Things I Am Loving As Of Late

Antigua honeymoon (Photo courtesy of my husband, Chris)

1. SoulCycle. Most amazing total body workout I have ever experienced and I am not just talking about the muscles part. It’s a complete mind and body experience.

2. This chocolate chip cookies recipe. If only I had the patience to follow it–24 hours of dough refrigeration is asking a lot of me.

3. What a beautiful blog, makes me want to run away to Charleston and never come back,

4. The new Matisyahu album, I can’t help but dance.

5. My new and most favorite workout pants ever


My Day

Today started with this guy while I was eating

this guy

then we rode bikes, like rode all over manhattan, no lie

pit stop to play with this guy

and then I fell off my bike. Bruised….but happy.

Going Bridal

It’s probably too early to be walking down bridal shower memory lane. Sometime I feel like the wedding is almost over and it’s yet to even happen. I guess that’s one whole year and a half of wedding on the brain will do to a gal.

This post is dedicated to Cristina and Gwen (Gwen is the red-haired beauty in black and nude and Crisitina is the vixen in hot pink on the end). Both G and C are members of my bridal party, friends since freshmen year, truly inspiring girls I love to spend time with. Both are also the only victims of my one moment of bridal rage. The issue was resolved effortlessly (well almost!) by them and my bridezilla mindset was quashed. Thank the heavens. I won’t go into major details as some things remain private even for a bare it all for the world to see kind of lady like myself.

My points are these:

1. True friends are certainly to be cherished. Hang on to them. They right any wrongs and calm a tortured spirit. They make life better.
2. Bridezilla is not a myth. It happens to the best of us. Take it, embrace it, and then throw it out the window.

The Ballpark

Take me out to the ball game

No but seriously, super slaty popcorn, ice cream in a plastic helmet, and french fries galore is as ideal a meal to me as a nice seafood platter and a bottle of bubbly.

We had perfect weather, amazing seats, and high spirits. It was quite the grand finale to a week of momentous occasion.

Seing batta batta batta SWING!

Graduation Recap

Dear Whomever who decided that giant nylon/polyester purple sacks and black diamond-shaped caps should be standard graduation attire,

Way to ruin it for everyone….


Honestly aside from the excitement that is the final stamp on a college career, there is much about the process that is frankly a process-the millions of ceremonies, the speeches, the long and tired calling of names, the flocks of eager family members going camera happy, the bottlenecking, the crowds, the caps and gowns, I stress the caps and gowns. Sorry to be a negative Nancy here, but let’s be realistic. Graduating = Awesome. Graduation = Giant Ball of Chaos!>!?!

My Grievances with attire:
The gown was purple. Purple is not my go-to color.
It didn’t breathe.
It didn’t show off my girlish figure (read: potato sack)
It didn’t feel pleasant to touch.
It smelled like the plastic sack it had been sitting in.
The cap was a bit small though I measured according to directions.
It was wobbly and unstable atop my head.
My shiny gold hassle weighed more than my cap.
I had to use bobby pins to secure the damn thing and even then the slightest jolt and BAM.
Hat hair is ugly. Add in 94% humidity Voila, sex bomb status!

As soon as that baccalaureate ceremony was over, I rushed outside, got a few pictures taken, for the ole scrapbook, and then I tore off that silly costume like I was ripping into a sack of Halloween candy. 5 seconds or less, y’all.
Of course two hours later, post dinner feast, I was itching to put the purple robe back on to camouflage the post-dinner belly I had going on. As it turns out graduation gowns are lovely hide-the-bloat wear. When you’ve taken down the house in the eating arena, no shape is no problem. Of course, full-on feasting of Peruvian fare at a neighborhood favorite, Pio Pio, was worth the slight tightness of my blouse. I ordered ceviche mixto and a side of maduras and as always enjoyed a handful or two or french fries and a few bites of rice and beans because I can never stick to what I order alone. I must get my fork in everything or the meal feels incomplete. I wasn’t the only one eating with a passion; the table enjoyed their various dishes. I know the tender roast chicken was a hit; between 5 people not a single little scrap was left on the bone. Our table looked like the boneyard in The Lion King, carcasses and all.

We washed it down with a little architectural tour of the Meatpacking District, followed by two giant slices of New York cheesecake in Times Square where we almost saw Ricky Martin and a few rounds of after hours bowl dancing (an invented style of bowling in which each turn at the lane necessitates a free-styled dance routine intermixed with the actual bowling of the ball). Bowl dancing is, by the way, a great cardiovascular exercise that I DO NOT recommend after a hefty slice of cheesecake. Of course I only realized this in retrospect from my current position in my bed where I lay with a bit of a tummy-ache, the tell-tale sign of a night of TOO much fun, the surefire signal of a job well done.