upstairs.

I am ever glad that I did. That was not only the practice my body wanted, it was the practiced I needed. It’s amazing what happens when we tune in to what our body wants – it delivers what we need, whether we know it or not. I think I smiled the entire time; I know I left feeling happier than I had in a week. My body felt better – my ears finally opened up and my head cleared, my heart felt light. All of the tension that the fever had left in my muscles was gone, it felt amazing. So I know I’m gushing here, but I also hit a new high point in my practice, I got on my head and let go of fear. Though I didn’t get into a full head stand, I put my head down to the earth, closed my eyes and just….let go. I couldn’t tell you much aside from that, except that I didn’t feel afraid, I felt happy. It encouraged me to try to start slowly easing my way in to a head stand in my next practice and I will. A second, welcomed feeling came when we were doing half moon pose. I brought both of my hands back to my mat to regain balance and pressed as hard as I could and ya know what? I finally felt like my legs were going to float up! I don’t know if it was the headspace I was in or if I’m getting stronger, but I welcomed this floaty feeling and can’t wait for it to happen again. I don’t know if anyone heard my squeal with delight or if that was in my own head, but that feeling….seriously nothing better.

Sometimes you have a really good Tuesday, with a really great practice with really great friends and it’s perfect and awesome and you think the day can’t get better. Then it does –

I talked with my friend Mike last night for an hour last night about how happiness is a choice; it’s a choice in everything we do, in every decision we make. I know it’s a super crunchy, kitschy way of looking at things but I don’t care. I spent all of last year in a semi-miserable mood and ya know what, it zapped me of all the happiness I could have had. So, for 2015 I made the executive life decision to be happy every day. I know, you’re rolling your eyes, but I’m serious; even if it’s just for five freaking minutes, happy, every damn day of the week. Life is too short to carry around aggravation or anger or judgement. It’s too short to worry about what he thinks or what she said or what’s going to happen. Happiness is your choice. You can’t blame someone else for lack of happiness or what goes wrong, because at the end of it, its your own fault if you chose something else.

We’re given one challenge every day and that is to live. Lets do that. Lets take care of our bodies and be healthy and happy and see what happens.

“2015 resolution? F*ck that. How about a revolution – happiness.”

Your time is gonna come…and its right now.


Check this other blog about happiness. I dare you.

Why You Don’t Have the Balls to Be Happy.


for the willing


watch this video, then read the rest:

I’m absolutely going to take this entry to gush about yoga. If you didn’t watch the video, the man in this video couldn’t walk without assistance and was overweight, with obvious emotional scars from the war he served in, among other things. He said that doctors told him he would never fully rehabilitate and that most yoga teachers turned him away; all but one. Because that one instructor took the risk and said yes to a challenge, this man can now walk, run, handstand (something I still can’t do,) and lives a healthy, happier daily life. I was in tears before the video reached minute one. It’s amazing what yoga teaches us; the power of believing in yourself.

Before you convince yourself that you can’t, try; you will quickly see that you can. I think life is mostly about willingness, not ability.

I cannot possibly ever put in to words – not in the way I wish – how much yoga practice has changed my life. I was leaving Yoga in the Gallery, a luxury in my small town, thinking about what b. Hendrick (a most kickass instructor) had said during meditation. He spoke about being present in a moment, but not involved; that we can acknowledge and be aware of emotion, but not dwell on the feeling – obviously referring to detachment. I went back and forth most of last night, during my mega relaxing menthol bath/getting ready for bed, about what I thought those things meant; about what it means to be detached and if that’s okay. I talked to some friends about it and we all seemed to draw a similar conclusion: as long as this path of thinking doesn’t paralyze you emotionally, it’s positive. I don’t want to be so zen that I don’t feel anything, but I will say that it feels amazing to not be plagued with unnecessary stress and worry.

The perspective detachment has provided for me is something I’m beyond grateful for. I think being able to separate my feelings from what’s been going on in my life over the last year or so is what’s given me the ability to make sensible decisions; a trait that again, I can only thank my yoga practice for. I can look at a whole picture now and appreciate the details, while realizing there are decisions and steps that need to be made, and that I need to trust the timing. I’m not afraid to take these steps anymore. My mind is strong, my body is getting stronger and I can’t wait to see where my mat takes me next.

lackluster twenty-seven.


So, my 27th birthday is upon me. Sunday, the 11th to be exact. I can’t believe I’ve made it this far….just slightly passed a jubilee indulgence, less than three decades, but almost. I feel like I’ve lived 27 different lifetimes in the last year with all of the changes I’ve gone through – though reflecting on 2014 I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know that New Year’s Eve really marks the beginning of a new year, but I’ve never really been too excited about it; I mostly just wait to catch the excitement for my birthday, just ten days later.

I cannot begin to tell you how pumped I am to see what my twenty-seventh year is going to hold for me. While I’m sad that this makes me closer to thirty, I’m happy with how I’m aging. Growing up I was always nervous for, “milestone,” birthdays: sixteen, eighteen, twenty-one, twenty-five….all very promising, but each ending up being categorized as thoroughly mundane.

Sixteen was supposed to be this magical birthday where you get a brand new car (which I did and I still can’t believe my parents did that for me) and wear the perfect party dress and get kissed by the guy of your dreams (Heath Ledger was unavailable so I opted for my high school boyfriend) and spend the entire evening doing magical, wonderful, dreamy things. Instead, my father was in the hospital and my mom ordered fried fish from the catfish place up the road and my friends ran around the neighborhood while I sat inside watching Dawson’s Creek reruns because it was too damn cold outside to function.

Eighteen wasn’t too terrible except for the fact that 10 months later, my dad died. I still haven’t gotten over the fact that he wasn’t around for 19…or any of my other birthdays. I try not to let this make me bitter as I shove king cake (my favorite kind of birthday cake – I’m a Louisiana girl, after-all) in my face, while trying not to cry.

Twenty-one was one for the books, even though I’d been drinking for years by this time. I celebrated my damn 21st birthday the entire month of January. Hibachi with a table of friends, a bar full of people I haven’t seen in forever, drinking with my mom until she got too tipsy and had to be driven home by another one of my friends, a fancy dinner with my boyfriend, best friends and family, where I was roasted to the point of tears; semi-happy and semi-sad…my mom had a knack at the time for making the seemingly most-sincere of jokes not so funny – but I love her anyway (and we’ve well-grown past our differences.)

I was exceptionally hopeful for twenty-five. I was married, had just received a fabulous cut and color from my favorite hair dresser and planned on spending the evening with friends and food and laughter; the night was not nearly as exciting as I hoped. I spent the night crying in to a glass of Jameson at a bar while talking about how beautiful love is.

All of these big birthdays have been extremely lackluster in their own right, with highs and lows to keep it interesting enough for me to write about, obviously.

Last year, for twenty-six, since my husband (ex? do I call him that yet?) shared a birthday, planned a day full of football, friends and food (and adult bevs, of course.) I was so ready for a night out with my friends and hopeful that this birthday would erase all of the crappy ones, as I do every year. I suppose I can compare it to high school dances – you spend hours getting ready for, “the perfect night,” and it ends up being worse than you could have imagined, crying in the bathroom over a boy that won’t dance with you and drinking nasty spiked punch. Though I did manage to party my ass off and stay out til seven in the morning, twenty-six was when I discovered that I knew jack-shit about life; that I had no idea how to make anything work properly and that I needed to find better ways of doing everything.

So, now that I’ve complained for 723 words, I’d like to take a moment to express my excitement for this next birthday. This year, in my new year, I am moving forward without expectation. I’m taking control of all of the planning for myself and carefully selecting what I’m doing and with whom. I want drama free fun and I’m going to get it. I get to spend it with my true friends and my beautiful family, doing what I love: spending quality time with those that matter. I’ll probably sneak in lots of yoga and a trip to New Orleans. I hope to eat fancy-schmance appetizers and sip too many sazeracs. I already have something sparkly to wear and I just chopped off more of my hair – feeling super Parisian and fabulous already.

I am so happy I had some seriously wah-wah birthdays, because this year I truly know how to appreciate the day, and how to celebrate it: FEELING BLESSED TO BE ALIVE AND NOTHING MORE. Year twenty-seven, unless I go the way of the Forever 27 Club, is going to be the best. I feel happier and healthier than I have in my entire twenties and I finally have a grip on who I am, what I want and where I’m headed.

Lackluster twenty-seven, I’m going to make you shine.

ALSO…..these are hilarious and mostly/definitely true.

what does fleek mean? help me.