GPOYW: The “Our most sober normal disposition” edition
Photo taken at Illinois’ Homecoming last month. This is our best college face.
Today I celebrate three happy years with this guy.
Brad, thank you for always extracting bugs from our apartment, for putting up with my tribal dancing, for never hiding your playful side and for supporting me every step of the way.
It seems like yesterday when I was teaching you how to use chopsticks in that Benihana. :)
Happy birthday to my manfriend!
My mom whipped up her famously fabulous pistachio pudding cake Easter Sunday. Later that night we stuck five candles on top to celebrate Brad’s big two-five a few days early, and sang him a loud duet of happy birthday to you.
I also want to wish a very happy birthday to B’s twin sister, Ann, who happens to be eight minutes his junior and also famously fabulous.
Stay tuned for the cake recipe coming later today.
One night President Obama and his wife Michelle decided to do something out of routine and go for a casual dinner at a restaurant that wasn’t too luxurious. When they were seated, the owner of the restaurant asked the president’s secret service if he could please speak to the First Lady in private. They obliged and Michelle had a conversation with the owner.
Following this conversation, President Obama asked Michelle, “Why was he so interested in talking to you?” She mentioned that in her teenage years, he had been madly in love with her.
President Obama then said, “So if you had married him, you would now be the owner of this lovely restaurant?” to which Michelle responded, “No. If I had married him, he would now be the President.”
(via brit)
(Source: brit)
GPOYW*: The “There’s about to be a whole lot more pictures that look like this because we’re going to New Orleans in three days” edition
*Gratuitous Picture of Yourself Wednesday
We escaped Saturday night.
A little after 3 p.m. we drove 40 minutes to the city, checked into a suite at the Raffaello Hotel just behind the Hancock building and popped a bottle of brut for a better-late-than-never Valentine’s Day celebration.
Later that night we headed back into the cold, Chicago night to McCormick & Schmick’s for a dinner composed of seafood, wine flights, upside down apple pie and cinnamon ice cream.
After dinner we walked back toward busy Michigan Avenue, passing other couples arm in arm as they scurried to their destinations, heels loud on the pavement, dark coats floating in the wind.
We planned to do drinks at the Signature Lounge on the 96th floor of the Hancock building, but after riding up to the top squished in an shaky elevator filled with flushed-face people, and after seeing a huge line with an hour’s wait or more, we decided to enjoy each other’s company and a few drinks in the comfort of our hotel’s lobby bar.
Admittedly, I’d be happy even if you took away all the glitz and glamour, bright lights and traffic jams, hotel suites and empty champagne bottles. I’d be happy sitting on my little, brown couch with a cheap bottle of wine, a faux fur throw and a Redbox movie—as long as it’s with him.
In fact, I’d almost prefer it.
On Saturday I stopped in the grocery store for a few necessities (eggs and wine) and I couldn’t help but notice all the men scurrying about picking up what they’d deemed as necessities, Valentine’s Day flowers.
One young guy rushed in the door looking extremely nervous and grabbed the first bunch of unknown pink flowers he saw. Another older and pickier man in a long dress coat was talking with the florist, arguing over which specific greenery he wanted with his chosen arrangement. On my way out of the parking lot, I saw a teenage boy carrying a dozen peach roses. He was smiling.
Yesterday my Valentine’s flowers were delivered to my apartment in a box, just like many bouquets before them. I tease Brad that he’s 1-800-FLOWERS’ most loyal customer, but I mean well.
He’s unlike the nervous young guy who picked the first thing he saw, similar to the older, well-dressed man who cared so much about the details and reminiscent of the teenager who smiled at his purchase.
But I’m glad he’s none of them—because he’s buying flowers for me.
I was raised to love Valentine’s Day.
My family always does something special for the holiday. Sometimes it’s exchanging sparkly cards and chocolate-covered strawberries, other times it’s ordering a heart-shaped pizza and popping a little champagne, and one time in college it was a care package filled with Reese’s hearts and pink pajamas.
I’ve always thought of the day simply as one to remind those you love that they are loved.
We could all use a little reminder sometimes. Happy Valentine’s Day.
