Eat Cake

Thanks to Maggie for being the only one to read this blog and actually searching for that ribbon. Martha Stewart must have gotten it custom made by some poor child laborers in a remote Chinese sweatshop because i cannot find it anywhere. Thanks for trying.

Now it's time for cake. I'm just dabbling in this area right now. Who knows what our assigned bakery is capable of making--we'll probably end up with a sheet cake decorated with balloons and bears. Don't matter - I can look at other people's pretty cakes. Here are some pictures of random nice cakes that probably cost like $20 per slice.




























Tell me what you think and you can be honest. This orange thing might be getting out of hand.

Here is a cookie favor and a cupcake too. Cute, huh?

Ribbon

See the ribbon on this bouquet? I need it. If you see something like this please tell me.

What? Me Worry?

Had to go to the doctor's office today to take my first ever stress test. You know, the thing where they hook you up to ten electrodes and have you run on a treadmill at increasing speeds all the while checking your vitals.

Well, at one point they started asking me questions about the wedding. After a while they noticed that when the subject of our marriage came up, my blood pressure actually went down. How about that?

Lesson learned: When you are running up indoor hills at escalating speeds, it's good to be engaged.

Or if you prefer, love is good for you.

Word to Slim Goodbody!

This DJ

Quick reader poll:

What is a great song to play at a wedding reception?
What is a horrible song to never play at a wedding reception?

If you don't answer seriously, you will be suspended from the cocktail hour for 15 minutes.

Walking through the Forest

While planning for the rapidly approaching nuptials, a concurrent search for a place to call home is under way.

What I know is this: There is no such thing as a housing slump in New York. Not in Manhattan, not in Queens, not in Brooklyn, not anywhere we want to live. That pretty much sucks. Regardless, we forge on. Urban pilgrims in search of a larger life that includes two bedrooms and some closet space. That and mass transit so we can retreat back to our apple oasis.

The last two weekends were filled with open house meet and greets, mostly through Forest Hills (which we pretty much like more than any other place besides Manhattan), where we did a lot of walking, and hoped we would find our affordable Shangrila. Much like bananas, each place had it's bruises. Some were light (small bathrooms, weird wallpaper) and some were slimy brown mush-fests (maze-like backwards set up, no stand up shower in tub). Opening up closet doors was like discovering new geometric shapes.

We are hardly disheartened after two weeks (except for the fact that some unnamed and recently married couple admitting they loved the first place they saw and bought it) but we long for a place we fall in love with. A place that we walk into and a picture of the future is painted before our ambitious eyes. Our room, our office, the exactly perfect place to put our cake holder. I know that no one gets a break, but we did look at 21 different reception halls. Can't the law of averages see-saw in our direction?

A new address. A place where magazines can be delivered. A place of our own, full of the overwhelming amount of stuff our parents want vacated from their houses. We'll live there. You can visit.

But we have to find it first.

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Side note: Was out looking for a Pop's Day card for Glenn and noticed an inordinate amount of cards related to how much gas dad passes. What gives with all the Farters Day Cards?