Paris: It's Just So Freaking Parisian

The Pantheon

Paris is my geographical soulmate. Everyone smokes and drinks too much and their main priority is that everything look good and taste even better.

Also it turns pretty colors at sunrise and sunset. It's inspired more artists in its history than Pattie Boyd and as I sat in a cafe with a cappuchino, a croissant and a Moleskine notebook I couldn't help thinking, "Good Christ, do I feel Parisian. Someone come hit me over the head with a baguette before I start spouting prose."

They don't know it, but they feel pretty Parisian too.

 We were there for only 24 hours, so I was determined to cram in as much le crap as was le possible. Luckily, our hotel room was tiny, had a weird bathtub and a balcony that looked out onto a creperie, a patisserie and a wine cafe, so even waking up felt French.

Luxembourg Gardens

The Boy Contemplates Rue's Distant Cousin

Good God, I love this city.

The Crypt at the Pantheon

Clothing Purchased: None. I had wine to drink and cheese to eat, man. Priorities, people.

Amsterdam: Not Just for Stoners, Who Knew?

Amsterdam is The Boy's geographical soulmate. No, not because of that. Get your mind out of the coffeehouse. Because it has a strong foundation that is beautiful but functional above all else. The basic structure of the city was established over 400 years ago, and while it's grown exponentially since then, it's still remains much the same. That foundation was based on ideas and designs that were made to last.

In many ways the city looks the same as it always has because they're so rooted in the past. But at the same time, it's one of the most open-minded, accepting and forward thinking places I've ever been. Yes, that means lots of drugs but it also means it's been a refuge for persecuted people for centuries, particularly Jews. And it has a thriving LGBT community, since they hosted the first ever gay marriage ceremony.

I just realized it might look like I put this here because it's rainbow like the Gay Pride flags but actually it's from a cocktail museum and I thought it was pretty because I like shiny things and bright colors, that's all.

I think I may have discovered the Dutch secret: they raise their children well. It's the only conclusion I can come to, given the lack of annoying children. They've simply created an environment that fosters honesty and acceptance and it seems to start in the home.

For example: when we first arrived, the traffic situation was indiscrutable to us. We couldn't figure out how bikes, cars, trams, boats and pedestrians were co-existing so peacefully on the tiny roads and canals. We hardly ever heard car horns or ambulances, so it was clearly working out somehow.

Then we figured it out: common courtesy. When bikers had to leave the bike lane, they yielded to cars. When cars drove on the tram tracks, they yielded to trams. And everyone stays out of the canal. They all make an effort to be thoughtful, considerate and not an idiot. It was a true marvel.

It's also beautiful and has more museums than you can shake a stick at. Seriously. I spent so much time stroking my chin and looking thoughtful I've started doing it in my sleep. Also, Dutch is the funniest goddamn language I've ever heard.

Clothing I Bought: These Amazing Booties.

How Dutch is this shit?

Happy Fucking New Year!

Happy Fucking 2012!

Celebrated the New Year's Eve in Amsterdam with a bit of champagne, sparkly things and, later, room service and general merriment. This city is fantastic.

Planning a recap of all the places The Boy and I have been recently, but in the meantime we've gotten a loaf of bread with a paper crown wrapped around it and I really think I ought to put aforementioned crown on my head. Hope you all had fantastic holiday tomfoolery.

Love & Stuff

A friend of mine* posted this about love and it got me thinking.
Then my dad posted this about love and it got me writing.

About love. And the one I love. You know the one. He has a beard. And he and I tend to play it pretty close to the chest when it comes to our relationship, for reasons of our own. And I like that about us. I have nothing against bold declarations of love or public displays of affection....as long as they aren't annoying or in my face. And either way, it's not for us.

As a principle, I am all for love. It's all you need, it's the one thing that there's just too little of, she loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah. But, for me, love is private. It's between me and my loved ones. And a lot of times I find it easier to express with actions and items than with words.
 
For example, when The Boy's mother got sick, it shook me to my core. I couldn't believe this woman that I loved so much, that had done so much for me, could be in danger. Could be anything other than a permanent pillar of strength and encouragement for her family**. So, instead of letting her know how much she meant to me and how much I loved her, I cooked three lasagnes, cleaned their upstairs, organized their freezer and scrubbed their bathroom.

I've done the same thing with my mother, my friends and The Boy. And, lucky for me, they accept these tidings for what they are, but sometimes I wonder if my life wouldn't be a little easier and better if I learned how to express my love and gratitude for the people in my life. If I even got brave enough to do it in front of other people. It sounds so easy and basic, but it's a pretty terrifying concept for me to grasp.

It would be easy, I think, to over/psycho/whatever analyze this tendency, but I think it's pretty simple.

Growing up, I had a very clear image of who I would be when I grew up. All through high school and college I kept waiting to turn into this magical woman that I believed I should be. She would be independent, have excellent hair, and be confidently nonchalant about pretty much everything.

And, this was a crucial bit: she would never look back. I had this idea that in order to build my own life I had to detach completely from my old life. Teenage dissatisfaction led me to believe that there was nothing worth keeping in myself or my surroundings so I waited until I was able to discard them and myself.

But of course that's impossible. And as someone who is engaged to her high school sweetheart, best friends with her high school and college friends, and is very close to her family, I should know that better than anyone. But I think part of me feels as though I've failed somehow by continually looking back. As though to tell everyone that I can't wait to build a future with The Boy, who is so much a part of my past, will somehow make them think less of me.

But I'm realizing more and more that the only people whose opinions matter never would. And that sharing the past with them is a gift I've been given, so I should be grateful for it. So I may never be that girl that freely and happily makes out with her boyfriend on a train (and I never want to be because that bitch was annoying as shit) but I can be that silly girl that admits on a silly blog that she is very, very lucky for all the people that have been, are and will be in her life. And especially the one who isn't a person at all.

*Two things about this friend: 1) her blog is hilarious and you should read it for posts usually very unlike that one and 2) she is moving to LA to become a writer which is sad but also awesome because she will write a sitcom that I can star on and everything will be awesome for everyone. And yes, I am blatantly hitching my star to her wagon. Wouldn't you?

**Of course she remained a pillar of strength and encouragement to her family because that's what she does and it was a little silly of me to think that something as minor as a debilitating illness would affect that.

Happy Belated Halloween!

Happy Halloween!

Hope you all had a fabulous Halloween! The snowstorm forced The Boy and I to cancel our trip home to MA which would have been unfortunate if it hadn't also stranded some other Mass-bound friends at our house. Their loss was our gain and we hunkered down with apple cider donuts, beer and plenty takeout menus.

We had a much better time than she did.

We ate, we played games, we giggled over costumes and we watched the snow come down with eager little faces.

Ok, so maybe not eager, but pretty awesome, no? We were the Tennenbaums and if you haven't seen that movie, go do so now. No, seriously, now. Go. I'll wait.

 

We had a blast and now I have a faux fur coat that I can put on and feel instantly awesome. In fact, I may just slowly but permanently transform into Margot Tenenbaum. I tried to dress Rue up as Mordecai but he wasn't having it. 

P.S. Weekly Zumba update: someone spiked the Old Lady punch. The Ancients were feeling sassy as anything and I just loved it.

Happy Belated Easter!

Hope you had a great one with chocolate for breakfast and confused fertility symbols (rabbits. don't. lay. eggs). The Boy and I had a lovely seder with his family, which wrapped up with a raspberry mousse cake we brought. To be honest, we were pretty damn pleased with ourselves about it. Nigh on insufferable, but the delicousness of the cake saved us.

This bunny might lay a chocolate egg. If chocolate egg means rabbit shit

Before the seder, we helped my mom move which was less than lovely given that it snowed. That's right, ladies and gentleman, snowed. As in, white flakes falling to the ground while we lugged furniture all day and slowly got soaked. But all's well that ends well and the move ended well. Mom was happy in her new home, The Boy was happy in a warm bed and I was happy in my hot bath.

Also we all had bourbon and that helps like hell.

After getting home, my life suddenly turned into a Freaks and Geeks episode. Seriously. Plaid pajama pants, pigtails and pink Doc Marten boots on a scooter making a late night fast food run.

And now it's back to the grindstone with loads of emails and photo shoots and trapezing. Yup, trapezing. How awesome is that?

Happy Weekend!

Happy Friday, everyone! The Boy and I will be working on the house all weekend: rearranging, painting, fixing etc. Pictures to come.

We have a lot of new furniture and one of my favorite pieces is a giant leather chair. Rue likes it, too. 

Cutest. Ambush. Ever.

He spends almost all of his time there when he's not hiding under the covers.

Of course, The Boy and I will probably squeeze in a few moments of social engagements over the weekend, and I'm hoping they'll include good food, good wine and maybe a few cocktails.

And on that note, I'm leaving you with yet another delightful recipe from The London Hotel Bar. My friend Miss Mina tried The Gilded Lily and loved it, as did I. This one isn't as sweet, but it's just as delicous.

Photo Credit: Matt Simpkins

The Peak

Translation from the Spanish "El Pico" -- inspired by Machu Picchu in Peru, where the liquor Pisco is produced. 

2 oz     Pisco 100 (or other light grape brandy)
2 oz     Pear Nectar

1 oz     Fresh Lime Juice
1/2 oz  Simple Syrup

Dash of ground pepper

The Peak is served straight-up in a martini glass, garnished with a slice of pear. 

Enjoy and happy, happy weekend!

Craptastic Sandwich of a Situation

So, I thought my first post this week would
       A) be made on Monday
       B) be about the lovely engagement brunch that The Boy's parents were going to throw us on Sunday

but, so very unfortunately, I ended up in the hospital on Sunday morning and stayed there well into Monday. Why I was there is a long, boring and kind of gross story so I'll keep it short: we thought it was appendicitis, and it wasn't. We don't know what it was, but it was awful.

So, in light of that craptastic sandwich of a situation, I thought I'd post a few things that I think are just lovely.

I love this picture:

Image courtesy of Oh Joy

I love this outfit:

Image courtesy of The Sartorialist

I love that this happened:



I love this computer case:

Image courtesy of See Me Everywhere

I love this place:

Image courtesy of This is Glamorous

I love The Boy. 
I promised myself that even though we were engaged I would keep the blog from becoming a sappy love fest* but he was really lovely while I was in the hospital. Held my hand, fed me juice, slept by my hospital bed, filmed me while I was on morphine (a video is worth 4 words: "blinking is like...whoa"). If I eventually post the video of me doped up, will you forgive this momentary girly moment?

*because, to be honest, I hate that kind of shit.

Things I Am Not Proud Of

In Which The Author Wastes Perfectly Good Tequila

Had a Bridget Jones level cooking disaster the other night.

Now, I consider myself a pretty good cook. There aren't a whole lot of recipes I'd be afraid to try and I have a few staples up my sleeve that always come out great and impress the crowd (hello, lasagna). I've only had a few mishaps in the kitchen and they were all pretty minor.

This was not minor.

This was hardly a mishap.

It was a fecking disaster.

This was the plan: a romantic dinner for The Boy and I consisting of avocado and shrimp soup with caviar and creme fraiche, served with tilapia tacos with mango jicama salsa. The recipe came from a fantastic book I got for my birthday filled with recipes that use tequila or agave. I was super excited for this dinner. For Christ's sake, I bought caviar.

This was the turn of events: I headed for home after an exhausting weekend of wedding showers, family visits and Memorial Day fun with the bride-to-be in tow. Having bought more than enough ingredients, I invited her to stay for dinner before she headed back to Brooklyn. No big deal, I thought. This dinner will be great! I was so excited to get home and start cooking that I ignored the Boy's calls.

Have you ever started a project with a cloud of doom hanging over your head? I have. Little things kept going wrong, but it didn't phase me.
So The Boy ordered pizza because I didn't answer his calls. We can eat it tomorrow for breakfast! So I spilled the cream, no big deal. We have plenty!
So the tilapia has mysteriously vanished*. We can use this catfish, it isn't that old!

All the while I'm trying to ignore this little voice in the back of my head saying, "Fuck this shit! Abandon ship!" That ignoring I did? That was a mistake.

The food processor leaked. Then it exploded.

And I'd come too far to turn back now. So I reblended and then assembled the soup, complete with ridiculously expensive garnishes. And I made the catfish taco salads.

And you know what? It was fucking gorgeous. Like, 5 Star restaurant looking meal. It may not show in the pictures, but this meal was so aesthetically pleasing Martha Stewart would be jealous. Or at least impressed. Or maybe just satisfied. I really can't tell with that woman.


Catfish Tacos with mango jicama salsa

Shrimp and avocado soup with creme fraiche and caviar

And you know what else? It tasted like tequila scented ass. Assssssssss. I mean, it was delicious for three bites and then it felt like a drunk avocado took a crap in our mouths. And the shrimp was that kid who's dry and super boring so he gets a kick out of getting his drunk friends to do hilarious things. "Do it!! Take a dump in their mouth, you drunk asshole!"

And the catfish? It was that old. No bueno.


The traumatized and hungry bride-to-be left and The Boy and I were stuck with a disaster zone of a kitchen, a gallon of green goo, and cold pizza.

So, naturally, we popped open a bottle of champagne and had it with the rest of the caviar. In case you were wondering, caviar is an excellent appetizer for a pizza dinner.

*for those of you who read/watched/loved/obsessed about Bridget Jones: I literally peered into the freezer and said, "Oh fuck! Where the fuck is the fucking tilapia?! And, like Bridget and her fucking tuna, I still have no fucking idea.

Bursts of Color in a Grey World

Had an amazing, exhausting, exciting weekend of which I have only limited documentation. Consider this a preview.

First, I travelled to DC.


I travel in color.

This city surprised the hell out of me and I couldn't be happier about it. What an amazing place!

Then, instead of sleeping, an 8-hour drive back. Got home just in time to kiss The Boy, pet Rue and dash off to a 4am call time for a rather delightful little shoot.


I have a whole new respect for Japanese women of yore.

The MUAs were brilliant, since their canvas had been awake for almost 24 hours straight.

And the photographer and I had a fantastic time. Can't wait to see all the results

Happy Easter!

CHEER UP, IT'S EASTER!

Image Courtesy of Sacramento St.

One of the very good things about being with The Boy is I also get to spend time with his family, who are coming up tomorrow to visit. They're Jewish, so I hope they don't mind if I have a tiny little Easter celebration. I like to have the best of both worlds.

I hope you're having a lovely weekend and, if you so choose, Easter Sunday.

Images courtesy of Williams & Sonoma

I should be cleaning and getting ready, but instead I'm sitting in my lovely office drinking a lovely latte and having matzo with yoghurt and jam (see what I mean about the best of both worlds?). Later, I think I'll write a letter to my dad so I can send him his super awesome and super belated birthday present.





Images courtesy of dress, design & decor


Happy weekend!

Making the Most of It

To be honest, I've never really cared for fall. Here's why.

1) I love, love, love summer and fall simply doesn't measure up. How could it?

2)I've also never been able to shake the feeling that fall is a kind of last gasp, a dying breath of beauty before winter comes and kicks my ass. Which it really, really does.

3) When you're from a rural part of Massachusetts, people from other parts of the country always tell you how beautiful it is, how wonderful autumn is, and how lucky you are to live there. They're right, but it still makes me cranky.

This year, though, I've decided to make the most out of this season. After all, The Boy was born in fall, so it can't be all bad. So, we went pumpkin picking. And got apple cider, and apple cider donuts. And made a fort. It was brilliant.

Pumpkins.

Pumpkins!

Also, I got to wear my new equestrian rain boots. Those are one of those things that might not seem important, but once I got them I saw the light.

Cider. With whiskey. We're from New England- we don't fuck around with rum.

I really, really love forts.

In making the most of fall, we also seem to be discovering a lot about where we live. It's really quite lovely and has things like an old general store that gradually turned into an antique store as the years passed, and a spooky old cemetery that's a great place to be at dusk on Halloween.

There was some really, really old grape soda.

This weekend, I'm thinking a hike and s'mores on our hibachi. Maybe I like fall in New England?