Uncategorized

I don't even know what to call my cheese puff post...

Cami Kaos

13 Nov 2011 — 1 min read

I haven't had cheese puffs in years. Excuse me. Cheese Puffs. They're a proper noun, right? Anyway, Cheese Puffs... I try not to eat them because they have absolutely no redeeming value. Except the cheesy puffy goodness I recall from my youth. The savory fluffy cheesy goodness melting on my tongue. Yum.

So even though I do my very best not to keep junk food (that I love) in the house, I bought some Cheese Puffs the other day. Oh Cheese Puffs.

Sigh.

The bag has been sitting on the counter for a few days. Whispering to me. Breathing sweet nothings into my ear as I walk past. I've resisted.

I hold firmly to the belief that resisting temptation at the store it's easier than resisting temptation at home. None the less... there are Cheese Puffs here.

And after pulling open the bag and partaking of a few puffs I was... well I was sad. And disappointed. And I would leave the post at that if it were not for the fact that the second bowl (I had help getting through the first, I swear) was 10 times cheesier and far less styrofoamy than the first...

Oh cheese puffs... how unsettling you are.

That being said, what's your favorite oh-so-bad for you treat?

Coming soon

This is Cami Kaos, a brand new site by Cami Kaos that's just getting started. Things will be up and running here shortly, but you can subscribe in the meantime if you'd like to stay up to date and receive emails when new content is published!

the invites...

Yesterday my mother showed up at my door with 13 handcrafted birthday invitations in one hand and 1.75 liters of vodka in the other. The two are mostly unrelated. The invites are made from paper and glitter. Stamp and ink. She didn't write in them, but provided

there is not a raccoon in my kitchen...

As I sit quietly in my living room working I tend to listen to the sounds of home. The slight buzz and hum of my heater, the birds chirping and chattering from my high windows, the rush of cars on the street outside, and the constant chirps, pings, and trills

you put your hair in the coconut...

I remember putting some crazy things in my hair as a kid. Lemon juice, kool-aid, mayonnaise, avocado, tea, and that scalding hot oil treatment. With that last one I might as well been torturing myself with tar and feathers. Then there was the one summer I strived to find the

Read more

Coming soon

the invites...

there is not a raccoon in my kitchen...

you put your hair in the coconut...