Past couple weeks:

This morning I was in my office talking to two coworkers about a last-minute issue that really needs to be resolved, while another colleague sat patiently by in the chair across from me, awaiting my attention and occasionally interjecting. I finally got so overwhelmed that I put my head down on my desk, cheek to wood, staring miserably at another pile of paper, the one that wakes me up at night, worrying. Then my alarm went off

and after a moment of puzzledness ("Why is music playing in my office?") I realized my cheek was pressed to my mattress, not my desk, and it was 7:05 and I needed to get up and start the day over again.

Now you know why I've been MIA.

Tomorrow afternoon I'm going to regain my sanity, and do things like get a haircut (my hair is unbrushable), stop feeling guilty and indecisive and just buy a pair of sandals already, do much-needed laundry, clean my bedroom, call my longlost friends and relatives, take a deep breath, and sit down with a cup of tea and a magazine in my living room.

That's a good plan. I think.

Best-dressed list.

Whenever I see pictures of badly dressed celebs, I'm like, WTF? because if I had the money they do I would want to look like THIS:


Via Go Fug Yourself.

Blessings.

One of the unexpected benefits of stepping unknowingly into a quicksand trap of overwhelmingness (overwhelmingitude?) at work is that at a certain point, at the end of the day, you turn off. Or at least I do. When I feel in control at work I think about it at the end of the day and on weekends; I imagine conversations, outcomes, negotiations; I live through meetings before they've actually happened. What's that saying? A coward dies a thousand deaths?

But then at some point on the spectrum I go from waking up an hour before my alarm's set to go off with shortness of breath and pained anxiety in my chest (like this morning) ... to leaving at the end of the day and forgetting about all the piles on my desk (and floor, in case you wanted to know) the second I step out the revolving door. I can't get it all done. BUT NO ONE COULD. And that's why I'm going with my honey to see Wolverine right now, bad as we know it's going to be.

It's like, you start treating your weeknights as weekends. Awesome!

Don't let me

go down the envelope lining path. I can feel it coming on.

Three year anniversary!

Took two days off from work to extend a Taylor's-first-birthday / Mother's-Day-brunch / my-mom's-art-show weekend into a proper trip instead of a mad dash up and down the NJ Turnpike. Yesterday Chris and I arrived at the art show, situated on a hill below a winery, early and clambered up the steep slope on foot to enjoy a bottle of Virginia wine on the balcony overlooking the Virginia foothills. Saw my mom and co. pull in; recorked the bottle and pilfered the glasses, skidding back down the hill like jaunty pirates, managing not to spill.

Today met with florist; she was wonderful, liked my ideas, had good suggestions. Mom's house is brimming with paintings and vases filled with irises and azaleas from her garden tucked into every corner. Florist is down the road next to a cut flower garden that offers internships. Hmmmmmmm.

Off to go thrift-store shopping and meet with dj...can't stop to edit. Hope your weekends were similarly lovely!

Happy birthday, Taylor Eve; pictures from her party to come.

Postage paid.

Went to the post office yesterday to mail something; bought up a stack of Forever stamps for use on the RSVP cards, since postage goes up next Monday. I weighed a sample invitation and it was .1 over 1 oz, how is that for Murphy's Law? So now I'm sitting here thinking about what stamps we ARE going to use and feeling like maybe my discarded-as-too-trendy-and-time-consuming idea of using vintage stamps might be the freaking way to go after all.


I like the new 44 cent Love stamps but they are only 44 cents and not 61. So to use these I would need to add various configurations of the following, which are all very nice, but I don't know how WELL they go with the king and queen of hearts.






The 17 cent stamp is so blah, I don't even want to look at it.

Why not the 61 cent wedding stamp, you may ask? Because, look:

Gahhh!!
I think I'd rather use the other 61 cent stamp, even though I don't know who Richard Wright is.

As a final option, there's design-your-own-postage or pay 1 cent per invite extra (so, like, $1.50 total) for the 62 cent stamp

which is bland but at least not horrifying like that cake. Of course, you're talking to someone who stood in a crazy line so as to avoid paying 2 cents extra per stamp come May 11, so I don't know if either of those options are viable.

I looked up Richard Wright and he was a writer, which might fit in well with our secret theme. Hmm.

I'm sure you all can't believe I just wrote a post about stamps. I write about this stuff here to save Chris's ears from bleeding. Trust me, you have no idea how much I actually hold myself back. My sister could tell you.

Scavenger hunt!

Okay, Internet, I need you to keep your eyes out for me. As previously mentioned, I have an irrational desire for pale blue wedding shoes. But I'm having a really tough time finding any. I ordered a pair off eBay, but it turns out that despite the photos, "seafoam" in person is more green than blue, so I'm reselling them.

Here are my parameters:

Can be flats or low heels--no higher than 2.5 inches. (I love high heels, and Chris is a lot taller than me, but my dress is a certain length.) The heel can't be terribly thin because the wedding's on grass.
No cork heels.
Wedges MAY BE okay but only if they are super elegant.
I prefer an ankle strap.
I will not do slingbacks under any circumstances.
Any material is fine, although satin would be nice, and I'd rather not have patent leather or cotton (or canvas, obviously).
Almost any shade of pale blue and aqua are acceptable, but once it veers into turquoise and/or teal, that's too dark.
I need a size 10 or maybe 10.5 if they run super narrow. (No duck foot jokes please.)
I'd rather spend under $100, but will go to $150 if it gets to that point. (Although I'll probably go the dreaded dyable route before then.) I'll totally go low-brow too--not ashamed to wear shoes from Target or Delia's.
Latin dance shoes would be okay, too, provided they're the right color.

Here are pretty ones across the Internets that won't work.

These are too expensive.


The heel is too high.


I'm thinking about these, but they're way up at the top of my reluctant price cap. Also it's a European company, and I'm concerned they'll be too narrow.


Sold out, and they were too expensive anyway. J.Crew, in case you wanted to know.


Liz and I (not that it's my decish, haha) are thinking about these for Taylor Eve. Adorable, right?? Where's the grown-up version, that's what I want to know.

Sesame Street.

Saturday was a coincidence day--bumping into probably ten or so acquaintances on the streets of Brooklyn, culminating with a ten p.m. conversation between Chris and his Tulane college friend in our living room that went something like this:

C: My phone's buzzing. Oh, no way. I haven't talked to my old friend Xavier in two years. I'll call him back tomorrow.
College Friend: Xavier's a pretty unusual name. I've only ever met one person named Xavier. I partied with him when I was visiting NYU in 1994. His dad was a radiologist.
C: (Stunned silence.) Xavier UnusualLastName??
CF: (Stunned silence.) Yes!
and so on.

These kinds of stories are only ever interesting to the parties concerned but suffice it to say it was all very Twilight Zone.

Sunday my sister and I went to morning service at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine on the Upper West Side. It was stunning, obviously. The service was very moving. It happened to be the retirement service for a priest who'd been with the Cathedral for twenty-five years. It was very simple, humble, and beautiful, and somehow intimate despite the vastness of the surroundings. I think I'll go back. It was pouring rain so we didn't tour the grounds to see the peacocks.

Then I came home and organized my closet and dresser drawers and did all my lingering hand washing and hung things up to dry and Chris and I watched an old Errol Flynn movie called Captain Blood. Olivia de Havilland was HOT. I always think of her as sort of mousy because of Gone With the Wind, but not at all.

Not a calla lily kind of girl.

When we first got engaged last July, Chris suggested a May or June wedding and I had a mini-freak-out: "How can we plan a wedding that fast are you crazy?" Etc. I'm not proud of myself. Chris graciously had a calm conversation with me and we compromised on July or August, later jointly choosing to move the date to (my initial choice) September due to concerns about late summer temperatures in Virginia.

The other day we were walking past a bodega bursting with blossoms and I turned to Chris and said, "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. A May or June wedding would have been so nice." Upon which he had a mini-freak-out of his own: "No way, we picked the perfect month; are you regretting it? Are you not 100% happy???" Etc.

I quickly reassured him, but the totally superficial reason for my momentary lapse was

peonies.

I love them. And I doubt that I can have even one single blossom in my bouquet because they'll have faded out of season. (Don't even think of suggesting dahlias as a substitute; they're pretty too but nothing like the same feeling, all sharp edges where peonies are soft and ruffly.) So I've got to indulge my eyes (and yours) while I can! Check out the wonderful Weeder's Digest column on Design*Sponge.

(Speaking of Design*Sponge, I want this book.)