it's been seattle and london in new york. a rainy, dreary june every day. every new yorker is pissed off at the weather. except me.

Shopping in the West Village on a lazy Saturday.

Boat-watching at the Central Park lake.

Burger Sunday at Shake Shack on 77th & Columbus and seeing Bobby Cannavale.

Inadvertently going clubbing at a very chic rooftop bar with the Texan and playing wing-woman to his two amigos.

Going for all the crawfish claws at the best manhattan crawfish boil ever on top of tiny, cozy midtown rooftop...

yes, what an amazing Memorial Day weekend I had...

It was a weird April night as I made my way back to my cozy UWS apartment from the office. It felt more like a late summer night instead of early spring...it was crazy breezy and warm, litter is flying everywhere, making me carefully maneuver my way up the sidewalk and barely missing a dirty remnant of someone's morning newspaper by a hair. A saucy character walks past me and says "howdy girl" as if he knew I had ties to Texas, but how? Lady GaGa's "Let's Dance" anthem is still pounding on my ipod, with her duet partner Colby O'Donis' hypnotic voice cooling my nerves. Pharrell singing “Boys Remix” with Britney back in 2002 had a similar effect on me; his voice was like silk and I never forgot it. I’m watching my shadow on the buildings and I can see my deflated curls still bouncing in the breeze. I could not wait to walk inside the door and rip off the layers of pearl necklaces I had layered around my neck. And kiss my Texan hello. Everything seemed so nonchalant, semi-charmed on the surface tonight. But it was so the opposite...

Hello Cherry Tree...It's been a while.

It's "spring" in Manhattan.

I went to work the other day without a scarf for the first since November. There's a beautiful cherry tree on 105th street that saw its little green buds shyly surface, getting ready for their resplendent bloom. And yesterday, I spring-cleaned my cubicle. Recycled a year's worth of fashion magazines and all my old files and presentations. I then went on a "delete" rampage with my Lotus Notes...Every insignificant email was exterminated forever from my database. Nothing was spared. Yet, I still feel clogged.

I am finally going back to Louisiana next week, the first time since Christmas holiday. I can't wait to see my family, my Sweet Pea, my Izzie-Boo. Eat crawfish. Go to Walmart. Walk bare feet in the grass. Make a mess in my Mama's kitchen with my faltered attempts at cooking a Vietnamese dish...Feel summer on my face in the middle of April, because it's already 85 degrees down there.

The truth is...as much as I love Manhattan...as much as I feel like this is the only real city worth living in, I always freaking wonder why is it...That I felt like I had to come here to discover myself. Why did I choose a career that is only possible/lucrative in Manhattan?

I guess I had to come here....To realize what it is that I really want. A life in Louisiana. A house in the Garden District in New Orleans. Or a house by the LSU Lakes...I want family reunions every weekend. Going shopping with my sisters. Sitting on the sofa next to my mom while my feet safely warms up under her backside.

A Stroll in Chinatown

When we're out and about around town...I like to think that we're a movie. A romantic comedy. Him the incredibly authentic Texan guy who's super-protective of me. And me the lovingly neurotic heroine with the sunshine smile and pithy one-liners. And we have a cool, indy soundtrack.

A Leap

The Texan took this of me...It's so far, my all-time favorite photo (for now). It's me taking a leap, being the forever hopeful. It was back in 2007. We were at our almost-secret place in Louisiana for a second time. It was such so picturesque and unassuming yet intense, that place. The kind of place that made you feel tingly all over from the sweetness in the air. and the kind of place where you can leave everything up to happy chances and no plans are necessary. the kind of place that when said out loud, all of my crazy idiosyncrasies sounded endearing like my love for crepes, all kinds of crepes any time of day, savory and dessert, and my phobia of hand-shakes...yes all of those weird things about me...he found delightful...in that place. right there, the garden by the lake.

it's 2009. it's the craziest of times. i'm newly married. with a husband. a real husband. the kind that wants a real meal on the table everynight but is too sweet to expect me to slave in the kitchen. the kind who grinds away on his laptop every night, making deals happen because he sort of promised me the universe. the kind of guy who does our laundry every Sunday and shrinks every beautiful sweater I have from Anthropologie and kisses me good morning every morning. and i don't know how i got here. to this place. where life keeps wanting to lurch forward. when i just everything to stand still. unmoving, in this newlywed stage, when tenderness pervades every moment, where dinner every other night is candlelit and he brings me tea in my favorite pink daisy cup...AND AND...i want my mama to stay the way she is and i want my adorable nephew Izzie to stay 3 years old for at least another ten years, until i'm ready for him to go to pre-school. and i want to stay in this perceived state of half-adult, indefinitely, forever. i want to stay little miss obsessive and not get over people's insensitivities because getting infuritated and staying infuriated is always more fun anyway. i want to stay always in love with Marc Jacobs, although I am slightly peeved that he up and got married to some Brazilian without warning me. but i know...things wane. and things get old.

Boy, am I an old maid. Long gone are the days when I used to bar-hop from the West Village to the East Village with my forever New York Girl and our dimpled chauffeur from Brooklyn. We'd stay out until 4 am, sometimes 5, but never made it home before 3 am, she the ever effortless social butterfly, and me sampling the girly shots at the bar, what with a designated driver and all. On those nights, our goal is to always dance freely, get a few of the fellas' numbers, and leave just as classily as we arrived.

This past Saturday night, I put on my signature black leather bomber and finally made it out to an East Village bar for one of my closest gal pal's "I'm moving to L.A." fete. The scene was hip and the air electric, I'm walking amidst happening divas hitting it up with the downtown boys to find my friend for a hug, a special ruby-concocted drink and a begrudging kiss farewell. It was easy, she was the only one wearing a tiara. After a few "hey babys" and some unnecessary, unaccidental nuzzling, I left the scene and walked out into the crisp spring air, capped by a planet-speckled night sky, exhaled loudly and thought, yes..I'm too old for this crowd. I hopped into a taxi and thought about what was waiting for me back at my UpperWestSide apartment: a warm bed...and a warm guy.