Archive for the ‘briefly’ Category

sf versus nyc
June 8, 2013

 I have this theory: San Fran is this great guy who is super sweet, brings you flowers, asks you on a Saturday date on Wednesday, your mom likes him and you should totally be with him, but he’s kind of boring. All your friends are like, “Oh, San Fran is so great,” and you’re like, “Yeah.…” Then New York is a fucking dick who owes you money and never calls you back, but you have the most amazing sex. He’s such a sexy badass and every time you’re like, I’m never going back, then he calls you at 3am and is like, “Hey girl,” and you’re like, “I’ll be right there.”

Allison Davis, Time Out New York, 4.9.13

the best thing that never happened to her
February 13, 2013

Immeasurable comfort. 

regrets from 2012
January 7, 2013

-Not professing our support of gay marriage in our wedding programs

-Not getting tickets to see Jay Z at the Barclays Center

-Agreeing to watch an episode of GIRLS with my mother

file under: stuff your husband’s parents, 82-year old grandmother, and the rest of the Harvard Club’s Sunday morning diners probably didn’t expect to hear over eggs benedict
October 21, 2012

“Did you think it was bad when I said that I knew I looked like a whore in my short-shorts and boots? I explained that I was only exposing that much thigh because none of my pants fit me anymore.”

“Um, I think it was worse when you used the word ‘blowjob’ during brunch. But that’s just me.”

In my defense: they all knew what they were signing up for long before April.

Francine turns two
September 26, 2012

Things spiraled from we definitely don’t need a color scheme (it’s a dog’s birthday party, for fuck’s sake) to what about yellow? (so fresh, so modern, so cheerful yet understated) to  PINK EXPLOSION in a matter of minutes.

But then again, you probably saw that coming anyway. 




Around the time we put her in her princess crown and Dave lifted her up and we all sang to her, I started to feel like this could possibly be the most pathetic spectacle I’ve ever orchestrated. So, um, there’s no photos of the actual party.

But suffice it to say, everyone enjoyed the pink lady cake.

God help us all if I ever have an actual daughter.

September 1, 2012

I don’t usually like poems; that is, they often don’t speak to me as sharply and haltingly as so many short stories – and, more rarely, novels – do. But I heard the brilliant David Rakoff recite this Elizabeth Bishop piece to Terry Gross on my morning walk to work yesterday, and I haven’t been able to shake its lingering mood, lingering images from my head since. Maybe I’ll try to memorize it, too, so that I can keep it close by at important times, just like he once did.

I know he’s missed by many, but after hearing his voice buzz inside my ears for the better part of this month, I have no choice but to add my silly little name to the list.

Letter to N.Y.
For Louise Crane 

By Elizabeth Bishop

In your next letter I wish you’d say
where you are going and what you are doing; 
how are the plays, and after the plays 
what other pleasures you’re pursuing:

taking cabs in the middle of the night, 
driving as if to save your soul 
where the road goes round and round the park 
and the meter glares like a moral owl,

and the trees look so queer and green
standing alone in big black caves 
and suddenly you’re in a different place 
where everything seems to happen in waves,

and most of the jokes you just can’t catch, 
like dirty words rubbed off a slate, 
and the songs are loud but somehow dim 
and it gets so terribly late,

and coming out of the brownstone house 
to the gray sidewalk, the watered street, 
one side of the buildings rises with the sun 
like a glistening field of wheat.

—Wheat, not oats, dear. I’m afraid 
if it’s wheat it’s none of your sowing, 
nevertheless I’d like to know
what you are doing and where you are going.

More David Rakoff: This American Life’s tribute (my favorites are his blistering Rent piece and his rhyming wedding toast); Fresh Air’s tribute (you, like me, might have to replay (and replay and replay and replay) that moment when Terry Gross asks him if he really feels like he’s “beloved by all but loved by none” — it took me four listenings to really understand what that “lasagna” of a sentence was saying, but I think I get it now, and I think I see myself in it too); this performance, which might make you cry.

and again with the honesty
August 18, 2012

I’ve been feeling a little bit down recently.

I’m confident it will pass soon.

Occasionally, I get these moments – zooming home in a cab through the lights of the city, laughing at a great joke over dinner in Brooklyn, lapsing into gossip with Meg, feeling Dave’s hand on my back after a few glasses of wine – where it feels like I’m coming up for air.

I’m confident you’d rather hear about those than the ones where I feel like I’m drowning. (From what I gather from Dave and my mother, I get kind of annoying when I’m sad.)

Fortunately, I have some photographic proof from today’s traipse through Central Park, which fell squarely into the Very Happy To Be Here category.


Life really can’t be that awful with that blonde around.

what happened to all those cake stands
August 9, 2012

You may recall the tale of my mom, the anti-mother-of-the-bride turned rabid cake stand collector.

By the end of the search, the wedding day seemed to be besides the point. But we still had a party to throw, so out came all the glass.

At the day after brunch, we gave some cake stands away to the most special women in my life (though, admittedly, we did not give them the most special cake stands.)

We lost a few to a tragic rolling cart accident while loading up the car.

One of the tiniest cake stands – the one that sat on the sweetheart table where Dave and I had our first meal as husband and wife – is now in our tiniest of New York City kitchens. Its pattern is called “Good Luck” and it was typically given to newlyweds in an effort to send them off into their life together with just that.

In recent weeks, Mom’s managed to carve out a few more from the collection; they’re currently sitting on the dining room buffet, labeled and catalogued, waiting to be distributed to more ladies we love.

But of course, at least 15 remain in her kitchen cabinets, displacing china and stemware that I don’t foresee ever regaining their spot in the limelight. We are, very firmly, cake stand people now.

say cheese
August 8, 2012

We had a photo booth at the wedding.

Everyone seemed to like it — it kept the children busy, it produced some adorable photos of Dave’s grandfather wearing a king’s crown and a huge grin, it nearly got Amruta a date with the hipster operator, A.J. A lot of good things came of it.

But this, by far, is the best.

you’re on a what?
August 2, 2012

Keeping with the little Wedding Or Whining: Choose Your Adventure! thing we have going on here recently, I present to you your matrimonial-themed option for today:

It’s devoid of the foul language and inappropriate insights my Blabbermouth recaps are peppered with but has more pretty pictures and even some concrete advice, if you’re into that sort of thing. Head here to check it out and brace yourself for more of the real story behind all that baby’s breath and tulle tomorrow.