I went to a friend’s house freaking adorable condo with Rose last night, and the three of us celebrated the end of Monday with two huge bottles of wine and a cheese spread. It. Was. Awesome.

Four-ish hours later, after some fantastic conversation and a few too many glasses of chardonnay, Rose dropped me off at my little house. I was greeted by my pup, who was ecstatic I was finally home, then confused as to why I was stumbling around a little.

Confession: I doesn’t usually go out to dinner parties or out on the town here because, let’s face it, I don’t know too many people. And I don’t want to have to drive myself home if I accidentally get sloshed.

So we got ready for bed.

And then I woke up at 4:30 with a horrible headache, a dog who needed to tinkle and a bedroom entirely too cold.

After taking care of Lucy, turning on the furnace and taking a few pain pills, I decided to check my e-mail. Because that’s what every normal person does at 4:30 in the morning.

And then I saw an e-mail stating I had a gift on 20SB. I was sent a bottle of champagne, congratulating me for being the November Featured Blogger!

I freaked out a little, totally surprised, and then decided it would be a good thing to go back to sleep and celebrate in the morning.

So when I woke up at 8 this morning, I booted up my computer and went to the 20SB Web site. Just for fun.

That’s me! On the left side of the screen!

…

I just don’t have words, y’all. I’m thrilled and surprised and honored that so many of my peers nominated me, and that I am the Featured Blogger. I mean, there are more than 8,000 people in 20SB. That’s a lot of bloggers. And to be named the Featured Blogger? Craziness. That’s what it is.

So thank you, friends. So very much.

And since Erin did it last month, I’m calling out to you. Leave me comment and tell me something about yourself. Anything you want to share, really. What do you like to do when you aren’t working? If you could have one super power, what would you want it to be? When you were growing up, what was your favorite ice cream flavor? Is it the same today?

You can even ask me a question, if you would rather that. Just say something. Because I want to see all your smiling faces (or hear your voices?) this awesome month.

OK, go! And thanks again, y’all! You’re all amazing!

                          

Cinco de Mayo has become a special day for me during the past few years.

Maybe it’s because I discovered my love/hate relationship with tequila. (But I’ll do just about anything for a margarita, even though it’s a bad idea.)

Maybe it’s because the best parties always landed on this day. Three years ago, I went to a costume party dubbed the No Pants Party because the hosts didn’t want people to wear clothes. (Hint: I did. So did most other people, though a friend of mine made an awesome tube top out of magazines.)

Maybe it’s because two year ago, I hung out with a boy who would become my love.

Maybe it’s because it landed on exam week last year, and my roommate and I had a makeshift Cinco de Mayo celebration, including enchiladas, refried beans, guac, many margs and the History Channel.

And maybe it’s because today is Lily’s birthday! Y’all should go wish her a happy day!

Whatever the case, I’m a fan. If I could, I’d be lying beside the pool with a marg already, but unfortunately, I have to work. But don’t y’all worry, I am hoping to grab a drink before heading home.

                          

I didn’t drink coffee until I studied abroad one summer in Italy. I loathed every variation of the bean before I left the States, and I was extremely reluctant to even give cappuccino a try when we were in Roma.

Somehow, my friends managed to convince me it was something I need to do. So I reluctantly would order the drink, hoping I would begin to enjoy it.

We spent about a week in Rome before heading to our little town in Tuscany. It was there that my love for cappuccino blossomed.

In Cortona, I had three roommates. We lived in the corner room of a former monastery that was transformed into dorms. Every morning, Zoe and I had an oil painting class at 8 a.m. Jenny had advanced painting at 10. Jenna didn’t have class ’til later.

It was an unfortunate time (for me) simply because, not only did we have to get out of bed and make it to class by 8, but we had to walk down the HUGE hill our dorm was located on top of and make our way through town to get to the class.

Despite my hatred for getting out of bed, I always enjoyed the early morning walk. I would eat a fresh peach or tangerine and would also enjoy a slice of pound cake as breakfast as I meandered my way down the hill and through the town. I loved the fact that I got to see the tiny town wake up every morning. Vendors were arriving at their shops and were sweeping up the street in preparation for the day. Fruit stands were accepting deliveries and opening their doors. Numerous people gathered around the newsstand to pick up a newspaper. And whenever I made my way through the tiny town, the Cortonesi greeted me.

Class always flew by, even though I was not a good painter, and after class, Zoe and I would meet Jenny and Jenna at the Bar Sport Caffe for some post-painting cappuccino before we all went our separate ways.

Since the cappuccino was a Euro, I didn’t think twice about ordering it even though I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

I don’t know how the cappuccino tradition began, but we carried it throughout the entire summer. The owners of the Bar Sport knew our names by July. They knew how we liked our cappuccinos. They would occasionally bring sweet treats to our table since we were there basically every weekday morning. And the morning before we left, we got hugs and kisses from the entire staff of the Bar Sport.

And throughout that time, I began to enjoy the drink. So much so that when I came back to the States, my life wasn’t the same because I needed a cappuccino to start my day off right, and the drinks here are nowhere near as fresh. And they’re a lot more expensive.

I’ve slowly gotten myself back to the stage where I don’t need a cappuccino, but on nippy mornings like this one, I crave one, an XXL one, and I want to be back in my tiny town once more to savor my drink at the Bar Sport with my friends.

                          

I love living in Louisiana and the things that happen here. So what if politics are ass-backwards? The lifestyle and food make up for that and more.

There’s always a good chance a parade is rolling, no matter the day. My friend’s mom told me that the city of New Orleans had about 385 scheduled parades per year. Crazy, huh?

Today was one of those days. Granted, I’m not in NOLA, but close enough.

This morning, my roommate, friend and I caught the tail end of the St. Patty’s Day parade. And while we missed the bulk of the actual parade, we hit up the afterparty like champs.

We live about two blocks from the parade route, so our plan of action was to walk to wherever we needed to go with drink in hand. … Open container laws? Ha. When everyone has an open container, it’s futile. And the police just go with it.

Another thing I love about living in Louisiana is the people. They are so generous. I’ve been offered jambalaya by complete strangers while tailgating on LSU’s campus. Friends of friends have offered me drinks, food, shelter, etc. Just because I was there. It’s awesome.

And this morning was no different.

We ran into an old friend, and he took us to his friend’s truck. There, we were each handed a can of beer and given shots of saki. (Note: I normally don’t take shots in the middle of the day — it’s usually an awful idea — and I NEVER drink saki, but since it was a holiday, I indulged).

After checking out the scene, we decided to grab a bite to eat. But instead of eating at one of the restaurants ON the parade route, we had to go somewhere else because we didn’t have cash. And, apparently, on parade days, they only take cash.

We ended up walking back to our house and hopped into the car to drive to Em’s boyfriend’s work, where we sat at the bar and munched on a variety of foods for an hour or two.

All in all, I’d say it was a good day. I mean, it’s not often you get to start drinking at 11 a.m.

But in Louisiana, things like that are OK, especially on days like today. And it is awesome.