Alexandra and Luis singing and playing guitar around the campfire the night before. They learned a bunch of new songs and sang them, and it was magic.
Johanna gave me back the poem I read at her wedding, at our rehearsal dinner.
Waking up with Marley in matching Batman tee shirts on the morning of our wedding, having breakfast with our closest friends, and then going back to bed and having a nap for a few hours. Getting ready together, and hanging out together the morning of our wedding, made it more relaxed. Seeing him at our first look, and at the end of the aisle, still felt incredibly special.
Putting on my amazing dress. It took three friends to get me all in and situated inside the really expensive bra that I had a seamstress sew into the bodice. We kicked Marley out of the Inn’s main hallway, and I put my dress on there with some furniture rearranged specifically for that purpose. Sophia stood in the doorway to make sure the staff didn’t barge through, and I took the opportunity to twirl around naked before submitting myself to a round of “stuffing” and arranging.
My grandmother’s face when she first saw me all dressed. She immediately started crying, which made me immediately start crying. I was so thankful she was there. I’ve glossed over a bit about how brutally my estranged mother treated her when she found out my grandmother planned to attend, but it was NOT an easy time for her. Add to that the fact that my grandmother is a solid octogenarian and is not only alive but alive and well, and I felt so incredibly blessed to have her with me.
Peeing, backwards on the toilet facing the tank, while Katie held the one million layers of my dress up, and then helping me put my sweaty underpants back on which makes us officially bonded for life. We laughed SO HARD!
Gavin cracking jokes as I stood clutching his arm, ready to walk down the aisle to Marley. I knew the choice to have a friend walk me down the aisle might have raised an eyebrow, but after all these years he feels like a brother, and the world has taught me, over and over, that family is what you make it. It was the most authentic choice for me, as was our spontaneous fist bump at the end of the aisle. I love him.
Getting showered with a ton of rose petals as we came back down the aisle. We ripped the heads off of nearly 200 roses to have friends fling them on us, and the shower was nearly overwhelming and magical! I secretly always pray that my clients will have some sort of confetti, because it makes everything so magical. The venue said no to confetti (I don’t blame them!), so roses it was, which looked so beautiful. We’ve just gotten the photo back of this moment, and it is the most amazing photo of myself that I’ve ever seen.
Leading the conga line. I fucking LOVE conga lines. I looped it around so that I could get a look at everyone trailing behind me.
Tracy’s sweet blessings for our marriage. Another dear friend, she officiated wonderfully, and it was fantastic. She has one of the most genuine hearts, and I was so thankful.
Dancing with Marley, and sneaking peeks over his shoulder at my new ring!
The entire weekend, someone – anyone – would be standing to the side of me, and I would stretch my arm out, and they would automatically dip down and drape it across their shoulders and I would snug them against my rib cage.
We’re keeping the images not public for now. I’m folding into myself in my old age. I’m protective of my family and my house, of myself. I don’t need Facebook likes as much as I need to hold precious things to myself.
“I just failed so hard!” she said aloud, emerging from the dressing room, and making eye contact with me, as I was standing right there and looked up when she said something.
She froze in horror.
“I was just… talking to myself? I just… sometimes…”
I smiled. “I do that all the time!”
“It was just that I… oh… you probably don’t care.”
And then she ran away.
I wanted to hug her and let her know that we all have awkward moments, and that I totally was not judging, and that I thought she was so cute.
Dear adorable girl in the fitting room at Rent the Runway this afternoon: you’re ok.
Confession: I have playlists I listen to while walking around that are made up exclusively of non-embarrassing songs, specifically because I saw this video in 2011 and I’m terrified that Ty Cullen will ask me what I’m listening to while I’m listening something awkward.
I also carry a flattering shade of red lipstick at all times, just in case I get stopped by HONY.
I feel most like myself in the summer. Without worrying about where the cold will find its way under my clothes, I’m much more relaxed. Everyone else thinks its too hot, but I feel so peaceful in late July. We’ve been taking Leeloo to Prospect Park in the evenings to run around, and can see shooting stars and moving satellites pretty easily.
We are settling into our new apartment… I think. Kind of. Things are put away, but we are at such a crossroads in our lives that putting together a home for the future feels futile. What is the future? Are we meant to stay here in Brooklyn, in New York, or…? Even what we need now is less clear. My life has consistently moved in patterns of settled in and not. I’ve learned to take the settled parts with a grain of salt, like how in the summer of 2013 I was single and living in my amazing apartment that was finally, perfectly decorated and arranged for one, and then I met someone and fell in love, and he moved in with me in the late spring of 2014, meaning I was “settled” in that formation for about 10 months before things had to move around again.
Right now it’s what we need, but it’s messy because we haven’t figured out where everything goes, and we are living in the spaces between piles of things and curtains that have to be hung up.
We mailed off wedding invitations. I was delighted to realize I had to look up the proper addressing to both a Reverend and his wife, and to married lesbians sharing the same last name (Should you also need this information, it is “The Reverend and Mrs.” and “Mrs. and Mrs.” respectively, but the latter only if the women in question are comfortable with being Mrs., not Ms.)
I’m so excited to get married.
I ran a 5k on Saturday. My problem is that I lived my teenage years in a house where “No!” was the operative word (usually “because Jesus wouldn’t like it” was the reason for not being allowed to do anything fun). Now that I’m an adult, I’m trying to say yes to everything, including things, like running, that I have no business doing. It was for a good cause, and I don’t have that thing inside of me that worries about failing or looking stupid (which is a blessing and a curse) so I said yes, and then did fuck all to train for it.
I’m human. Humans run. How hard can this be? It’s only five kilometers. Training? Like, I don’t have the time, man.
So I ran cold turkey. Ish. And then I slowed down, and then I walked, and then I tried to jog more and my body was like, “Can you not?”
Laura was the one who invited me to join her. She finished, and then found me back on the track and talked me into jogging for my big finish. Out of 430 participants, I came in 417. NOT LAST! I crossed the finish line and immediately burst into tears and kind of snotted on Laura a bit in the process. Sorry, Laura. It was your fault for believing in me.
We got metals, and afterward, we had brunch and wore them proudly all throughout. I spent the next few days unable to walk well, but it is so cool to say I (mostly) ran a 5k. I *might* do another one.
It has been my motto for years, and it’s been even more true feeling since becoming a business owner: I do business with people, not companies. When we were apartment hunting, I was worried about finding a New York City real estate agent that I trusted, that was thoughtful and smart, and that realized that I am looking for a HOME not just piece of real estate for my portfolio.
Enter Emily Margolin.
She is bright and happy which made her fun to work with, and she was honest about the properties we looked at even when that meant we were walking away from something that would have given her a good commission. I trusted her completely. New York City real estate feels shady quite often, but this was not the case here. When we finally found our apartment she was genuinely happy for us, and I completely adore her! We talked about how our businesses dealt with great big life moments, and how we both feel it is an honor to do the work we do. I’m basically throwing my hands in the air right now hollering, “This! Thiiiis!”
We went straight from the closing to a a bar for champagne, and I took this photo of her.
Thank you, Emily, for helping us find our wonderful little home in Brooklyn, and for your excellence.
Marley and I bought an apartment. After seven months and nineteen days of open houses, insane bidding wars, weighing our options, compromising, staying up late in bed propped up on elbows figure how far into Brooklyn was too far and whether or not we needed to think “that hard” about good schools at this point; after getting so far as to having a home inspection on a gorgeous, three-story, so-cheap-it-hurt Queen Ann house that looked like a wedding cake in Newburgh, NY and then deciding after all of that that we just COULD NOT wrap our heads around leaving Brooklyn right now; after changing what we wanted since we only have one dog, and trying slowly to accept that we would probably have to leave our neighborhood… we found the perfect apartment in our neighborhood.
It’s not actually perfect. It’s incredibly small and there’s no backyard. But the windows are big, the ceilings are high, the layout is amazing, and it was in budget.
Then there were the delays. The co-op board changed who was in charge; the lawyers didn’t get it together. Four months after our offer was accepted, we closed.
Immediately, I got on a plane LIKE AN ASSHOLE. I had had this trip planned for ages and canceling was going to be flushing a LOT of money, so we signed papers, had champagne, went to sleep grinning at each other, and then I woke up and beelined to JFK.
Marley is at home now taking care of finishing up the packing and having the apartment painted while I am in Portland visiting a friend before the Canada Photo Convention in Vancouver. I’m swinging south to San Francisco, and then I’ll be home and we move in. And then the settling begins. And then wedding season begins. And we get married, too.
This is a big year.
p.s. Someone should go buy that house in Newburg. It’s really amazing.
When I was little, I promised myself that I would occasionally let myself go to the toy store as an adult and just get anything I wanted. The obvious flaw in this plan is that I don’t care about toys now, but I modified it based on something my friend Elizabeth Clayton does: when I fly, I let myself buy whatever snacks I want. Price and calories don’t count at all, and it is super fun when you’re in Terminal 5 (this terminal is part of the reason I’m such a devoted JetBlue customer).
In reality, I never spend more than twenty dollars, which is a pretty great price for something completely thrilling. Even more so, because we generally don’t keep snacks in the house.
Above is what I got for my flight. (It was $30 because I got a sandwich.) It’s all vegan; I’m not even a vegetarian but buying airport meat seems like such a fucking bad idea.
I’m totally shoes-off in my house. Especially in NYC, I think it is so disgusting to wear your shoes in the house, because if you can think of a fluid that the human body excretes, I’ve seen it on the subway (and sometimes I’ve seen it actually in the process of being expelled or excreted.)
Yes, even that one.
A few years ago my foot missed its mark as I was getting on to the subway, and fell down into the gap between the car and the platform. My remaining leg stuck out behind me while the top half of my body was on the train floor. My main concern was NOT that I was now in a position to have my leg severed off mid-thigh (even though I TOTALLY WAS), it was that I was facedown on the subway floor where all manner of gross resides, in layers, and some was really close to my mouth. It’s just too vile out there.
Is it over the top to request shoes be left outside? Some people have thought so, but it really makes me sick to my stomach to think about what you’re otherwise bringing in to my living room. The dog and her muddy paws are bad enough.
Are you a shoes OK or shoes off house? Does it annoy you to take your shoes off at a friends house? Are you a friend who is annoyed at me for having to take your shoes off?! (I don’t actually plan on letting you wear your germ-boots into my house, but I’m curious, and I’m sorry. I mean, not so sorry you can bring human shit onto my kitchen floor, but still sorry.)
“No. This guy is creeping me out. I think he is trying to touch me.”
“I’ll come over.”