Wake Up.

Yeah, sure, so I can't sleep until 11 a.m. like some people. And most of the time, if I lay down for a nap, chances are I'm going to get antsy and get up to do the dishes or fold laundry after about 10 minutes.

So what? So I can't waste my days away sleeping. That doesn't mean that I don't hit the bed like a log at night, dream peaceful dreams and wake up all refreshed. Right?

Wrong.
So wrong.

I am officially an insomniac.
Or at least I have been for the past three weeks. It doesn't matter how tired I am, I'm up at 2:30 or 3 a.m., wondering what the hell I did wrong for God to suddenly stop letting me sleep through the night. I've never had this problem. Ever.

It's ridiculously frustrating, and I have a good idea why it's happening now.
King-sized beds are not meant to be slept in alone.

This deployment is affecting my sleep life, among other things.

The Proposal.

People are dying to know, and since I've already told the story a million and one times, I decided to write it down so I didn't have to tell it again. Not that I mind telling it. It's just that I think maybe I should have a written record of this sort of thing.

So, ever since I moved to Guam, my dear, dear boyfriend has said that he wanted to marry me "someday." He's spent MONTHS telling me how much he loves me, how he can't wait to spend forever with me and how one day we're probably going to have a daughter that'll give us as much hell as I gave my mom. He even asked about my ring size.

It got so bad, that one day I said, "Look, baby. I love you to death. And I can't wait to spend my life with you. But I'm not saying one more thing about a wedding or a marriage or kids until I have a ring on my finger."

And that was that. Almost.

Every once in awhile he'd slip up and say things like, "Where would you want to get married?" And so on and so forth. And every time, I'd just look away, smile and reply, "Not without a ring."
I knew something was up when he came back from San Diego on his work trip. He was cheesing so bad he could barely look at me when I ran up to him at the airport. ... That boy can't hide anything from me, I swear.

Well, from then on it was just a waiting game. I had assumed maybe he'd propose on our one-year anniversary (this upcoming weekend). But about a week before, on Thursday night, I got antsy. He brought up something along the lines of "Baby, when we have kids ..." and I just lost it.
"We're never gonna have kids! We're never gonna have kids because you're never gonna ask me to marry you! I know it! You're never gonna ask me!"

I was half laughing the entire time, but it must have been hormones or something because the other half of me was serious. He said, "Well, how do you know I haven't been carrying a ring around in my pocket this whole time just waiting for the right opportunity?"

"Come here!" I said.
So he did, and I patted down his pockets.
"See? I didn't think so!"

He just laughed at me, and we ended the conversation there. Everyone that knows me knows I'm impatient as hell. So I'm not even gonna try to make excuses for that one.

The next night, Friday, we were lounging around the house at about 7 p.m. We had planned on going out to meet friends, but we weren't in a hurry. He wanted to go out and eat, but I decided to cook tacos instead.

So there I was, in the kitchen chopping an onion when he comes up behind me.

"Put down the knife and turn around," he said.

"Baby, I'm doing something. Can't you see I'm trying to make you dinner?"

"Just do it!"

So I sighed, turned around and he met me with a big hug. "I'm gonna marry you some day," he said.

I kind of laughed and thought to myself, "Here we go again. Some day."
Then all of a sudden, he gets down on one knee and pops out a ring.

"Will you marry me?"

I was so shocked all I could do was look at him, look at the ring and say, "My gosh, baby! I'm cooking dinner!" He just smiled and said, "Well, is that a yes?"

"Well, of course it is! Yes! Yes!"

So, that's that. I'm finally engaged to the man of my dreams, and there's no way in hell I could be any happier. I think we've both known for a long, long time that we wanted to spend forever with each other. We were just playing the waiting game because it was what we were supposed to do.

Hope you enjoyed the story. If any of you know us, I'm sure you know that this proposal was better than any fancy dinner or any sunset surprise he could have thought up. It was just us. In our home. On the best Friday night of my life.

We'll let you know when we plan on getting hitched.
Love you all!
-The Future Mrs. Lawson

Searching.

I have a friend who's searching.

I have a friend who has no idea where her life is going, no idea what move to make next or if her next decision will be the one that finally leads her where she's supposed to go.

She is absolutely gorgeous, and has one of those laughs that make you want to dig up every old joke you've ever heard. One of those smiles that can change the mood of a room. But ... if you really look, you would know. She's searching for something that's not there.

I see her better than most, I suppose, because I see in her eyes what I used to see radiating from my own. What I used to feel when I would see other couples or other people who knew -- without a doubt -- what they wanted to do with their lives.

It didn't matter if they were lawyers or mothers or secretaries or politicians I used to interview back in my days as a reporter. If I saw that certainty, I was jealous. Because even though I may have looked like I had it all together, I didn't know anything.

I used to be weighed down so much by what I'd lost. The people I no longer had with me, the jobs I could have had, the educational trek I should have taken ... I never knew what it meant to be secure in how things were.

I almost had myself convinced that the certainty I saw in all those other people's eyes just wasn't in the cards for me.

Almost.

Things are different when you're no longer searching. They're different because you find the kind of love you read about in storybooks, and you come to terms with the career choices you've made. You realize, almost catharticly, that everything you've ever wanted is right there.

It's there on late Saturday mornings when you decide to eat breakfast in bed. Or Friday nights when you say, "Babe, let's stay home tonight." And it's there during the week when you finally get that big project done and your boss says, "Good job. Now about that other thing."

Everything I could ever want is with me. In the very fiber of my being, which I didn't even understand when I heard people say before.

I'm finally at peace. Finally at an understanding with God and the world that everything will always, always turn out as it should.

Sometimes, just after the laughter from my jokes wears off, I want to say to her, "It's OK. Everything will be all right. Just go where the wind takes you."

Final answer.

All I ever write about is love anymore. So maybe, for the sake of diversity, I'll try to write about something different. Something entirely different ...

How about money? Yeah, money. I can write about that.

So ... I watched "Slumdog Millionaire" for the first time tonight, and I have to admit -- I balled my eyes out. I'm a girl, so I'm allowed to do things like that. Cry, that is. Not watch movies. Everyone watches movies ... or at least they should.

It was amazing. And the part that amazed me the most wasn't that people actually live like that. I've read enough books and heard enough stories and Googled enough countries to know slums like that do exist. The amazing part was how drinking out of the same river where people go to the bathroom doesn't automatically kill your soul. Dash your hopes. And make you not want to live another day.

Slums -- not like downtown Atlanta slums. Or Ponce de Leon slums. Or even the big-time slums of New York City can touch the slums of Mumbai. They are the definition of hopelessness. Where 50 rupees would make you sell an autographed picture of your brother's all-time favorite hero. One that he would literally swim through waste to get.

Those kind of places are where money is not a means to an end. It's an ideal. A way out. An escape from the writhing pain and fear everyone lives in. Or at least that's how I imagine it has to be like.

Then again, I've never been without shoes. Or water. Or food. I can't remember not having a car or a bike or a church or a family. And I'm not sure I could live without my dignity. I think I would rather die. I think.

That is the great thing about the human spirit. It is true what they say, or what someone once said, that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. It may even numb you for awhile, but it doesn't kill you.

At the risk of going back to my favorite subject, the one thing they couldn't live without was love. Even when their mother was gone, they had to have one or the other -- love or money -- to even have a reason to live. One went one way, one went the other. And, as you see, love conquers all. Even when a million rupees hangs in the balance.

Eyes on Fire.

I am obsessed with Twilight.

I've read all the books, bought the DVD (and watched it a handful of times already), downloaded the soundtrack, Googled Rob Pattison and gritted my teeth when I realized "New Moon" wouldn't hit theaters until November. I am truly obsessed. And, up until today, I have had no idea how to answer the question I've been asked so many times -- "That's for teenage girls. Why do you like it so much?"

Finally, as I was listening to my newly synced soundtrack, I realized ...
Sure, vampires are sexy. Well, at least Edward Cullen. And sure, it's well-written. And of course, it's a great story.

But that's not it. I've read plenty of good books and have fallen in love with plenty of great characters throughout them all. But Stephanie Plum from Janet Evanovich's novels (who I loved with a capital L) and Alexander Cross (James Patterson's irresistible forensic psychologist) didn't capture my heart as much as Mr. Cullen.

It's the love.

I realize this is corny as shit, but ...

I am in love with Twilight because of the love. Because of the forbidden love that no one thought would work except Edward and Bella. The love that went against every fiber in his being, the love that should have destroyed everything instead of made it better. The same kind of love, that say, would send you across the world. ... Maybe even 8,500 miles, to be exact.

So maybe I'm not Bella. And maybe, even in my wildest dreams, my boyfriend will never lunge at my neck when dinner isn't on the table when he gets home. But, maybe, just maybe, he's my own personal Edward. Or Romeo, if you're old-fashioned.

When I left Georgia the first time to follow my boyfriend to Guam, no one thought it would work. Hell, even my mom, who had never seen me as happy as I was back then, made me buy a two-way ticket -- just so I wouldn't get stuck on an island halfway around the world.

It wasn't until two weeks ago, when I went home for the first time since I'd moved out here, that people actually started believing I had not totally lost my mind. That this was real. And the move I had made months ago wasn't out of lust or total insanity. I was just doing what I knew was right -- following the path I was supposed to follow.

So, yeah, that's my story. That's the reason why I love Twilight, even though some people may think it's just another corny, teenage tale of star-crossed lovers. In a way, it's my own personal fair tale. Even if mine doesn't come with a real-life, vampire Edward.

Punch in the Face.

So Facebook has this new application (God, I hate applications) that lets you choose your Top 5 of any given subject. Top 5 cars you wish you had, Top 5 cities you've lived in, Top 5 favorite movies, even Top 5 people you'd like to punch in the face.

I had fun with that one, although a Top 20 would have been more suitable. And more fun if you could choose people that were actually on Facebook instead of just celebrities (there are a few ex friends that come to mind).

Here are few, for your own amusement:
1. Lindsay Lohan
2. Paris Hilton
3. Tom Cruise
4. Madonna
5. Bill O'Reilly
6. 90% of the GOP
7. Chris Rock
8. Angelina Jolie
9. Nick Saban
10. Otis Brumby

My boss is constantly telling me about people she'd love to punch in the face. But apparently, it's not meant to be mean-spirited. In Chamorro, it's a term of endearment. She always tells this other account manager that her kid is so cute she just wants to punch him in the face. Who the hell says that? Really?

Anyway, it works. I may start saying that to people randomly. And if they looked at me shocked I'll just say, "Don't worry, man. That's a good thing." Ha.

Beauty in the Breakdown

I love airports. Always have.

There's something about the hellos and the good-byes of total strangers. Something so raw -- emotionally -- it's hard for me to resist. And with 30 hours of travel between Atlanta and Guam, it's even harder to avoid staring. I've found myself many times gawking at happy couples or busy businessmen making their way from one point in the world to another.

Yes, I'm that weird girl in the airport wearing her iPod, just watching. I watch women chase after their babies, men in camoflauge hats and sweatpants play on their Blackberry obsessions, couples hold each other just outside security while only one held a suitcase, and parents run to hug their sons or daughters in uniform who just walked out of the terminal.

Airports are the best place to see the best and worst parts of life -- the hellos and the good-byes. Ultimately, you can't say one without saying the other. And ultimately, everyone has to do it at least once.

I wish there were more hellos than good-byes, but it seems lately, I've had many more of the latter to endure. More tears and farewell hugs than greetings. But I guess that's what being thousands of miles from "home" will get you. Not to mention a boyfriend in the military.

While that's hard most of the time, I think saying good-bye makes you appreciate the hellos that much more. It makes waiting in the airport something different than just a means to an end. Almost euphoric ... cathartic.

I met a guy named Tommy while I was waiting for my flight to Chicago. He was coming from Charleston, headed to California to visit family. A few months earlier, he had been moose hunting in Denali National Forest in Alaska and skydiving in Colorado with his dad, who said he wanted to try more things after he recovered from a heart attack. Tommy had tattoos on both arms and he carried one small suitcase for a 2-week trip. I doubt he'd checked any bags, as I had.

It's people like that that make life so interesting. People like the couples who seem like they could hug forever just outside security. In a way it's comforting, to know that other people have to go through the same things I do. The good-byes. And the business trips. And the vacations that never seem to last long enough. It makes me think we're all just the same ... in a different way.

There's beauty in the break down.