I am starting to feel the gnawing guilt that, although I have managed to thank nearly every vendor contracted for our wedding, I have yet to actually thank any of the guests for the gifts they bestowed on us. I am a 'thank you card' person - jeez, I send thank you cards to my dermatologist for disintegrating a persistent pimple and to our Super for snaking the shower drain. Clearly, I can't allow another month go by without sending a card to our guests for participating in what was, hands down, one of the most fun days I have ever had.
When I first spoke with Angie of Milestone Images this time last year (I cannot believe it's been a year), she warned me that 'October is the new June' and that I likely would not have any photos in hand until roughly six months after the event. This didn't bother me; however, I realize in hindsight that it does put a crimp in the plan if one wants to create a cheesy photo thank you card. Luckily Angie, being the truly awesome and professional chick she is, agreed to send me a few pics on the fly so I can whip something up. (Don't get me wrong, she posted a spectacular slideshow a mere 3 days after the wedding; I just don't have soft copies of any of the pics to use for this purpose.)
So, on today's agenda is whipping up a cutsie card, which pangs my husband, who would prefer to create an awesomely creepy card reminiscent of our wedding invitation. As much as I loved collaborating with him on that unique project, it was labor intensive and took us so long that if we endeavored to repeat the act, we would be celebrating our one-year anniversary before a single soul was thanked.
Well, off to admire the work of Angie and cringe at the cookie-cutter templates of Snapfish, Shutterfly, Kodak, etc. which will undoubtedly diminish her fabulous work.
So, on the agenda today is to create a card and place the order.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Bronx Zoo
A colleague called me on Thursday to tell me that her sister just got engaged and was beginning her search for a locale for the event. After seeing my wedding photo slide show, this colleague didn't hesitate before recommending the Bronx Zoo!
I confess that a part of me felt sad - I wanted to go back and do it all again. (Okay, not all of it, but most of it.) Of course, it also prompted me to recall that we get a free pass for a full year after our event to visit our lemur friends (and the ever-elusive, yet super-cute xiǎo xióng māo (red panda)), and I must take advantage! It was this time last year when we first visited the hall and decided to book it. It was snowing and freezing cold, which happily meant we were practically the only people there (a rarity anywhere in New York City).
It was also on the snow-drenched bridge that I realized: I had fought so long against the idea of "marriage," but I was finally ready for it: my favorite day of the year (Oct. 23) fell on a Saturday, one of my favorite places in the world (the zoo) had just opened a new event hall, and my favorite person (my now-husband) were all waiting for me - everything as aligned and all I had to do was embrace it. And, so, I did.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Miss America
Last night we were persuaded to watch the Miss America Pageant. Needless to say, my vow to stop drinking this month came to an abrupt, and necessary, end. I couldn't have made it through such a display without something quashing the fire in the pit of my stomach.
You see, our friend (Dr. Beeyul) is in town and, as he is the voice teacher for Miss Tennessee, we watched in support of him and his blond behemoth. It humbles me, but I have to admit it was awesome entertainment.
First, there is the whole: "What-the-hell! I-can't-believe-this-parade-of-human-flesh-still-exists-AND-they-claim-it's-for-scholarship-money-when-these-bitches-can-CLEARLY-afford-tuition!" factor. (Or, as my husband stated: the human equivalent to the Westminster Dog Show.) It's a car crash from which one cannot avert her eyes.
Second, there is the "talent" portion - and, yes, I put that in quotes. Now, our small audience consisted of 1 current professional opera / music theater singer (and doctorate of music), 3 former professional opera singers, and me, a former professional music theater singer/dancer.
That being said, we gave them major credit for performing on national television, but COME ON! The highlights:
Miss Arkansas busted out two dummies and yodeled the bejusus out of some cowgirl tune. We rewound and watched it 4 times. Hell, I wish we had DVR'd at this house, 'cuz I'd be watching it right now. It was the freakiest thing I have seen in a while and she deserved to win but, alas, she lost to Miss Nebraska. So disappointing.
My husband and his brother, raised in Iowa, are still reeling over Miss Iowa's introduction: "Leading the state in ethanol production, my state gives you gas." Freakin' sweet.
You see, our friend (Dr. Beeyul) is in town and, as he is the voice teacher for Miss Tennessee, we watched in support of him and his blond behemoth. It humbles me, but I have to admit it was awesome entertainment.
First, there is the whole: "What-the-hell! I-can't-believe-this-parade-of-human-flesh-still-exists-AND-they-claim-it's-for-scholarship-money-when-these-bitches-can-CLEARLY-afford-tuition!" factor. (Or, as my husband stated: the human equivalent to the Westminster Dog Show.) It's a car crash from which one cannot avert her eyes.
Second, there is the "talent" portion - and, yes, I put that in quotes. Now, our small audience consisted of 1 current professional opera / music theater singer (and doctorate of music), 3 former professional opera singers, and me, a former professional music theater singer/dancer.
That being said, we gave them major credit for performing on national television, but COME ON! The highlights:
- Miss Washington - whiter than the collective mass of bleached teeth during the opening number - screeched her way through the Motown soul song "Papa Was a Rolling Stone," as made famous by the The Temptations. Seriously.
- Miss Arizona sphincter-blinked her way through "Nessun Dorma,"which takes a big ol' pair, seeing as it was the Pav who first rocked it, and then Aretha who, with 30 minutes of preparation, wailed the hell out of it at the Grammy's when the Pav was too ill to perform. Geez, Miss Arizona needs to choose more appropriate material.
- Miss Delaware blatantly ripped of the choreography from one of the worst/best movies ever produced (and one of my all-time favorites) — "Center Stage" (see Television Without Pity for the best recap of this righteously awful flick). Only it lacked heart, vivacity, and any semblance of technique.
Miss Arkansas busted out two dummies and yodeled the bejusus out of some cowgirl tune. We rewound and watched it 4 times. Hell, I wish we had DVR'd at this house, 'cuz I'd be watching it right now. It was the freakiest thing I have seen in a while and she deserved to win but, alas, she lost to Miss Nebraska. So disappointing.
My husband and his brother, raised in Iowa, are still reeling over Miss Iowa's introduction: "Leading the state in ethanol production, my state gives you gas." Freakin' sweet.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Get Wed by Fred in the New Year!
So, we spent New Year's Eve at a good friend's house whereby I met a lovely couple from Ireland, who have been dating for 4.5 years. I tell you this because I was instructed by the young woman not to tell her beau that I had been in a relationship for 13 years before getting married. It seems that she would like to get engaged in the near future and this bit of information would serve as encouragement for her man to avoid asking. And, so, I've learned that I am a blight on all single women looking to marry.
Anyway, after being asked several questions about our wedding (and hearing praise for how fun it was), I basked in the glow of once again being the bride. I never thought in a million years I would say this, but I missed it. Now, I could say it's because I'm the youngest of six kids and tend toward narcissism, but that's not true. (At least not in this instance.) I just have such great memories of the day and realize that as we get farther away from October 23rd, there will be fewer opportunities to talk about it. It will be less newsworthy.
Anyway, this reminded me that I still have work to do in the wedding lovefest arena and, so, today I will rave about my brother-in-law, Fred, who officiated...
One of the things were adamant about was having someone we knew marry us. We felt that getting married is an intimate event and, therefore, did not want a stranger standing in front of us and our family & friends purporting to know us. Armed with Google, we learned that one can become an ordained minister - free of charge - through the Universal Life Church. Then, for a fee of $15, one can register as a wedding officiant with the NYC City Clerk's office, which starts with an online (or mailed) application and then a visit to the office during business hours.
That's all it took! So, we asked Fred, who is ultra-cool and possesses a PhD in religion to preside. I cobbled together a ceremony (God bless the Internet!) while Fred composed a fun sing-a-long as an opener and - badda boom, badda bing - we had one hell of a wedding ceremony. It was, without a doubt, the best decision we made. For weeks afterward we received a ton of inquiries about the awesome "priest" who married us. Fred did an amazing job and, two months later, we still have the refrain from his sing-a-long stuck in our heads:
"Hurry up, we're going to the zoo, let's not rush 'I do, I do'!"
Best. Song. Ever.
Anyway, after being asked several questions about our wedding (and hearing praise for how fun it was), I basked in the glow of once again being the bride. I never thought in a million years I would say this, but I missed it. Now, I could say it's because I'm the youngest of six kids and tend toward narcissism, but that's not true. (At least not in this instance.) I just have such great memories of the day and realize that as we get farther away from October 23rd, there will be fewer opportunities to talk about it. It will be less newsworthy.
Anyway, this reminded me that I still have work to do in the wedding lovefest arena and, so, today I will rave about my brother-in-law, Fred, who officiated...
One of the things were adamant about was having someone we knew marry us. We felt that getting married is an intimate event and, therefore, did not want a stranger standing in front of us and our family & friends purporting to know us. Armed with Google, we learned that one can become an ordained minister - free of charge - through the Universal Life Church. Then, for a fee of $15, one can register as a wedding officiant with the NYC City Clerk's office, which starts with an online (or mailed) application and then a visit to the office during business hours.
That's all it took! So, we asked Fred, who is ultra-cool and possesses a PhD in religion to preside. I cobbled together a ceremony (God bless the Internet!) while Fred composed a fun sing-a-long as an opener and - badda boom, badda bing - we had one hell of a wedding ceremony. It was, without a doubt, the best decision we made. For weeks afterward we received a ton of inquiries about the awesome "priest" who married us. Fred did an amazing job and, two months later, we still have the refrain from his sing-a-long stuck in our heads:
"Hurry up, we're going to the zoo, let's not rush 'I do, I do'!"
Best. Song. Ever.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Snow Day
I am such a dunce. Really. We had a massive blizzard yesterday, which started as soon as we began our journey back from north country. Got home and promptly ran to the grocery store to pick up, well, everything because we live like frat boys and perpetually have nothing in the house, and snuggled in for a long winter's night (sans kerchief, I'm afraid).
This morning, I call the emergency service line at work, which announces that, despite blizzard warnings, the office is open. Defeated, I go about my morning routine foolishly thinking that if I leave a few minutes early, I'll be fine. Remind you, this is early morning and I am entirely sober: what the hell was I thinking? To make matters more ridiculous, I opine, "Don't forget to bust out your knee-high snow boots...oh, and you should wear a skirt to make sure your pants don't get wet." Right - we were beaten with snow and I think that the trusty "7" train, which ceases to run with the slightest hint of precipitation, will safely get me to work. And that a skirt (an article I rarely wear) is an excellent garment, ideal for hurdling snow drifts.
I head outside and *holy crap* there is snow everywhere. I manage to waddle down the street to see the "7" train creeping along the tracks. SWEET - the train is running! By the time I ascend the stairs, which incidentally have not been cleared, and learn from the 50+ people huddled together that there is no Manhattan-bound service and the Flushing-bound side is equally sketchy. So much for NY1 broadcasters, who announced all morning that the "7" was the only line not experiencing difficulty. Ah, the media: long on opinion, yet short on fact.
I waddle back down to ground level and walk headlong up Queens Blvd. (a.k.a. The Boulevard of Death), as the sidewalks are unnavigable. Waiting in the excessively long line yields no results: no buses and no cabs, just relentless wind. I abandon all heroics and stagger home, but not without neighborly assistance: a young man literally gives me a hand traversing the snow mound, and a neighboring Super braces herself on an iron fence while hurling me over the mound she is in the midst of shoveling. The Christmas spirit reigns in Sunnyside, Queens.
So, it's been a snow day. Or I'll be fired. We'll see.
This morning, I call the emergency service line at work, which announces that, despite blizzard warnings, the office is open. Defeated, I go about my morning routine foolishly thinking that if I leave a few minutes early, I'll be fine. Remind you, this is early morning and I am entirely sober: what the hell was I thinking? To make matters more ridiculous, I opine, "Don't forget to bust out your knee-high snow boots...oh, and you should wear a skirt to make sure your pants don't get wet." Right - we were beaten with snow and I think that the trusty "7" train, which ceases to run with the slightest hint of precipitation, will safely get me to work. And that a skirt (an article I rarely wear) is an excellent garment, ideal for hurdling snow drifts.
I head outside and *holy crap* there is snow everywhere. I manage to waddle down the street to see the "7" train creeping along the tracks. SWEET - the train is running! By the time I ascend the stairs, which incidentally have not been cleared, and learn from the 50+ people huddled together that there is no Manhattan-bound service and the Flushing-bound side is equally sketchy. So much for NY1 broadcasters, who announced all morning that the "7" was the only line not experiencing difficulty. Ah, the media: long on opinion, yet short on fact.
I waddle back down to ground level and walk headlong up Queens Blvd. (a.k.a. The Boulevard of Death), as the sidewalks are unnavigable. Waiting in the excessively long line yields no results: no buses and no cabs, just relentless wind. I abandon all heroics and stagger home, but not without neighborly assistance: a young man literally gives me a hand traversing the snow mound, and a neighboring Super braces herself on an iron fence while hurling me over the mound she is in the midst of shoveling. The Christmas spirit reigns in Sunnyside, Queens.
So, it's been a snow day. Or I'll be fired. We'll see.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Happy Festivus...I mean, Christmas
Well, Christmas is here...again. I think I've proven by now that I favor Halloween, but I suppose I can rally the spirit of celebration.
Today we haul ass back up north to party with the fam. In preparation, I headed over to Grand Central Market yesterday afternoon (after being released from the Dark Tower (a.k.a. work) at 1pm). Upon arrival, I was pleasantly surprised to find few patrons; however, mere minutes later, the gates of hell opened and an innumerable number of bodies were swarming the premises.
It was so crowded that I lasted long enough to grab two focaccia breads from Zaro's bakery, dodge a near black eye from guy flailing his arms at Murray's Cheese, and avoid being trampled by some idiot wielding a SUV-style baby carriage (in the Market - really? This was a conscious choice?).
Paltry treats in hand, I abandon my mission and, after riding a monumentally full (and odoriferous) train home, I arrive at the Sunnyside Post Office. Again, I was pleasantly surprised to find only one person preceding me on line. However, by the time I was assisted, the line grew tenfold and people were winding out the door.
Packages retrieved, I journey next to a lovely pastry shop to see if can find some cannolis (or something equally delicious and fattening), but, alas, the pastries had been picked over until there was nothing, save a lone bran muffin.
Defeated, I stagger home. Plop on the couch. And refuse to move for the rest of the evening. Merry Christmas.
Today, we must now gather the items I failed to retrieve yesterday, get on a commuter train (damn you, Grand Central), and make our way north.
Dear baby Jesus, on this eve of your birth, please give me the strength.
Today we haul ass back up north to party with the fam. In preparation, I headed over to Grand Central Market yesterday afternoon (after being released from the Dark Tower (a.k.a. work) at 1pm). Upon arrival, I was pleasantly surprised to find few patrons; however, mere minutes later, the gates of hell opened and an innumerable number of bodies were swarming the premises.
It was so crowded that I lasted long enough to grab two focaccia breads from Zaro's bakery, dodge a near black eye from guy flailing his arms at Murray's Cheese, and avoid being trampled by some idiot wielding a SUV-style baby carriage (in the Market - really? This was a conscious choice?).
Paltry treats in hand, I abandon my mission and, after riding a monumentally full (and odoriferous) train home, I arrive at the Sunnyside Post Office. Again, I was pleasantly surprised to find only one person preceding me on line. However, by the time I was assisted, the line grew tenfold and people were winding out the door.
Packages retrieved, I journey next to a lovely pastry shop to see if can find some cannolis (or something equally delicious and fattening), but, alas, the pastries had been picked over until there was nothing, save a lone bran muffin.
Defeated, I stagger home. Plop on the couch. And refuse to move for the rest of the evening. Merry Christmas.
Today, we must now gather the items I failed to retrieve yesterday, get on a commuter train (damn you, Grand Central), and make our way north.
Dear baby Jesus, on this eve of your birth, please give me the strength.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Lunar eclipse
As the sun is now peeping into our windows, I realize that our top-down shade in the living room is lowered. I know my husband slept poorly last night (hence laundry morning over gym morning), so perhaps he caught a glimpse? Alas, I am sad I missed it, but I am a grown-up and must suffer the consequences.
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