As promised, the long-awaited post:

Adele’s Wedding
Because Adele’s wedding is such a momentous occasion, I decided it deserved its own post, rather than being lumped in with the October updates.

FRIDAY (Oct 16th)
I was so happy to be getting out of New York on Friday I struggled to come up with the right words to verbalize my joy. With a week of rain, sexual frustration, and an almost constant supply of jealousy, I just wanted to get out of Dodge. In this sense, Adele’s wedding was particularly well timed.

But of course, this is New York, and what should be simple will invariably be complicated. After a long wait in line with Martin Short (seriously), I get through the terminal to discover my plane has been delayed. So I wait, reading a stack of tabloids heavy enough to kill a man. Then, I had the world’s feyist, most obnoxious flight attendant tell me I couldn’t bring my football size purse on the plane if I already had a laptop and a roll-on, which was beyond ridiculous. He wanted me to check my bag and I was all, don’t effin touch me or I will cut your throat, so I just shoved the bag into the suitcase, walked onboard, and then took the purse out of the suitcase. The whole thing got my blood up and made me want to start punching people while eating.

Getting into O’Hare is, bizarrely, a very welcoming yet slightly erotic sort of feeling, based entirely on the Pavlovian response to years of college conditioning. I would come back to Chicago after every holiday shimmering with excitement that I was on my way to see Mark. I’d usually stop in the bathroom and clean up, change clothes, put on makeup, or brush my hair so I could go over to see him the second I arrived on campus. That whole tingling excitement is still there, long after Mark has left.

Nickd was heading out of town for the week, and he was kind enough to let me stay in his apartment. He lived off the California stop in a very leafy, parky part of town that wasn’t unlike Evanston. I identified the home by the small, hand-drawn cartoon on the door. Inside, the house was precious, and very Nickd: maximalist, full of books and textbooks, records and arrows, music posters and graphic novels. And beer! So much beer! In every part of the house there was one-of-a-kind, imported, aged and flavored and distilled and filtered beer that boggles the mind. He and his girlfriend made me cookies and left me a precious little note on top of some fresh towels. I was too knackered to make it out to a bar where Adele, Mark, and Lakshmi were getting drinks with the wedding party, so I watched some “Glee” on Nickd’s computer and got some much needed sleep.

SATURDAY (OCT 17th)
There is nothing more beautiful then Chicago in the fall: the leaves, the clear blue skies, the crisp weather. It’s perfection. I got up early, took a shower, and did all of my hair and makeup for the wedding. Even though it was the morning, I knew I’d be tagging around doing errands all day, and I wouldn’t be able to make it back to the apartment. Lakshmi called me around noon, and I headed over to meet up with Adele and her bridal party at Strange Beauty. Adele, her cousin Allison, her sister Bess, Bobby (Adele’s brother)’s girlfriend Alice, and Lakshmi were all getting their hair and makeup done for the wedding. I mostly sat around on chairs and took photos. For me, getting hair and makeup done is an exclusive wedding related activity for me and my friends—we’re not really the kind of girls to ever set foot in a beauty parlor together. Or alone, for that matter.

Once everyone got pinned and polished and glossed, it was already mid-afternoon, with the wedding set to start around 6:30 or 7. So we raced to Adele’s place, loaded up all the flowers and dresses into the car, and drove straight through the venue, stopping only to get some gas (and get me some caffeine and chips, since all of my Chicago friends have become slender creatures that imbibe nutrients through photosynthesis and thus, no longer need to eat.) The day that had started out sunny and clear had become progressively more cloudy and grey, so it was fortuitous that Mark and Adele had planned for an indoor wedding.

The venue, Salvage One, was completely beyond belief, so forgive me for spending a moment to sing it’s praises. Salvage One began it’s life as an architectural salvage showroom and warehouse. For those of you who have been to Chicago, you can understand how amazing a Chicago-area architectural salvage store must be. Hunks of gothic looking stone, intricate wrote iron gates, reclaimed-wood side tables with flaking paint were arranged sporadically throughout the two floors. The ground floor was concrete, and held most of the stone. Adele and Mark’s alter was set up between two limestone pillars, with reclaimed church pews and theatre rows for the guests. Upstairs, on a wooden floor that had to have been at least a hundred years old, with yawning gaps that let you see the people below and boards that squealed with every step, there was the reclaimed furnishings. Sideboards and cabinets that belonged in anthropology catalogues and Provencal homes, giant gilt mirrors with speckled glass and refurbished window frames that hung in the middle of the room to divide space. In the “kitchen” department, the wedding feast was being laid out, while dozens of tables and a DJ stage had been set out for the festivities. And that isn’t even all of the amazing things packed in this warehouse, such as the odd ‘art’ that had been assembled from reclaimed victrolas, film, and wire, or the ‘chandelier’ made of a weather vein, railroad lanterns, crystals, and brass kettle that spun behind the wedding alter.

Once we arrived, Adele realized that she had forgotten her jewelry and bra at home, and so she and Lakshmi raced backed to the apartment. Having done flowers at a few Mormon weddings, I took on the task of filling the vases with the flowers Adele had bought wholesale, with Bobby and Alice as my wingmen. Between us, we managed to get every table decorated with flowers without embarrassing ourselves, or Adele and Mark. Once that was done, Allison and I assembled the bouquets for the bride and bridesmaids, which gave me the opportunity to use flower tape, ribbon wrapping skills, and pinning techniques which I had only seen in the pages of Martha Stewart Living. Yes, ok, I read Martha Stewart Living. Without the least degree of irony, I may add.

Once all the decorations were in place, Alice and I walked downstairs, got a program, and took our seats. The music playing while we sat down was great—Eliot Smith, Fiona Apple, etc. Also great? The programs. Mark had, from my understanding, designed and printed the invitations and the program himself, which didn’t show at all—they looked completely professional, and even to a slightly higher standard than you would find in some wedding shops. That was one of the things I appreciated about the wedding—Mark’s and Adele’s enthusiastic involvement. I despise the rather Victorian idea that a wedding is “the women’s day” and she should be given anything she wants, because it’s about her. It’s a horrible line of thinking that reinforces the idea that men are reluctant to marry, and women are desperate for it, because it gives them status or identity or security or whatever other shallow motivation society attributes to us. A wedding is about two individuals, it’s the couple’s day, and both individuals should be excited to express themselves and express their love for the other. And Mark and Adele did. And I think that’s why the atmosphere at their wedding was so genuinely joyous, so effortless celebratory: it wasn’t about one person, but about two people, and the people who loved them. And there was a lot of love: openly, genuinely, without ego. As I explained to my roommate when I got back to New York, it was like sinking into a big bath of love.

So the wedding started and Adele’s bridesmaids (Allison, Lakshmi, and Bess) walked down the aisle in black dresses and matching maroon shrugs, carrying bouquets of candy-colored Gerbera daisies. Sorry Mark, but I didn’t know the groomsmen, so I couldn’t say who they were. I mean, I’m pretty sure one of them was Bobby, but I was super distracted by the pretty bridesmaids, so I forgot to look.

Adele walked down the aisle with her dad to a Yo La Tango song. I didn’t think Adele could possibly get any prettier than she was in every day life, but she somehow managed to make herself movie star gorgeous. Her dress was so elegant and beautiful, with little lace tiers on the bottom and a slight A-line. When it comes to wedding dress trends, I am kind of over the strapless white dress with the huge princess skirt, so I was happy to see her in something that reflected her style, but was still incredibly elegant.

The wedding was presided over by a judge who’s claim to fame was having a defendant shot to death in court under his watch—an incidental, but for me rather fascinating fact. Adele and Mark wrote their own vows, which were very sweet and tender. I’d never seen Adele cry before, but she did when she told Mark how much she loved him, which was a really touching moment. As former hard-core objectivists and current ice queens, Adele, Lakshmi, and I are (at least from what I’ve seen) more of the type who prefer to talk about emotions or experience them in private to putting emotions out on display. So while I knew Mark and Adele loved each other (obviously), I’d never been able to really see it, or really feel it strongly, as they kept it very quiet. But during the vows—and especially afterwards, during the reception and brunch the next morning—I got to see how truly in love my old roommate and dear friend was, and how much her husband was in love with her. I had no idea they loved each other so much. I was so happy to be able to celebrate it with them.

The dad’s then read some poems on love and time, and then rings were exchanged. Then after the judge made things official, Adele and Mark became married in the eyes of friends, family, and the state of Illinois. The two of them walked down the aisle to Sleater Kinney’s “Oh,” which I thought was a strange band to choose, but the music was so joyful and exuberant it fit the mood perfectly.

As Mark and Adele and the bridesmaids went upstairs to sign the marriage certificate and take some photos, I headed over to the bar to get a drink. And who should I run into on the way back? Mr. Theron Humiston. Now, I want to take this opportunity to vent about something really fast. It’s no little secret that I’ve put on weight since college. I graduated NU weighing 150 lbs, and by the time I moved to NYC 2 years later, depression and stress had caused me to go up to 200lbs. After 3 years in the city, I’ve kept roughly in the 170 lbs range, but I’m still a good bit heavier than I was in college. So I get to Chicago only to discover Adele and Lakshmi have become these slender little gazelle creatures, which of course makes me feel like a lumbering Amazon. But you know, cool, whatevs, they were always smaller than me, right? At least I can count on Theron to be a fellow food-lover—we can revel in our post-college weight together, right? Right? Or Theron could go on some secret diet-and-exercise regime and lose like 50 lbs and show up to the wedding totally slimmed down and sexy. As “Heathers” so elequotenly said, “F me gently with a chain saw.”

But once I got over the indignity of being the sloth, Theron and I had a good time—probably the best time I’ve ever had with him. We talked for 10 minutes, then Lakshmi and her boyfriend Daniel came over and we talked some more. Accepting my fate as the fat friend, I made sure to get something off of every tray that walked past me, while everyone else watched me eat. Whatever, those hors d’oeuvres were delicious, and I hadn’t eaten all day.

My hunger only let me make one complete faux pas, which no one probably noticed but still completely embarrassed me. When we went upstairs, all of the food had been laid out on the buffet, so I went, got a plate, and started eating, not thinking that the reason no one else was eating was because the bride and groom were supposed to go first. Luckily, everyone was too classy to point out my shame. Everyone, in fact, was pretty classy and sophisticated, a shocking change from many weddings I go to, where there is a lot of napkin-tucked-into-collar and rolls-being-smuggled-out-in-purses. I met Adele’s wonderful Aunt and talked with her mother, gossiped with Theron over dinner, and generally had a great time. Theron was terrific company, and since we were practically the only singles there, and since everyone kept asking me if he was my husband, I adopted him as my husband-for-the-night.

The biggest surprise of the night came when the DJ started playing some tunes, and Mark’s college friends got the party started. These guys were amazing—tons of energy, sweet dance moves, and infectious attitudes. Adele and Mark had picked out the music, but the DJ, unsure of what to do with the Pixies, Metric, and the Unicorns, kept trying to smuggle in large stretches of 80s music before he had to be kindly reminded to maybe play more indie rock maybe. Adele and Mark’s first dance was to a Cat Power song, which melted everyone’s heart, and instead of a wedding cake, they shared bites of a cupcake. When I took a break from dancing, I checked out the slideshow Adele’s mother made of Adele and Mark as kids. There was a picture of me and Mark Roberts (MVR) in their, which reminded me sadly of how much time had passed since Adele, MVR, and I took that photo. I wish things would slow down, and not move so fast.

After a few hours of dancing, I was exhausted, so rather than go out dancing with the rest of the wedding party afterwards, I had Laksmhi, Theron, and Daniel drop me off at Nick’s place, where I fell asleep in that warm cocoon he calls a room.

SUNDAY (Oct 18th)
I woke up on Sunday later than I had intended—there is something about Nickd’s warm, toasty room is that makes sleeping a glorious experience. So I had to pack, clean up, and get everything ready so I could jet off as soon as brunch was over.

Of course the one day I need to get to downtown Chicago, the Loop decides it’s going to be on strike or whatever, so I have to get off at Merchandise Mart, then take a bus, then the bus drops me off somewhere nearish Stanley’s (the restaurant where we’re having brunch), so I have to walk 15 blocks to get to Racine. The funny thing was, brunch was supposed to start at 11, and I roll up at 11:45, totally sure that everyone will be on their coffee course and I will have missed the whole thing. Luckily for me, the bridal party must have partied a little too hard, because by the time I got there, the only other people in the bar were Adele and Mark. So we caught up for a few minutes, then everyone else poured in around noon, and we got a table. The brunch was sort of an all-American country kitchen buffet style of thing, with biscuits and gravy, hash, bacon, sausage, potatoes, waffles, omelets, what have you. This was not super good news for Lakshmi and Adele (vegetarians), though it was excellent news for Mark and me (awesome). Still, the girls did find things to eat, looking on in mild disapprobation as we consumed much sausage gravy.

Most of the brunch was just spent talking. Lakshmi, Adele, Mark, and I probably wasted 2-3 hours just talking, with other people drifting in and out of the conversation. I was very, very surprised that Adele had so much time to devote to me, to be quite honest. If it was my wedding, I have no doubt all of my time would probably be spent running around talking to a million different people, but Adele made a conscious effort of giving me a lot of her time and attention, which I know is a very precious commodity during events like that. It was one of the thousand small ways Mark and Adele managed to be very gracious, thoughtful, and kind over the weekend—never letting anyone pay for anything, never asking any favor, thanking anyone whole helped them profusely for the service. The two of them are, to me, a great example of what adulthood is supposed to be about: realizing the correct balance between self and others, respect, dignity, and understanding.

Of course, the love bath didn’t last, and I was soon off to catch my 6pm flight to Newark. I’m going to spare you the painful details of my delayed commute, my delayed flight, and my obscenely late arrival time, and simply state that leaving was hard, on a variety of levels. But I had never been so grateful to be part of something, and I felt more loved and more love than I had in a very long time.

Friday:

Mark met me downtown after work and we went to Margaret Atwood's Year of the Flood reading. Passages from the novel were interspersed with musical renditions of some of the God's Gardner poems from the book. Really cool event. Margaret Atwood was kind of adorable -- she wore this oversized, color-blocked tunic and her hair is all crazy curly. She looked almost too much the way you'd expect her to look. She stayed for ages signing books after the reading. I waited in line for about half an hour. Mark patiently waited for me. When I got up to the table, I said, "this was a great event!" Margaret Atwood said, "oh good. I'm glad you liked it." Then I said, "thanks for staying so long to sign books." She looked somewhat wearily at the line snaking around the auditorium and said "oh dear." Better than meeting a rockstar!

After that, I dragged Mark to Exchequer for too many beers. I like that place.

Saturday:

A day of numerous tiny frustrations. I went to work around 9:30, only to find that my key was gone. (I later discovered that it had slipped through a tiny hole in the lining of my purse.) I drove to my boss's house in UKV to borrow his key. I drove back downtown and I parked on Wells. By the time I got to work, the client that was supposed to come in to get her check (and thus allow me to get paid on the case!) had called three times and couldn't come in. Bummer.

I left work and cheered myself up with some CD shopping at Reckless. The downtown Reckless is the best. I finally got Two Suns, which is a melange of Kate Bush and Cat Power that pushes all my buttons. LOVE IT. Love it so much.

I walked back to Wells and found that my car had been towed. (I am contesting that ticket, MFers!) A quick call to 311 revealed that the car was at 400 East Lower Wacker. A small upside to the ordeal: gorgeous weather and the lot was walking distance. Could be worse. The security guy working at the lot told me that I "look awfully nice" which also softened the blow of spending Saturday afternoon in the dank underground lair of patronage workers.



Three hours and $160 put me back behind the wheel and on my way to a recording session with Hey Zeus! Our demo is going to have some good stuff on it. Speaking of Hey Zeus!, we're playing The Underground Lounge on November 19. I like that place a lot. You should come out!

Went to bed early on Saturday night.

Sunday:

Caught up on freelance assignments; ate at Glenn's; started cranking out thank you cards to our unexpectedly generous wedding attendees; ran 7 miles and enjoyed that precious sunshine.

Good weekend.

My friend Labretta Suede got a write up in the Village Voice. Check out the fierceness!

What did I do on Halloween? BAM! Vice Magazine's anniversary bash, courtesy of Mark V. Roberts. I've never been to a party covered by Gawker before!

Well wowee zowee, looks like Andrew Mason's hit the big time

Has this been the most amazing month ever? Probably. And I plan to blog about everything in excruciating detail in the near future. But I don't have the wedding photos yet, so I'm going to work backwards.

I'll start with the honeymoon. Mark and I went to Puerto Rico for 8 amazing days of happiness, warm weather, bright sun, beautiful scenery and amazing seafood. I loved it.

The Short Version:

Our friends Sam and Bethie gave us the Flip camera as a wedding gift (awesome gift, btw), which we used to take lots of fun movies. I edited together some of our footage into this little video. (How I love all of the iLife applications. They make me so talented.) This is a pretty fun snapshot of what we did in PR.



The Long Version:

Tuesday 10/20/09:

Mark and I take a cab to O’Hare early in the morning. The flight is easy; we sleep most of the way. We land in Puerto Rico at Luis Munoz International in the late afternoon and take a tourist taxi to the Gallery Inn in Old San Juan. The hotel is stunning. It’s situated on Norzagaray Street at the north end of Old San Juan on top of a hill. The rooftop provides views of the city and the ocean.

The owners are the artist Jan D'Esopo and her equestrienne husband Manuco. They are easily the most glamorous people I’ve ever met. They mingle with their guests in the evenings, chatting about the city, the restaurants they like, politics, the weather. They made us feel like international superstars.

Every inch of the hotel’s interior is decorated with Jan’s bronze busts—including a remarkable likeness of Michelle Obama, who befriended Jan while the Obamas were staying at the hotel. Our room has a huge canopy bed and floor to ceiling windows that open out to the ocean. It reminds me a little of the awesome Madhuban where Lakshmi and I stayed in Rajasthan.

Mark and I drink a Peroni on the roof of the hotel and look at the city. That evening we walk the blue cobblestone streets of Old San Juan and have a casual early dinner at El Jibarito. In the evening, we walk to El Morro fort and sit outside on the grass enjoying the soft breezy weather as the sky fades in shades of gray and purple. Some boys are flying a kite shaped like a giant eagle on the lawn.



Wednesday 10/21/09:

We walk the bright, pastel streets of Old San Juan down San Justo from Norzagaray. We have brunch and coffee at an old-school counter at El Bombonera. The bread! Mallorca—toasted, buttered, dusted in powdered sugar—has ruined me for all other sweet breads. We do a bit of touristy shopping on San Francisco Avenue and find some gifts for officemates.

In preparation for our travels, we had read about a book museum—La Casa Del Libro—which sounded just up Mark’s alley. We search it out, only to find it is temporarily closed. A bit deflated, we stop for frozen mojitos at a streetside café. Our server is a skinny artsy guy with glasses and tattoos. An accordion player plays a tune at the old city gate. We find the temporary home of the Libro museum, but it’s really only one room with a couple of illuminated manuscripts. A shame.

Battling the heat, we move on to the El Morro fortress, where were ramble around the six stories of ramparts and tunnels for hours. Best tidbit of knowledge: in 1598, English troops overtook El Morro, but only days later, most of the soldiers died of dysentery.





That evening we meet Jan and Manuco and their pet cockatoo Campeche at happy hour at the Gallery Inn. We have a fancy dinner at Baru, a hip restaurant with a bright fuchsia exterior. A little overpriced, a little self-consciously slick. Good food though. We talk about our wedding, our plans for the future, and how darn happy we are.

Thursday 10/22/09:

We walk Paseo La Princessa along the old city wall in the blazing heat. I meet many cute stray cats that Mark won’t let me adopt or pet. We are sweaty and tired at the end of the walk, but it is certainly a beautiful walk along the coast.

Back in the city, we meet a nice ex-pat lady who sells her own line of spices and jams at a little store called Spicy Caribbee. She asks us about our travels and tells us about fun things to do in Rincon, where we’re headed for the second leg of our trip. We stop for a refreshing afternoon drink at Marie’s—a dive bar with a picture of Benicio Del Torro on the wall. We have lunch at a cute restaurant called St. Germain, suggested to us by Manuco.

We pass the afternoon at the hotel pool, which is of course, not a regular pool, but a stylish little cove with a beautiful patio overflowing with plants and artwork. I am reading Margaret Atwood’s The Year of the Flood. It’s good, but I realize I want to read Oryx and Crake again to catch all of the connections.

We go to the happy hour again and chat with some other guests. We have dinner at Carli’s Café, where our somewhat awkward waiter looks like Tony Orlando. We have a drink at Sam’s Patio where nice bartender tells us about Puerto Rican baseball players.

Around 12:30 a.m., the entire building shakes, waking us up. The door rattles in its frame. The windows clatter. A car alarm goes off. Mark wonders whether it’s an earthquake. We eventually go back to bed.

Friday 10/23/09:

We learn in the early morning from hotel staff that a gas storage facility exploded over night, which explains the “earthquake.” From the roof of the building, you can see red fire burning viciously as thick, black smoke billows into the blue sky, mingling with white clouds.



We check out of the hotel and rent a car. Mark drives us an hour east to the rainforest El Yunque. We’re somewhat short on time, but a helpful guide directs us to a few trails that can be done in about two hours. The Mt. Britton trail was perfect for us—a little steep, but pretty short and very, very rewarding. At the top of the trail there’s an observation tower with incredible views of the deep green vegetation and the dramatic mountainsides. Mark and I enjoy a few minutes alone at the top of the tower uninterrupted by other hikers. Soon, however, a gaggle of overdressed teenage girls, whom I imagine resemble the cast of The Hills, catches up with us.



We then begin our trek west to Rincon. On our way back past San Juan, traffic is terrible and there’s a run on the gas stations. The major east-west highway is shut down. We decide to detour south for a while. Not our greatest idea. We spend the next several hours on a harrowing drive through Corozal, Naranjitas, Barranquitas, Morovis and other small towns in the northeast mountains. The roads have no guardrails and overlook beautiful, but extremely steep cliffs. Trucks barrel down the roads, blasting their horns, but not slowing down for passing cars. As the sun begins to set, I lose my shit something proper, convinced essentially that we are about to die if we don’t find our way back to a major highway. So many roads are unmarked, and our map lacks essential details. In Corozal, I manage to use my garbled Spanish to get directions to route 159 from some elderly ladies. But when we get to route 159, it’s going in two different directions, and we have no idea which one will take us where we want to go.

Finally, we stop into a McDonalds to see if we can find someone who will give us directions to a highway. As soon as we walk in, Mark goes straight up to a group of girls in school uniforms who look to be about 13 years old. “Mark!” I say, exasperated. “They’re not even old enough to drive!” But, miraculously, one girl, with glasses and two purple ribbons in her hair gets on the phone with her mom, who directs us to a nearby expressway (which wasn’t even on our shitty map). Thank you, 13-year-old guardian angel, we might have really been in trouble without you. I wish I’d gotten your name. I feel sorry that I yelled at Mark.

We finally make our way to Rincon by 10:00 and check into our beachfront apartment at the Parador Villa Antonio. Puerto Rican families are partying everywhere, listening to Latin music, grilling food, and playing dominoes. We go to be almost immediately, exhausted.

Saturday 10/24/09:

We feel so much better than Friday. In the early morning, we drive to The Econo Supermercado for provisions. We have a full kitchen at the apartment. I make a cute lunch of salads, fruit and cheese, but the lettuce is bitter. No matter. Our moods are lifted. We hang out on the beach, which is right outside our door. I float on my back, pointing my toes towards the horizon. It really does give the impression of being alone out at sea. I bob on the warm, glossy waves.

As we sun ourselves on the beach, a couple is getting married just a few hundred yards away. Puerto Rican families are still partying everywhere with music and grilling and playing dominoes. We eat a casual dinner across the street at Rincon Sea Food. I have a mofongo relleno de camarones which is just OK. We play rummy and drink white wine on our veranda. I finish reading The Year of the Flood. Wished it was longer.



Sunday 10/25/09:

We go jogging down the beach in the early morning. It’s very challenging. We make a cute breakfast of huevos at home. Mark hits tennis balls in my direction, which I lamely try to bat back. We go swimming in the ocean. I paddle hundreds of yards. In need of a mid-afternoon pick-me-up, we find Surf’s Up Coffee, owned by our favorite Connecticut ex-pat John. John tells us about his recent romance with an archeology professor from Wisconsin and his life in Rincon. He also makes delicious café con leche. Most of the Puerto Rican families are checking out of the Parador by this time, leaving our beach almost deserted.

That evening, Mark drives us south to Joyuda, where we eat the best meal ever at famous Tino’s – the mofongo relleno de mariscos!



Monday 10/26/09:

We jog down Rt. 115 in the early morning. We go about three miles, but sweat as if we ran 10. After the run, we immediately change into bathing suits and jump in the ocean. I try to make another cute breakfast at our condo with huevos, but I set off the fire alarm by trying to warm delicious criollo bread in the toaster. Disaster. We get some more café con leche from John.

Mark drives us to Playa Tres Palmas down the shore a bit. It looks pretty, but we don’t stay long because I fall down and scrape up my hands, knees and feet on the slippery rocks. I pout for a while. I am much more cheerful when Mark drives us to Aguidilla, a bit North of Rincon, and finds the most beautiful beach at Parque Colon. I float in the aquamarine water while Mark reads Don Quixote on the soft yellow sand. We are the only people there.

We stop for a Medalla Light—the most advertised beer on the island (tastes just like Coors Light, which appears to be the second most popular beer on the island)—at a little beachside clapboard bar. I am sandy, salty and happy (although still whiney about my scraped foot).

We stop to take pictures and make some videos of the bright wooden boats.



Next, Mark takes us to Playa Crashboat, which is touted as one of the best beaches in PR. I like it there, although there are dark clouds gathering over the water and too many mangy stray dogs on the beach. I spend some time bobbing in the waves before the storm gets too close.

We drive back to Rincon in a bit of a rainstorm and eat more fresh mariscos at the friendly Rincon Tropical restaurant. I spend the rest of the evening reading Jonathan Lethem’s Motherless Brooklyn.

Mark learns, too late, the Spanish phrase for “call the fire department” from one of our guidebooks. We proceed to yell “llame los bomberos!” at each other and giggle.

Tuesday 10/27/09:

We wake up early and stop at Surf’s Up for more café con leche and conversation with John. We take a short drive to the beautiful park at El Faro lighthouse, from which we can see surfers catching bright turquoise waves. We go swimming and sun bathing at the Balneario public beach at Rincon.



We enjoy another roadside cerveza at a pizza shack near the beach. We have lunch at the most popular place in Rincon: Shipwrecks. There’s bad frat boy music and a waitress from Long Island. But we have a good salad. We make it back to the apartment before an intense, loud thunderstorm hits. We spend the evening drinking Medallas and playing cards on the veranda. I finished reading Motherless Brooklyn (pretty good). I declare myself tan. I am not happy when I lose at cards.



Wednesday 10/28/09:

We make one last walk along the beach and stick our toes in the water. It’s a bit chilly after the storm. We reluctantly check out of our hotel and stop by Surf’s Up to say bye to John. John says we're the nicest couple he's met this year, and he meets a lot of couples. He gives us his email address and says he'll look us up if he visits the archeologist out in Chicago sometime.



The drive back to San Juan along the southern coast is lovely and scenic, but not nearly so frightening as the drive West. We go through Ponce. Wanted to stay longer. I felt relaxed and happy. Flight home was easy. Going back to work was hard.

I’ve got things to talk about, namely the amazing bath of love that was Adele’s wedding, but I can’t get to it until I manage to catch up on my life. I’m not sure why I feel the need to do this, other than the fact that I live the most IMPORTANT LIFE THAT HAS EVER BEEN LIVED. By humans. And as such I have a responsibility to pass down my exploits to my posterity. So here, in one massive go, is what has happened in my VERY IMPORTANT life between May and October. Children of the future, be ready to be dazzled.

MAY
“You can't leave Kenneth! Who's going to help me tell white people apart?”-30 Rock
After I left Mark in Indiana, I came back to New York mid-May. The first thing I did was attend a Best Week Ever Party with the always awesome Anna “Mentor” O’Brien, where we met a few bloggers (one of whom sent us a box full of cookies), PC from the “I’m a Mac” ads, Paul F Tompkins (who told us about his role in “The Informant!”), and the dude with all the hats from “30 Rock.” Judah Friedlander. That’s it.

Towards the last week of May, Mark came to town to see if this was maybe a place he’d maybe think about living maybe. While he was spending the mornings sleeping and learning about the wonderful world of TV, I would go to cattle calls for my temp agency, where I would be paid $40 to sit in a room and see wait to see if anyone needed a temp for the day. While I never got called, I did a fantastic amount of Twittering, as all I could do to entertain myself was read New York magazine and tweet about the things that were going on in the city. I also got to read horrible things like the Brooklyn Rail. Sample line: “What is infidelity? The evergreen question vexed shaman and spouse alike well before facebook.” Epic fail indeed, Brooklyn Rail.

Mark and I visited the Museum of Arts and Design on May 28th. They had a few good pieces, particularly in the ceramics wing. One of my favorites was an artist who cut the patterns out of blue and white plates, then stacked them ontop of each other to create 3-dimensional pieces.

On May 28-29th I worked the massive Book Expo of America, helping a company called the Ripple Reader market their company to publishers and authors. Interestingly, I found the job through an old Hockaday alum I met on LinkedIn. The Book Expo was a lot of work, involved a huge amount of schmoozing, but I got paid in cash, so it wasn’t all bad.

Friday the 29th Nickd came into town, so we met up with him at the Congee Village near Chinatown. It was quite a little NU reunion, with good food and good conversation. Afterwards we got cupcakes from Sugar Sweet Sunshine and walked across the Williamsburg bridge to visit an upscale beer garden on Metropolitan Ave.

Saturday the 30th Mark and I went goth clubbing with Marsha. Marsha talked me into dancing on a stage, leading to me to a) trip and b) get kicked off by angry goth kids who wanted to throw a sub-par fashion show. Mark got pretty drunk, and had a nice altercation with the guards of the Holland Tunnel who kicked us out for “allegedly” trying to walk to New Jersey. Mark to officer: “you want to hold my hand and walk me to the curb?” Priceless.

Sunday after church Mark met up with me, Alexis, Veronica, and a few other kids to visit the Bang on a Can Festival in Battery Park (Specifically, the Winter Gardens. More specifically, an indoor mall). Ted Hearne's 'we didn't know' was beautiful and creepy. The Smith Quartet did a lovely abridged version of Gavin Bryars’ “the Sinking of the Titanic”. Which reminded me a lot of sophomore year in Mark’s dorm room, where we used to listen to that record. Jeppe Christensen played a series of coffee grinders, which was almost onto something, but not quite, and Moritz Eggert played an absurd piano piece with her feet and face. And also, some hands. And she chirped bird sounds The big draw, Tortoise, were lackluster and phoned in the performance.

JUNE
“A Rubik cube is equal to a drag queen in that they're both colorful, and I don't want to do it”

In order to make extra money during the slow summer months, I do basically anything I can for money. One of those things is late-night coding, where I take surveys and either a) pass them out to disgruntled Broadway crowds or b) analyze and code movie surveys into spread sheets which are sent to the film’s producer, director, and head of marketing. I brought Mark with me to a couple, since Mark was short on cash. One of the first we did together was on June 3rd: it was a hysterical little coming-of-age comedy called “Youth in Revolt.”

On June 4th, I took Mark to his first Broadway play, called “The Norman Conquest.” Great cast, unusual structure, funny, and very entertaining. The next night, I dragged him to the Met so we could see the New York City Ballet before the season ended. The performance was rather short: a Brahms Waltz (which was very, very traditional), and a Stravinsky piece called “Les Noces,” which was much more interesting. It was a piece based on a traditional Russian wedding, and the couple looks and dances quite awkwardly through out the ceremony. Then, in the last few bars, the couple goes to the bedchamber, and a single light falls on them, and they entwine their limbs together in the most simple, sensual, and sweet way possible. Very moving.

Continuing our Andrew WK “When it’s time to party we will party hard” attitude, the next day (Saturday, June 6th) I did coding for the Little Mermaid, then met Mark afterwards in Park Slope to see the Appleseed cast. We got some dinner at a cute little Indian restaurant, then went back to the show which was in an artsy bar called the Bell House (more like a saloon) with dark wood, old glass, and antlers. I finished Pride and Prejudice and Zombies while we were waiting for the Appleseed Cast to set up. Then…the most boring show of my entire life. Those guys couldn’t have looked less passionate if they were paid to. Which I guess they were. It became pretty clear why the band isn’t bigger then they are.

As far as work went, I did an interview with the star of an MTV show (“Sixteen and Pregnant”) and got a call from a recruiter, who told me I needed to revamp my website and get a new resume. So I spent June 9th-June 11th frantically trying to get both in order. Mark came up with an amazing design for the website, and basically coded the whole thing for me as a way of saying thanks for hosting him in NYC. The website (maryjonescopywriter.com) is gorgeous, and I couldn’t have done it without him. In the evening (June 9th), Mark and I went to see an FIT exhibit on “seduction”, then met up with Mary South and Ben to watch “Grizzly Man,” or as I call it, “The best unintentional comedy of all time.”

The next night, Mark and I got free tickets (courtesy of the Amazing Abby Wolbe) to see Shakespeare in the Park. This year, Anne Hathaway was starring in “12th Night.” Anne did a tolerable job, but the supporting cast was hilarious and carried the show. I gladly would have seen it again. Plus we were sitting behind Hugh Jackman and Anna Wintour. Anna and her partner have to be the most spectacularly dressed couple I’ve ever seen. After the show, we had to go do coding, and that was a bit difficult. Then I had to get up early the next day to meet with my recruiter. I was so out of it when I came back from my meeting that Mark and I decided to wisely take the day off, so we watched John Adams and kept things low.

On Saturday (June 13) Mark and I headed over to Williamsburg to eat dinner with my friend Patricia at a cute Mexican Restaurant called La Superior, then got ice cream with Mary South at Pennylicks.

Mark’s brother came into town on June 14th, and the atmosphere definitely changed. Mark’s brother, Anthony, is a very particular kind of man, very different from his brother in a lot of ways. I took the two of them to see “The Sting” on June 15th—sadly it drizzled throughout—but in general, I worked during the day doing odd jobs and polishing my resume, and they went into town and did their own thing.

On June 18th, I taped an interview section for a reality TV show called Love Taxi which one of my friends starred in. It was practically a gale on my way to the studio, so I have no doubt I look hideous. No one I know has seen the show, though, so I think I’m safe.

I worked at Wolford’s stuffing envelopes for a few days, and then on June 21, Anthony’s last day, we sent Anthony off to the airport, and got a big group of kids together (Alexis, Anna, Mary, Ben, and a few others I can’t remember) to head to Coney Island in the rain for the Mermaid festival. While the festival itself suffered because of the rain, I got a fried oreo out of the deal, which seemed pretty rad to me.

Mark’s last day was June 22, so we went out to an Italian restaurant (Marinella) and then went to Balthazar’s for dessert. The night was a bit odd for me, as I always get very sad when I get separated from Mark. But he was talking about how much he disliked the expense of the city and how Europe was better suited for his temperament, and I took it quite hard, as if it were an indictment of my life. In retrospect, I think it’s because I love living here so much, I’m dazzled by everything from Wall Street to Inwood, that anyone who isn’t similarly smitten seems to me to be of a different sort than I am. And I’ve always viewed Mark as the same sort as me. I think at the time I was reeling from all the ways he had changed, and I was beginning to worry that I had lost someone very precious in the course of this evolution.

The last week of June was spent recovering from the whirlwind that was Mark’s visit. I stayed in, saw High school musical with Anna (really, really bad guys), and did some coding work for “Toxic Avenger: The Musical” (I got to sit through the performance. It was very, very Troma. I also really, really don’t like musicals. I keep trying, it keeps failing to stick.) Finally, on June 30th, I head back to Dallas to spend a month with the fam.

JULY
“The ceaseless labor of your life is to build a house of death”-Montaigne
Back in Dallas, back with the fam. Benjamin came down on the 1st as well. I promised him that the next time I saw him, I would let him know whether or not we would have a future. After some extensive praying and reflecting, I came to the decision that we wouldn’t be good for each other long term. This was a very hard decision, because I don’t think anyone in a long, long time has loved me as much as Benjamin did. He would be a wonderful companion. In the end, I just felt that if we stayed together, he would lose himself in me, and he needs to find out what he loves, and who he is. I miss him very much; almost as soon as we broke up I started to miss him.

Of course, spending a month in a house with your ex isn’t the easiest, and my poor family suffered the most for the moodiness. We tried to keep everything light and low key, but we aren’t very good at that sort of thing.

On the 4th of July, my family went to the church pancake social, and took all of the uneaten pancakes home for an epic pancake fight (like a water balloon fight, but with pancakes). That night we watched Eagle vs. Shark, and for the first time in forever, didn’t light fireworks (which I think disappointed dad more than the kids).

Julia got a job at Potbelly’s, meaning she was our conduit for awesome sandwiches. Every day starting July 6th she would come home with an amazing sandwich and a cookie, and we would sit on my parents’ bed and watch Alias. It took us 2.5 weeks to go through all 5 seasons. It was pretty epic. It also gave us something to do while mom was in Paris visiting John and Margaret.

On July 8th I took Benji to the Coast Guard so he could see about enlisting. On July 11th my dad and I had a date night, where we went to see (the surprisingly bitter) “Whatever Works” and had dinner. My dad said he couldn’t have been more proud of me and the way I was living my life. That meant a lot.

July 12th my friend Tiffany Folger invited us to her house, where I think we were more than a little rude with our family’s pert opinions and lack of social manners. Tiffany took it in stride like a good friend, even though the rest of the guests seemed a little embarrassed. Afterwards we started a Harry Potter marathon, which we had to interrupt when one of our family members had a grand mal seizure during a scene with the patronus. Being that it’s out family, we rolled the person onto their side, let them foam onto the carpet, then tucked them into bed and continued to watch the movie. But don’t worry! A scan was administered the next day. We’re not completely heartless.

On July 17th we saw the new Harry Potter. As you’ll notice, there is a lot of movie watching that happens in Dallas.

On July 19th, Benji and I went on a date with Bonnie and Alan and our friend Michael. After dinner, we ate at Kathleen’s and talked about American foreign policy in the 19th century AS YOU DO. Benjamin made a lot of good points, only to reveal to me on the ride home he had cribbed all his arguments from They Might Be Giants lyrics.

The last week of July belonged to the Jones Family Reunion in Colorado. We started driving on July 22nd, stopped the night somewhere in Oklahoma or Kansas or something, then made it to Mary’s Lodge in Estes Park, CO (near Bolder) the next day. A complete Jones Family Reunion is a big deal, as there are 5 Aunts and Uncles + Their Spouses, then each family has on average 6.5 children, and nearly all of those children have a spouse, and then those families average about 3 children, so we’re dealing with roughly 150-200 people at these reunions. The first night was a Chuck Wagon dinner up in the mountains, where the children ran wild through Aspen trees and carried large sticks everywhere. The next day, July 24, I opt out of the hiking trip to get some work done for a new client, then join everyone in the hot tub later, only to discover I had taken my phone into the hot tub with me, and it was boiled beyond repair (Yes, I use my cleavage to hold things when I don’t have pockets. Losing phones is just one obvious downside of that questionable policy). We also had a large family dinner that night where everyone got to show off their talents, which mainly consisted of singing and performing in awkward yet funny skits.

On July 25th I went white water rafting with Julia, Jordan, and Benjamin. We lost Julia twice, but overall everything ran pretty smoothly, despite the fact that we were ill-equipped for such advanced rapids. Afterwards we went to the movie theater we rented and watched home movies. At some point the next day on the 26th we had a family game night led valiantly by my cousin Lauren. Apparently my mom and I have a ribald sense of humor that doesn’t mesh well with some of the more Utah-oriented members of the family, and we were the target of some nasty looks.

Once back in Dallas, I spent the rest of my time eating and watching Murder She Wrote with Julia. Nothing much to see here. On the plus side, my plane did get canceled, so I was able to spend another day with the family, which is always great. I wish they lived up here. It’s so hard to be far away from them.

AUGUST
“I *thought* you made love like an ugly girl. So present, so grateful” -30 Rock
On the plane back to New York, I read “Inside the Kingdom” by Carmen Bin Ladin which reassured me my plans to never, ever go to Saudi Arabia were in fact valid. For the first 2 weeks of August I worked alternately at an architecture firm doing accounting work and a financial advisory firm doing transcription and reception work. The work is low--$12 an hour—but to be honest, money is money, and I’ll do anything for it at the moment. A few days I’d have to do what I’d call triple shifts, where I work at my temp job, then go home and write for my freelance job, then go out and code until 4am, then go home and sleep 3 hours and go back to the temp job. Those were not the best days.

Discovered the following gems in the month of august:
1) Cake Wrecks (http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/)
2) Highdeas (www.highdeas.com)
3) Texts from Last night (http://textsfromlastnight.com/)
4) Tattoo Fail (http://tattoofailure.com/)
5) Awkward Family Photos (http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/)

I’m sure you have all visited these websites, because they are simply divine, and no doubt all are developing book deals.

Around August 9th, the apartment drama started. Now, to be politic, I will say it this way: I perhaps overestimated my would-be roommates experience apartment hunting. SO rather than having 3 people look for an apartment, I ended up shouldering the lion’s share of the responsibility. So I would have to look at 4 or 5 apartments a day on top of my regular schedule. Dealing with Manhattan brokers was such a stress and filled with so much drama (seriously? 15% broker’s fee? Seriously? 200 square feet for 3 people?) that I decided to move out to Brooklyn. I found a perfect place on Bedford, but the company ended up dragging me along for almost 2 weeks until on August 18th they told me my credit wasn’t good enough. With 10 days to find an apartment, pack, and vacate my old one, I was pretty sure I was going to have a heart attack. Luckily, one of the apartments I had looked at on August 10th turned out to still be available since the landlord left on vacation shortly after she showed me the place. So on August 20th I was able to sign a lease for my 2 bedroom, $1850/month Williamsburg apartment.

In the middle of all of the apartment drama, my sister Margaret came out to Manhattan with her new husband, fresh from their 3-month long Parisian honeymoon. They seemed to be a bit dazed and confused from all of the traveling, so they pretty much took it easy and spent a lot of time on my bed watching the Venture Brothers and eating Mexican. We did manage to see Julia off at the airport, visit the Morgan Library (Aug 15th), eat at ‘wichcraft, eat at Grimaldi’s with Anna (Aug 16th), see David Cross and some other comedians at the UCB theatre (Aug 17th), eat at John’s with Sami (Aug 19th), and eat at Sylvia’s in Harlem with Brooke (Aug 20th). So yes, a lot of eating there.

Margaret and John left on July 21st, which gave me one day to rest before I led the enrichment activity to Egger’s ice cream parlor in Staten Island. Enrichment is a bit like Mormon home ec and night school all in one—a chance for Mormon women to get together and learn some sort of a new skill or bit of history. In New York, single women tend to travel to museums or explore the city. I was leading an exposition to the best malt shop and old school soda fountain in NYC. Now, ever since I boiled my phone in a hto tub, I had been using Margaret’s rejected phone, which she had tricked out with a truly awesome set of ringtones. Whenever anyone would call me, I would hear the Dallas theme song or Mortal Combat fight music, though usually Dallas. And what do I do on the Staten Island trip? Leave my phone on the bus. As soon as I step off I realize my mistake and chase it down, but too late, my phone is gone. I called the recovery center every 2 hours, but no one turned it in. And my replacement phone was totally not as cool, and it had no Dallas theme song. Devastating.

On Aug 30th, a very creepy set of Hungarian men moved us from Manhattan to Brooklyn, setting me back almost $550 dollars (though the job was estimated as $350. Cute!) But whatever. I was so happy to have the entire drama of moving over with that I didn’t care. Instead I ate bread and cheese and watched GATTACA with my roommates on a mattress on the floor.

SEPTEMBER:
“To be irreplaceable, one must be different”—Coco Chanel

The beginning of September was absolutely crazy. My mother arrive on September 1st to help me move in, and she was, as everyone was, completely overwhelmed with how much stuff I had. In response to that, I will claim that I am an adult woman who is nearly 30 who has lived alone in her own apartment for 3 years. What did everyone expect? So my mom and I got a little bit of headway putting stuff together and visiting Ikea and everything. And then my roommate Alexis’ mom came. And she had her own ideas about how everything should be arranged. And then Mark showed up, with a lot of things, and with his own idea about how the space should be laid out. And then my dad showed up, and he didn’t want to do any work at all, but wanted to go to fun restaurants and see the US Open. So we didn’t get a whole lot of work done after about September 5th. On my birthday (Sept 6th), we definitely did the nice restaurant thing: we went to Gordan Ramsey's Maze where I got tete de veau, rib eye, and cheesecake. Then I took my parents to the Morgan library so my mom could see their ceramics collection.

On September 7th, I went to the US Open with Mark and my parents. We got ground tickets, which let us see any game other than those in the Arthur Ashe Stadium. We saw Soderling and Davydenko play a good rally— Soderling had a wicked forehand, and Davydenko was unbelievably elegant. With the women, Kvitova versus Wickermeyer was a good show, though not as athletic because the women weren’t in as good of shape (potbellies? At the US open?) Kvitova threw her racket on the ground over a bad call, and the crowd booed her. When Wickermeyer went for a serve, a guy in the audience yelled 'you're my girl, blue!', which has to be one of the highlights of my young life. Saw a few doubles matches, which were fast and furious and a little eurotrash (silver chains and wrap-around glasses?). Back in the Billy Jean King arena with my parents, I got to see Isner and Verdasco play. Isner had defeated Roddick, so we were expecting something awesome, but he played like an awkward, gangly teen. Verdasco was a bit of a spitfire though. Towards the end of the match, Johnny Mac himself came into the stadium to comment on the match. He got a standing ovation.

On September 9th I flew down to Dallas to spend my birthday weekend with my family. I got to see my brother Zach play a tennis tournament with some lying, cheating kids (that was totally in, four-eyes!). Margaret was home for a few days, so it was nice to spend it with her.

On September 10th, I had my birthday with my family. As usual, my parents pick out the best presents: green dress shoes, perfect t-shirts, a beautiful tennis bracelet. I wish I could inherit my mother’s gift for present buying. It’s always a struggle for me. During my birthday weekend I got a call from one of my recruiters that I was in the running for a job at the firm EuroRCGS. Unlike other times when recruiters would call, I didn’t feel like this was a blow-off job—I felt a sick feeling like I might really get this job. And on September 11th I got the call that yes, I had indeed landed a 3-month stint with the company and I had to start Tuesday. This meant cutting off my Dallas trip a day early, but I was too thrilled to think of anything other than the chance to be working a real job.

The rest of my Dallas trip was pretty much a blur. On September 12th, I saw Julie and Julia with my mother. The next day, Tiffany came over to visit and we saw the Kanye West ruin his career at the VMAs. On September 14th, I flew back to Dallas, and the next day I was working at an amazing Madison Avenue company. I am officially a Mad Man. This is pretty much the greatest accomplishment I ever hope to achieve.

The only hitch in the perfection of working at Euro is the fact that nary a day before I heard about the job, I signed a contract to deliver 60 articles on Christmas Tree Ornaments by mid-October. So from September 15th until October 15th, I had to get up at 5:30, write articles for 2 hours, get ready for work, then go to work until 7 or 8, come home, sleep, and start the whole process over again. The sad thing is, the contract for those articles was worth about 2 days salary at Euro (4 days after tax), but the client is a very good returning client of mine, and I didn’t want to hurt our relationship. So if you didn’t hear from me between September 15th and October 15th, this is the reason why.

I did manage to get some fun things in though. On September 19th Mark and I went to a farmer’s market together, and wrote together at a local café with Mary South. Mary lives a block away from Mark and me, so we’re constantly running into each other in restaurants and cafés in Brooklyn. In that respect, Brooklyn is a lot like Evanston. If I could just get Nick, Adele, and Lakshmi to move out here, I’d be all set.

On September 20th Anna and I went to our dear friend’s Wanda and David’s reception. Wanda helped me get my job at Greater Than One and David worked with Anna at Wunderman. I had the victory of being able to casually mention to my old coworkers that yes in fact I was working at Euro as a SENIOR COPYWRITER. Snap!

On September 21st I took Mark to Bon Chon Chicken, then watched the Rachel Zoe project. I count it among my victories that Mark actually enjoys watching that show with me. Mark and I also started running the Williamsburg bridge around this time, which I ultimately gave up after 2 weeks because of A) articles and B) my weight. I need to get back down to at least 170 before I can safely run. AND YES I JUST ADMITTED TO WEIGHING MORE THAN 170 DON’T GASP I’M ALREADY ASHAMED.

The next day we went to Otto’s Shrunken Head for Marsha’s birthday, and I could barely walk, I was so sore from the run. The party was great though—Otto’s has a whole bunch of old-school punk regulars that are in their 50s and still sport the leather and the Mohawks. We saw some bad stand up which was funny in it’s terribleness, and managed to insult the MC by leaving every two seconds to get more drinks or use the photobooth.

On Saturday September 26th, I picked up Mary South and went over to Death By Audio where we met up with Mark and his friend Matt. The club was also a labyrinth that was kind of a haunted house but really an art installation. Everyone was very sweet, which is unusual in Brooklyn. The music was derivative Jersey punk, but we weren’t disappointed—we mostly were looking for an excuse to check out the venue. We got some burgers after, got into an unnecessarily long fight about who was more threatened walking around late at night, men or women. More rain.

The next day, I went to the Brooklyn Mormon Church for the first time. Afterwards, we invited over a girl named Liz and Mary South to dinner, then afterwards went to Mary’s house to see “Bored to Death.” It was pretty wonderful, and it reminded me of the dinner parties Mark and I used to throw in college. I think it’s very hard for me to live with Mark and not remember college. I’m trying to make sure that I allow for growth and change and all that, but sometimes I’m sitting with him and Mary South and I simply forget that any time has past, and I feel like I felt then. It’s an extraordinarily warm and pleasant feeling, being with old friends.

Monday, Mark went on his first date, an event by which I was completely blindsided. If there’s one thing that has changed from college, it’s writing intimate details about my romantic life in a public forum, so I will sum it up a very complex set of emotions by simply saying that I was very, very jealous. And because he’s my best friend, and because we live together, I had to get over that jealousy very, very quickly. I spent a lot of time out of the house or with friends, I avoided Facebook, I went to museums and concerts, and by the following Monday, I was fine.

As my last act in the month of September, my roommate Alexis and I went to the Met to see the New York Philharmonic play. The first piece was a completely banal piece by a contemporary composer named Lindberg—it sounded like a tired score to a mediocre move. Then we heard Symphony#2 by Charles Ives, which was hit or miss for me. It was a thoroughly American piece of music, so like America it had pockets of complexity, pockets of deep beauty, and large swaths of completely ho-hum open space. I adored the first movement though, as well as the chills-inducing finale. The Beethoven piece that rounded it out was good, but I spent most of the time spacing off and thinking about other things.


OCTOBER
“My boyfriend looks like gary glitter/ he likes punk rock but says glam is better”—Labretta Suede and the Motel 6

Most of October was spent alternating between pure moments of absolute clarity and more muddied moments of intense sadness and jealousy. I tried to explain some of what I was feeling on my October 2nd date with Mark, but I couldn’t do a very good job. But in the end, I’ve said so many awful things to him over the years with regards to our relationship and to him as a partner, I feel very much that I deserve to bite my tongue and sacrifice a certain amount of forthrightness for the sake of a beautiful friendship. I did manage to get a few things off my chest though, allowing us to enjoy the rest of the night (We saw the impeccable “Whip It.” And shame on you America for not supporting that movie: it was amazing).

That Saturday (3rd), I watched a bit of the National Parks documentary before heading over to a local BBQ joint with Mary South. For all of our disagreements and differences of opinion, she is always an uncommonly good friend to me when I need it.

On Monday, Mark got a call from a stranded New Zealand band who were holed up in a Williamsburg internet café. We spent some time talking to them, as Mark knew the drummer. You know how you take to some people right away? I completely took to Labretta Suede, the lead singer. She’s just a vibrant, sweet, strong woman with a killer look and a will of iron. I agreed to go check out her show that week.

On my way to Labretta’s show on Thursday (Oct 7th) I popped into the bathroom after work to put on my war paint (it is, after all, a punk pyschobilly band. I can’t really show up in my work makeup). I had a totally high school moment where I, my project manager, and my accounts manager were all at the sink getting our night hair and makeup ready before going out on the town. This was kind of a poignant moment for me: like “A ha! I’ve really made it!” Walked on over to The Delancey to check out the show. The first band was called Food Stamps. Their music was ok, but I think the most important things about food stamps can be summed up as followed:
1) Dancing Centurion
2) Singer with the world’s sexiest legs
No seriously, I mean perfect, long, absolutely amazing legs. They went on forever. I was completely transfixed.
Labretta showed up in fishnets, a corset, pasties, and a headdress—pretty much head to toe the rock god. And man, was she ever the front woman: kicking and shrieking and screaming and dancing. There are singers and then there are performers, and Labretta is a performer. That isn’t to say she can’t sing—she’s got a sexy alto with a nice growl—but man, she puts on a show. I was so inspired I went out and bought myself a leather jacket the next night. Seriously. Everyone hates it but me, but then again, I’ve been dreaming about a studded leather jacket since I was 8, and now my fantasies have all come true.

That Friday (Oct 9th) I met up with Alexis and Veronica to go see the new American Wing at the Met. The problem with going to Met on any day is the high level of distractions one experiences. For example, our destination was the Robert Frank exhibit, then the new American wing. On the way to the (very lackluster) Robert Frank collection, I got distracted by some of Ingres sketches. Then, after the photography exhibit, I got sucked into the Rodin hallway and Veronica got lost among the pre-Raphaelites. Then on the way to the American wing I got distracted by the contemporary Surface Tension collection, the renaissance intarsia masterpiece that is the Gubbio Studiolo, and a fair amount of tile work. Luckily, we did make it to the American wing before the museum closed, and managed to walk through a Victorian panorama and a Lloyd-Wright living room.

Saturday the 10th, Marsha and I went into midtown to do some goth dancing. I was sick of living in a constant state of jealousy, I was tired of being single, tired of getting up at 5 every morning, and I really wanted to hook up, so the whole night seemed like a pretty good idea. Marsha hadn’t had a great day either, so she pre-gamed with tequila and I took some 5-hour energy shots and we were good to go. I took a lesson from Lady GaGa and wore fake eyelashes, kabuki makeup, knee high boots, and fishnets with no pants. Yet somehow, the outfit was still garment-appropriate. Quite genius, really. The club was packed, and since it was a costume party, the outfits were pretty outrageous. The music wasn’t as dark as I would have liked, but it wasn’t bad either—dance remixes of ministry and new order, etc. Cage dancing, table dancing, stage dancing, glow-stick dancing…we rocked until well into 4am, then Marsha and I split a taxi back to Brooklyn.

Mark was spending the night at his girlfriend’s place, so I took off my boots and fell in full makeup onto his bed and slept in. It was the first time I’ve missed church in ages, but I’d been working so hard I decided I needed a day off. I got myself a drink, turned some music on, and had my own dance party in the living room for an hour or two. Going to a club and dancing for 5+ hours is a really liberating experience, and for some reason I always leave feeling sexy and alive, more in tune with my physical body. Mark came back from his overnight stay, and I followed him to the store where he bought ingredients for Sunday dinner.

The rest of the week was spent furiously trying to finish ornament articles. On Monday (Oct 12th) Mark and I went to see Paranormal State. Good, scary enough, but not as complex as it could have been. Still! Very entertaining. Than on October 15th I reported for jury duty, which lasted all of 2 seconds before I was dismissed. I will say this to you, New York City judicial system: your supreme court has excellent security, everyone s very competent, and the murals are beautiful.

Now, this brings us to October 16th, the beginning of my trip to Chicago for Adele’s wedding. This deserves it’s own post. In the interim, I will say simply: you’re welcome

Favorite exchange in today's Jezebel comments:

Rooo sez BISH PLZ:
You know what infuriates me? The relentless, underlying, unspoken assumption that all these difficulties are all internal. Whether a woman is married or single, working outside the home or only inside it (because we're always working) every choice made by these women - and by us - is made within the confines of an unyieldingly sexist culture.IMHO, that's why there are always seemingly insurmountable problems with those choices.And no one seems to want to talk about that part.

LilyBonesBurana:
@Rooo sez BISH PLZ: are you hot?
cuz if not, you know, you're probably just bitter.
signed,
Society.

I am long overdue for a rambling post on the impending wedding, which is going down next weekend.

Planning a wedding is time and labor intensive. There are a million details to orchestrate, too many vendors to work with, and so very many craft projects. Mark and I decided to DIY a huge amount of stuff for the wedding, including save the date cards, invitations, music, flowers, centerpieces and decorations, favors. I mean, I love crafts, but this has been a lot of glue, tape and sewing even for me. I really love how everything is coming together, though. My cupcake stands are possibly the greatest artistic achievement of my life. The flowers are the only real wildcard at this point. I'm just going to cross my fingers.

The music was/is a fun project. We collected tons of good suggestions from our guests. So between our record collection, about $40 on iTunes and a small amount of illegal downloading, there should be something for everyone (with minimal cheese). No small feat. My brother and his girl are going to play a song too, which I am so looking forward to.

We are going to have really good booze. Our caterer let us order directly from Binnys, so we got to pick everything. The wine will be awesome. So will the beer. There will be gin, vodka and jack daniels. We even sprung for good vodka. Moral of the story is, don't drive to our wedding. And don't take my picture past 10p.m.

Details that remain to be hashed out? The ceremony and readings need some tweaking. We need to decide on a location for late-night after partying. We need to design and print programs and any other collateral printed materials. And oh yeah, we still need to get our marriage license.

Oh! I almost forgot to mention the love part. The love part is pretty awesome, too. Let's talk more about the love part next time, shall we?