One of the very best parts of my wedding was the cake. It was ugly (the horrible catering hall manager didn’t allow my tattooed, pierced, punk-rock florist to put flowers on it… but that’s a whole other story) and it was naked. But it was SO GOOD. It was chocolate or vanilla, maybe both, and had both a fudge and cheesecake filling layer in. Never, ever had I had a cake like that before.

Now our 1000th day of being married is coming up at the end of January and I want to celebrate it with a similarly awesome cake. I’m thinking this is an excellent time to cross off a life list item – “Learn to make a really great cake from scratch (with homemade frosting).”

I’ll worry about the ins and outs of it after the new year, but I wanted to put out there that if you happen to have a fabulous recipe for “cheese cake filling” (because it wasn’t cheesecake proper, it was like cheesecake pudding, or cheesecake custard or something that was cheesecake-like in flavor but then so wonderful and creamy and very UN like a cheesecake in texture) pass it on. Extensive googling has turned up nothing.

“I think a raving sea monster could have attacked your wedding and you wouldn’t have noticed from all the GOOGLY EYE STARING you were doing!” – Jen

This week SO needs a fork in it.

I got a hurt hand, went to the doctor, got majorly sick, had a disaster with Hey Brooklyn that Rob is looking into, took the first of hopefully many photos of shelter dogs, went to a Yankees game (with Chris Cavs!), tasted guacamole at the Bell House, had a lovely interview, celebrated my second anniversary, and began working on an exciting new project which I’m going to share here on Monday.

Thank you for all for the input on my last name. It was one of those things where I said to Rob, “I don’t really know if I should hit publish on this thing.” I’m glad I did.

Happy weekend!

Today is my second wedding anniversary. I know this because I wrote it down last week, after Rob looked up from writing on the calendar and said, “Do we have anything May 5th? I feel like we do.”

“I don’t think so, but it sounds familiar… hm. Nope, nothing on my calendar for that.” We racked our brains for a minute before it clicked. We just aren’t sentimental about it.

On Sunday night, my mother-in-law mentioned it excitedly, and asked if we had big plans. We didn’t. “Very romantic!” she said, sarcastically. But we don’t care.

There are Rob-related moments that mean a lot more to me than May 5. I remember the date we got engaged, April 22, and the date we first met, August 4. There another date I remember, too, but, you know, I’ll spare you, because if I told you the first time we decided to duet and it turned out to be your birthday, THAT WOULD BE AWKWARD.

I don’t remember all the important dates, though.

What I’d really like to remember, and can’t, is the first time I looked in my wallet, realized I didn’t have cash, and found his to take out a twenty. When did we become money stealing close? When did we reach the point that we started showering together occasionally for no other reason than to save time? How did I forget to take note of the beginning of the dictionary of inside phrases and jokes and songs we have? Shouldn’t I be celebrating the fact that he will always get out of bed and shut the window, or get me another blanket, if I’m cold? Furthermore, when was the first time he got out of bed, found wool socks, and put them on my ice cube feet for me so I wouldn’t have to stick my arms out into the frigid room to do it myself? I wish I thought to write that one down, because he does this on a fairly regular basis, and if that doesn’t deserve a party that what does? Also, when did it become ordinary to ask of each other, “Smell. Is my breath horrible? HAAAAHHHH!”? Because I really like that I can do that.

May 5, 2007 was fun, but it wasn’t what it should have been. Things I tried to make happen never materialized, and things that should have never, ever happened went on while I watched helpless (and no, Jen, it wasn’t you forgetting the ring!) I didn’t feel the way I should have felt, and if I could go back and choose between not having a wedding at all or having the wedding we did, I would have eloped because, in the end, there was only one thing I really cared about, and I would have gotten him either way. He was the best part of the whole thing.

(Well, him and that cake.)