Ever since we first started dating, Chris has always worked a bit on the late side. The evenings when he gets home before six are rare and carry the same excitement of an early release day back in grade school. Sometimes this is tough, but I've always understood it. When we first met I was acting, and late auditions, all-night shoots, or weekend trips to get my face wrapped in plaster so a disembodied version of my head could be created were part of my norm. Then, during the couple years that I was working at the hedge fund, my nights were often just as late if not later than his. We're people who work hard and understand that about each other, but we're also a couple that likes to spend time together. So, without really even thinking about it, we've always made it a priority to wait and eat dinner together.
It's not unusual for us to sit down to eat at 8 or 9 or 10.... Frankly, it's not unusual for most New Yorkers to do this. Still, by the time we are actually picking up our forks to eat, we're almost always ravenous. This of course leads to shoveling which leads to overeating which leads to "Omg, how am I ever going to lose these vanity pounds in time for the wedding?!"
It's been a couple weeks since my last garden update, and I am sad to report that we've run across our first real complication. My cucumber plants, poor little babies, first ones to sprout from the soil, have taken a terminal turn for the worse.
When you start seeds indoors, with the intent of eventually moving them into the outside world, you must go through a transition period called "hardening off". Your tender little seedlings have been living in the warmth, comfort, and protection of the inside and are completely unfamiliar with things like temperature variation, weather, and wind. Wind is especially a concern if you live in a high rise on a riverfront.
I hear it in some form at some point at least every other week—and I’m sure I could hear it every other minute if I felt the need to seek it out. A snarky comment. A snide remark. A long-look-down-the-nose criticism. In whatever form it comes, it seems that a lot of people take issue with Rachael Ray.
On one hand, I totally get it. She’s incessantly perky, which many find annoying. She has a lot of cutesy catchphrases, including but not limited to: yum-o, delish, and EVOO (I actually get behind this one; it’s a convenient abbreviation.). She tells the same stories over and over again. Yes Rachael, I know you’re going to put nutmeg in your greens because your Grandpa Emmanuel used to do it. We get it, you always burn the bread. Yeah, Worcestershire sauce…Bugs Bunny. Oh, and seriously, if I have to hear one more time how whenever you use cilantro “Jon pulls out his SAT words and calls it verdant”, I might scream.
Unless you’re talking about Oprah. But that has less to do with like and more to do with fear.
There are a plethora of reasons to be personally annoyed with Rachael Ray. Despite the fact that I can see those reasons, she’s never made my skin crawl. All this aside though, I have to say that a good chunk of the criticisms I’m seeing have nothing to do with her being cheeky and cheerful. Instead they trend toward what she’s actually doing in the kitchen. But if you take an honest look at what she’s actually doing in the kitchen, I have to ask you, What’s so wrong with Rachael Ray?
Chris and I will be getting married in seven months.
Eight was that funny place where it still sort of seemed like a long time, but here at seven that sense is gone. Rather, it feels as though we've rounded the top of the hill and are standing in that moment just before gravity takes hold. That moment where you realize how high you are, the vertigo landing in the pit of your stomach, and you feel the anticipatory dizziness of how fast everything is about to move.
It's unsettling but it's exciting.
We've made a lot of decisions in the past month. We've decided on the music, I found my dress (something that I was beginning to fear would never happen), and I had the initial meeting with the florist just the other day. It's slowly beginning to come together and is mostly a matter of details at this point. We made the biggest decisions right after we got engaged, the first of which being the venue. I think I can safely speak for us both and say that, aside from the heart of what the day will represent, the venue is the part about which we are most excited.
If you ever hear me refer to the "bible", I am talking about this book here.
If I ever mention the "holy trinity," you can bet we're talking about Creole cookin' and a discussion about my dislike for bell peppers is soon to follow. I know, we'll deal with it later.
And lastly, the "resurrection" that I will certainly be celebrating for years to come has everything to do with salsa.
On Friday, I transplanted my zucchini and cucumber seedlings into the the containers in which they'll spend their days this summer. They're still living inside most of the time, but those little seedlings were quickly outgrowing their peat pots, snaking roots out the bottom and sides, just begging for more room to grow. So, I figured that since I was moving them into their new homes, I might as well introduce them to their new roommates.
The Easter Bunny made a stop by Chris' parents' house this weekend. I guess he knew we'd be coming, because when we arrived there were little packages of goodies awaiting us. There was the requisite chocolate, a little something for Nilla, and then this:
No, this was not taken with a tilt shift lens (but wouldn't that be fun?). These little utensils are not decorative miniatures, they are not dollhouse wares, nor are they intended for making teeny tiny meals.
, 
, and even 
. Let’s face it—we all know that nobody likes anybody who’s too damned famous.
.
