Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

more things I will probably only tell you because I am hopped up on flu meds
January 13, 2012

I am in love with this new Kelly Clarkson song/video. How did we not participate in this? I almost want to go through a break up just so I can blast this in my car with the sunroof down. But I guess that would require that I move to the suburbs/go back to high school/cancel my wedding. So for now I shall just play it on repeat on Youtube.

I’m also listening to this these days, but that’s mostly just because I think Lana Del Rey is hot.

I think it might be time for some more Tylenol now.

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under the weather
January 13, 2012

pluses:

I have a very fluffy cuddlebunny to keep me company on the couch.

I have watched the entire first season of Downton Abbey.

The cuddlebunny has watched the entire first season of Downton Abbey (she specifically enjoyed the episode where they go hunting, and all those dogs run across the screen.)

Lots of people seem to want to bring me soup. I am especially taken by the offers from a- the girl who has helped me to survive countless hangovers, some in her childhood bed; and b- the neighbor who works in the ER during the day (seems like she knows what she’s doing.)

My wedding dress, which I am trying on for the first time on Monday, should be swimming on me. Underachieving bride tip: order your dress one size too big, and then get the flu right before your first fitting!

minuses:

I feel like crap.

I had to take a sick day during the one day of the year when my job duties involve writing about twinkies.

My weekend plans (chock full of churros, old maps, pretty paper, visitors and maybe a party or two) seem to be in jeopardy.

The one person I want to take care of me is at the hospital across the street, taking care of everyone else.

the moment we officially became New Yorkers
January 5, 2012

Walking back from Grand Central, puppy plus Dave’s entire family in tow, a car kind of cuts us off while we’re crossing on York.

Dave and I both instinctively flick it off with both hands.

Dave’s entire family looks on in horror.

“I’m not even sure that guy actually cut you off,” Dave’s brother, Michael, said. “That was kind of aggressive.”

We shrug.

this year
January 3, 2012

I’m not usually into this whole new year thing.

I detest January and gyms and diets and even the night itself, which is almost always a letdown cloaked in a ridiculous cover charge.

But I spent this past leap into the new calendar on the 31st floor of a building in the financial district, drinking champagne from a plastic cup, taking in a lite-brite version of the city from the balcony, wearing something sparkly and sleeveless. And at midnight, I teared up a little bit.

It may have been all the bubbly, or the creepily high temperatures (yay global warming) or the fact that we were in the dead middle of a remarkable weekend, spent in every corner of the city living exactly the kind of life I want to have here.

But more likely, it’s because of 2012.

I know this sounds ridiculous, but I’ve been waiting for those four digits to line up for nearly a year and a half now, when you count it one way, and nearly my whole life, when you count another. A long engagement is wonderful in many ways, and it was, without a doubt, the right choice for us – for me, specifically, the type A planner who has unexpectedly had to work her way through some shit in the past year in order to be in the exact right spot to tie the knot.

But this extended limbo has been difficult. I hate the in-between obnoxiousness of the word ‘fiance,’ I hated layering another period of waiting over the countdown to Match that defined last year. I spent a lot of time feeling embarrassed about being a bride, feeling like the whole engagement thing was a sham because the date was so far off and I’m not changing my name and our relationship isn’t picture-perfect and smart non-sorority girls aren’t supposed to like wedding planning, duh.

Its had its exceedingly lovely moments, this time, but mostly, I’ve just felt a little awkward, a little in-between, and always like it would never, ever end.

Saturday night – with people screaming “happy New Year!” and 2-0-1-2 flashing on the screen and everyone kissing – made something change, shift, click. It felt so much more real, and the severity of what we’re about to do hit me in a way that it hasn’t since that hot August day in the district that Dave asked me to marry him.

In less than four months, I’ll make good on my Yes.

I hope that somehow this long engagement will prove to be totally worth it, that it will become clear that our wedding – and maybe even marriage – wouldn’t be the same if we hadn’t moved toward this day at this exact pace. But I know that even if that little moment of transcendence doesn’t happen, I’ll be just fine. It really won’t matter. Because in April, come hell or high water (even Hurricane Irene: The Sequel) I’ll be married.

April of this year.

Wow, that feels good to say.

Thankful for
November 24, 2011

dotted tights; donuts; rose by the bottle; the puppy and the boy who rushed over to Yardley, PA to pick her out 366 days ago; that little envelope we opened up in March; a week in Mexico and the tan to prove it; good health and good test results; physics, and the philosophy thereof; Kelly Kapoor; a city where I can finally get a decent bagel; the pair of very sparkly flats I got to wear last month, and the pair I’ll get to wear in April; new Thanksgiving traditions with a crowd that’s almost family; leftovers on Friday with the foursome I’ve been lucky enough to have from the very beginning.

In it for the long haul
November 19, 2011

In case the breakup of Demi and Ashton has thrown you for a loop, rest assured: these two lovebirds are still going strong.

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Karma
August 28, 2011

The pipe that just burst in our bathroom, leaving my flat iron on life support and our evening kind of wrecked, is directly related to the fact that I called Irene a pussy, isn’t it?

If I get blown away…
August 27, 2011

…walking my puppy during Hurricane Irene, at least I will look adorable.

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Life, all boxed up
May 30, 2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

Have I mentioned we’re moving? Or that I upgraded from a turn of the century (maybe 18th, can’t be sure) flip phone to an iPhone? Both forces combine to bring you today’s post!

Hope your Memorial Day was a tad more relaxing than ours. More updates to come from our new (temporary, temporary, could not be more temporary) digs in NJ soon.

For now, welcome to summer, and the next chapter.

Kisses,
Rach

Florence’s instructions
September 13, 2010

Two Friday nights ago, after Dave asked me to marry him, I called my great aunt Florence.

I called a bunch of other people too: my parents, my friends, my brothers. And I got some choice reactions, like from Jacob (“Ray, this is wonderful news,” he said, sounding like he very much meant it) and Evan (“is this a joke?” was the gist of it, I believe) and loud, real tears from Meg. But my favorite reaction, by far, was from Florence herself, the sister of my late grandfather, reached at around 9 p.m. at her Long Island nursing home.

“You’re talking too loudly,” she told me, a tad sternly, in her throaty voice, still thick with a New York accent after all these years. “Calm down. I can’t understand you.”

That was her. Ninety-five-years old, still correcting people, still telling it like it is, afraid of no one and nothing. Still better at names and dates and simple math than my mother, still unafraid to berate my oncologist of an uncle for refusing to inform her of each and every side effect of the cancer drug he had recommended. The woman was fierce.

I can’t say I was that close with her; after all, she wasn’t my grandmother, and she had enough grandchildren with enough talents (successful, beautiful, also dating Jewish med students) to keep her busy and proud, rattling off their stats to anyone who would listen.

But as someone who never really lived close or felt close to her grandparents, who hasn’t had any grandparents at all, near or far, for years, I think of her more often than you might guess. And, now that she’s gone – on her own terms of course, without much pain, I think, on Sunday night – I’m trying to remember what she told me, before that whole engagement thing even came to pass: “Hang on to him. And behave yourself.”

The first part is easy, now that it looks like I’m stuck with him for, well, ever. And the second part?

I’m going to give it a try. Since it’s what she wanted.