Three Year Anniversary

As you can guess, that picture was taken approximately 100000 million years ago because that's how long it's been since The BFF was blonde and I was (spray) tan. Aw, those were the days. But really it was only three.

Oh how time flies. It's amazing to think how much has changed since then. I mean, not really the bank account, thanks New York, but life is good.

As predicted, we were broke and homeless for a little while (although not totally homeless thanks to our wonderful friends Nicki and Dana), but we survived.

Last year's anniversary post was on the precipice of momentous change. We moved into a new apartment (away from psychoville) and a few months later I got a new job.

Another year, new friends, new gossip, new drama, new hopes. Lessons learned. I know what I don't want, but still trying to figure out what I do want. I'm not too worried about it though. It'll fall into place, I'm confident of that. Sooner rather than later is preferable, but whatever.

Who knows where things will go from here, but whenever I think back on this stage in my life, I will know that it was totally awesome. As my grandma Dolo tells me whenever I complain about something, "From the looks of your blog, it seems you're having plenty of fun." What can I say, she's a perceptive lady.

All in all, I love my life, I love New York, I love The BFF.

Last year I posted the video for Empire State of Mind. This is a little less "These streets will make you feel brand-new," but it's still inspiring:

NYC - Mindrelic Timelapse from Mindrelic on Vimeo.

I heart NY.

For the Love of Snow

A few nights ago it started to snow while I was walking home from the office (an attempt to stick to my goal for at least a week). Tiny little specks, nothing much.

By the time I left the gym later on, they had turned into fat flakes, the fluffy wisps of snow cotton that float from the sky at their own wayward pace. Totally surrounding you like you're inside of a snow globe. Practically magical (especially for this southern girl).

I spent the rest of the night in my apartment, occasionally peaking out my window. Although winter is my least favorite season, I'll admit that sometimes it can be beautiful. And even though my neighborhood is not particularly scenic, the snow looked down right picturesque.

Pristine and crisp yet welcoming and comforting. For a brief minute, it's perfect.

And then soon after, it all began to change, just like every time it snows in the city.

Because the world interferes. People wake up, cars drive, shovels clear, and the trucks come in and haul the banks and drifts away like garbage.

What remains is immediately tainted by life, speckled with dirt and Lord knows what else. And little by little, it disappears, with the leftovers dissolving into icy, brown slush.

From royal icing to a coke slushi. Enjoyment downgrade on all accounts.

(Especially if you stick your foot in one of those fool-you-puddles, you know, where it totally looks like nothing and them boom you have hypothermia and a ruined day. Damn you curb moats, damn you.)

But eventually you get over it and move on, but by that point it's pretty much disappeared any way. You've forgotten about the joys and the headache of the experience, having switched focus to the current forecast.

Um, it has just dawned on me that the snow is a metaphor for my dating experience in the city.

Follow me on this one... My relationship track record:

OMG this is totally awesome and beautiful! It feels so surreal; I can't believe this is happening. I've never been happier. Oh wait why are you acting weird. What, sorry I'm busy maybe next week. And why is it you felt the need to tell me about someone else? I am miserable and annoyed. How did it all fall apart even though it started out great? Fine, whatever. Totally DTM. Duh, I've moved on. Wait what was his name again? Yes, yes I could be available to go out with your single guy friends.

Am I right?

Perhaps I should take this discovery and evaluate my approach to both winter survival and dating...

P dot S: While on my company's off-site last week I got to witness the most beautiful snow billow out of the sky for hours (thanks to my view out of a conference room window at an all-day internal strategic planning meeting). We stayed at a castle - technically a former summer home built just like one - and it was amazing. (Especially our celebratory dinner at Blue Hill at Stone Barn. Passed h'orderves and a ridiculous four-course meal? Yes please and thank you.) The accomodations were stellar, and the grounds could not have been more beautiful blanketed in white. And although I was a tiny bit worried we wouldn't be able to drive back in the city on Friday night, I couldn't help but falling in love with the snow. For real.

And I'm going to take that as a sign that maybe cold weather hasn't totally frozen off my ability to be in a relationship after all either. Woo hoo.

Call Me Rocky

Weight class - think boxing. Fighters are matched with their competitors based on their weight. And, let's be honest, that's kind of how dating in New York is too.

We've learned from glorious ol' Millionaire Matchmaker that if you're a five you're not getting a 10. (Or in the case of last week's episode with Crazy McSomeoneInterveneWithHerMakeUp, if you're a three, no way in hell you're getting a ten. Even with money.)

Anyway, like with most of my posts, this lesson is also gleaned from my own dating rejection experience. Let's get the vain part out of the way first.

Two years ago I managed to become incredibly healthy and lose like 15 pounds. Amazing, right? I felt good. I looked good. And I dated the quality of men who I would have previously felt were out of my league (this is the shallow part and therefore I'm not saying that they were good people necessarily, but boy were they dreamy.)

Then things changed, e.g. I moved out of the inner-circle of hell; I got a new job; and I had a steady boyfriend. Little by little it's crept back on. Weight-loss re-gain failure.

At first I ignored it, but now I realize I need a self-intervention if I want to be back in the Champion's ring. I'm like Rocky. I think. I don't know. To be honest, I don't think I've ever actually seen any of those movies, except for snippets on TV or that scene where he runs up those steps in the sweats. But either way, Eye of the Tiger? My new jam.

Side note, I actually saw those steps when I visited Ashley in Philadelphia, but from very far away. The idea of walking all the way there seemed like too much effort. Hmm, perhaps in hindsight I can more clearly see where life's choices might have aided my quest in gaining the weight back. (Especially considering I'm almost positive that we went home to eat an entire container of dip and a bag of chips.)

I digress. The point is, I really want to get back to where I know I can be. I honestly felt the best I ever have. I was athletic, like maybe if you were squinting you'd think I had a six-pack (think Britney, not Madonna), I felt taller, lighter.

And now, instead, I have some pants that don't fit. Along with half of my work clothes. Ugh. They've got the "Snug Slutty" look. Not exactly business casual.

So the first step is incorporating this mantra into my life:

Think Before You Eat

It might sound simple, but you have no idea how hard this is for me to grasp. You see, I have a problem with food (i.e. I'm obsessed). Any and all (except olives!), wherever, whenever. Celebration and self-bribery. In sickness and in health. Can't stop, won't stop.

{Skinny Rachel circa 2009.}

It's so bad that I've directed two of my coworkers who sit closest to the kitchen to monitor my snacking. (One ran to my desk today when he heard "crinkling of wrappers." For the record it was a self-sanctioned low-fat 90 cal Chewy granola bar.)

But "Think Before You Eat" will (hopefully) help me maintain stricter portions, avoid mindless grazing, and make healthy decisions so I can become a better, healthier version of myself.

And it's not just eating. I'm also trying to get back in the habit of walking more instead of relying on the bus or subway. (I know, way to choose the worst month ever to start this.) But I used to walk 30 minutes home almost every day and it felt good to be outside. It literally cleared my head, and I think I need more of that.

Beyond that, I also want to maintain my gym commitment (one thing I excel at, woohoo) and stick to a twice-a-week Pilates routine. I really think it does wonders.

Okay I realize you could probably give a crap about this little pledge, but I need some accountability. So deal with it.

(And I have always recognized that It Takes a Village. Hopefully The Internet pulls its weight.)

To 2011: The Year of Something

I dating detoxed during December. It was nice. But now it's a new year, and I'm finally motivated to get back in the game. Which, in thirty degree weather, is saying a lot.

The truth is, though, it's finally sunk in how much I miss having a boyfriend. The weather is definitely playing a factor since I spent the past two winters relationship upped, and the wedding made me nostalgic for love.

This feeling went up another notch on Saturday when I went to brunch with Elle and a few other girls at Perry Street (Jean-Georges restaurant with a fantastic $26 price fixe lunch), including one who had just gotten back from a holiday trip with her boyfriend. Her devoted, handsome, generous, nice, awesome, etc. orthopedic surgeon boyfriend. There has been ring shopping and apartment hunting.

In many instances, it's possible to get insanely jealous and/or rageful because why can't it be you!?

But that was not the case. Instead I was ecstatic to hear all about an actual, real life example of a guy pursuing a girl, sweeping her off her feet, and wanting to settle down. In New York!

So it was backed by this inspiration that I went out with The BFF to see what sort of dating roster shopping we could do. We had a few plans up in the air, but figured we might as well get out of the apartment to get a head start on making an effort. Because we've come to the conclusion that we don't exactly meet guys while sitting around in our bathrobes watching the Food Network. Unfortunately.

After our plan of the Bowery Hotel fell through based on zero eligible prospects, we went to a few more places before settling on an Irish bar showing the end of the Jets game. Because, duh, wildcard playoff games are usually full of men.

Outside were two guys, one of whom we assumed had to be the bouncer. Of course neither actually were. We learned this after volunteering our IDs to them. Awkward. Yes, I am 25 and from Texas. Glad we're all on the same page now.

After an hour or so inside, wherein during this time The BFF and I invented a new holiday called Shotsgiving, we made our way toward the exit where we ran into the "bouncer" and his cute friend.

They invited us to head to Double Crown down the block. Score. And we ended up spending the rest of the night hanging out with them. All because The BFF and I are idiots who show our IDs to anyone at the entrance of a building.

So while I hope the first perfect on paper FH candidate of 2011 gives me a call, it doesn't even matter that he probably won't be The One. Because at least it was something.

Another Wedding Story

You might have read my last post about my brother’s wedding and thought, “Wow, that Rachel has really grown up. She responsibility fulfilled all of her assigned duties. What a great sister of the groom.”

Well, I should be honest, that’s only partially true.

In Typical Awkward Rachel Behavior, things got a little weird. I figure I might as well own up to it considering half (or all) of my family already knows the story anyway. (And one cousin commented on Facebook about it… You know who you are!)

Anyway, ye ol’ devil alcohol played a role. Shocking. In my defense, though, it wasn’t the quantity consumed, it was my body saying, “You’re tacky and I hate you.”

So even though I had drank (way) more during my trip – high school reunions and celebrity sightings! – my body had been biding its time to really make me suffer.

It started at the most awkward instance possible: While riding the bus home from the reception. Oh, and the icing on the (wedding) cake? I realized I was going to be sick while talking to the best man, my brother’s best friend since they were two, who was in the middle of telling me how he’d always had a crush on me growing up.

Way to show him the error of his impressionable youth, Rachel.

Of course in hindsight, this sickening outcome isn’t that shocking. There was a point during the reception where I was literally laying on the ground during Shout. You ain’t never seen nobody get any softer now. (Also it has dawned on me that the combination of my dominating dancing and bouquet catching is going to make for a legendary wedding video, one that will most definitely be used to blackmail me one day.)

I thought of all this while I was on my death bed the entire next morning (death bed = floor of the bathroom), unable to even hold down water. Missing the family gathering at the hotel, mind you. Apparently my absence was explained with...the truth. Fantastic.

You see, I suffer from a little condition I have diagnosed as Next Day Vomitosis, a severely horrible case of hangover. Only one other person I know suffers as bad as me. When I lived with this friend in college, let’s just say Friday mornings were not pretty.

Those are drunk eyes.
In hindsight maybe this
outcome wasn't so
shocking...

But this condition comes and goes. Fortunately it hasn’t happened in six months. (Unfortunately that time was also around my family. Oy.)

Luckily my sweet parents took pity on me. Although considering the fact my brother referred to me as an Old Maid on the way to the reception (I of course corrected him with my preferred terminology of Spinster), I guess I did deserve some compassion. In the form of suit-case packing.

So weak. So fragile. So hot mess-y.

But even this puketastic memory doesn’t tarnish that of the wedding. I still stand by my previous sentiment: It was perfect.

P dot S: “Puke free since ’93.” HIMYM is genius.

A New Year To Remember

I'll be honest, I do not care for New Year's. It never turns out to be as fun as you hoped it would be, and then January 1 rolls around and you're hungover and mildly depressed because now that diet really has to start. For real. 

Me, the best man Max, my brother Eric, and one highly
annoyed cocker spaniel. "Poor me, I'm wearing a hat."
Get over it, Jesse, you look good. 



But that wasn't the case this year. (Actually, that's not totally true. The hangover and the diet thing still apply). I spent the new year surrounded by extended family and close friends in Austin for my brother's wedding. And it was far more fun than I could have imagined.

It started New Year's Eve morning at a fantastic "rehearsal brunch" at Chez Zee. Then later that night everyone (we're talking almost 50 relatives and practically-relatives) came to our house for a low key beef stew and cornbread feast. One of the highlights was everyone looking at (read: laughing hysterically at) my parents' wedding album from 28 years earlier (to the day). From the number of family members shown to be passed out on couches during the reception, it seemed to have been a pretty rockin' party.

The next day - 1.1.11. - it was time for the main event. And, after months of worrying about (but not really doing anything to prepare for them), I had finally checked off my list of duties.

First I knocked out the slideshow. Considering Charlie and Emily have dated for eight years and are both extremely good looking, finding pictures was no challenge. Condensing them into something shorter than a multi-part mini-series was the tricky part.

I was most proud of the alternating baby pictures at the beginning. Sweet little Emily. Charlie eating dirt. Sweet little Emily. Charlie going out through the doggy door. Sweet little Emily. Charlie climbing on top of boat house like a wild man. At least he turned out quasi-normal.

Some family members joked that this speech
was the most they'd ever heard Charlie talk.
At least it was a great toast.

Next I had to tackle my duty of wedding day makeup for the bride. No, I do not know how I landed that gig, and yes, I was really worried about it. My biggest concern wasn’t that she wouldn’t look pretty – she’s what you call a natural beauty - it was that she would turn out looking like ol’ Ghost Face Killa Rachel (which apparently is due to my Bare Minerals usage!) in all the pictures. Don't worry, though, she looked stunning.  I did not ruin the wedding.

I also did her maid of honor Traci’s makeup and my mom’s too. I think I have a gift. My mom doesn't think I should quit my day job though. I'll keep you posted.

In addition to that, I had been asked to read something at the wedding, my choice. Pressure, pressure. I chose the poem "Blessing of the Hands," which I thought I could handle pretty well. Until I decided to practice it in front of some of my younger cousins on New Year's Eve. After I finished, nine-year-old Jordan gave me some notes. “Umm, that line about how you talk about their future children is a little presumptuous.” What can I say, she’s always been precocious.

Then she proceeded to show me how a real entertainer would present it…by beat box rapping the whole thing, and modifying the line.

A few of the cousins, including my
wedding reading under study.

“Boom, ch, boom boom ch. ...These are the hands that will hold your children…if you choose to have them.”

I died. During the actual reading at the wedding, those who had already heard the story could tell I was holding in giggles when I read that part out loud. Other people thought I was choking back tears. If they only knew.

Last but not least, even after 10 days of non-stop holiday eating, I still fit into my bridesmaid dress. Which would have been incredibly embarrassing had that not been the case considering the two six month pregnant bridesmaids managed to too!

After the ceremony – which took place at Riverbend’s Smith Family Chapel aka where Nick and Jessica got married – we took a charter bus to The Salt Lick Pavilion.

The room was stunning. Totally perfect. Emily and her mom did an amazing job, and one of my college BFFs Keaton helped set it all up while we were at the church. (If any of you Austinites need and/or know of anyone looking for a great wedding/party coordinator/planner, Keaton’s your girl. Email me for her info.)

The rest of the night was amazing.

Victory.

Especially the part when I put my middle school basketball rebounding skills to use to dominate the bouquet catching. Like a champion. But not to be upstaged by me, my brother Eric caught the garter. With a diving grab. Show off.

We’ll see who makes it down the aisle first. (As my mother reminded me in a Facebook caption, "She doesn't even have a boyfriend.") The winning prize is a performance of Thriller by my dad’s side of the family. I’m serious. My Aunt Barb showed me the moves she already knows (sadly they didn’t learn the whole thing before this wedding). We will be holding her to it.

All in all it was such a fun time! Except I'm still exhausted. Don't mind me while I go lie down in solitude for the next month to recuperate. (Couldn't hurt the diet.)

A few more of my favorite snap shots:

 



I Can't Help It If Celebs Flock To Me

If you've read this blog for awhile, you'll know there are a few things I truly enjoy:

• Spending time with my best friends.  
• Eating delicious food.
• Socializing in the same circles as celebrities.

While I've been in Austin, I've managed to do all three.

On Tuesday night some of my closest college friends congregated in Austin to celebrate Meredith's move to Austin. We spent the first hour or so judging her for not having a single piece of furniture in her apartment. Omg Meredith, I'm totally joking! Stop having a heart attack.

From there we decided to eat dinner at Bess' Bistro, Sandra Bullock's restaurant on Sixth Street. The food is good, the ambiance is nice, but never did we think Miss Sandy B would be there in the flesh.

But oh was she ever. That woman is stunning.

Also, there were $20 bottles of wine. Not really part of the story, but just in case you're in Austin looking for a good deal...

Anyway, a little while later we heard some more commotion.

Drew Barrymore was there too.

Now, this is exciting on any level. But for me, this was way exciting.

You see, all the way back in October when I was here for ACL, my mom mentioned a celebrity had bought a house in our neighborhood. Uh huh sure. I mean, how do I say this nicely, our street is a little, uh, eclectic.

 

But in weird, uncharacteristic rarity, she refused to tell me who! How dare she dangle that piece of gossip in front of me without exposing the goods??

 

Well, when I got home for Christmas, she finally let me in on it: Ol' Lashblaster Barrymore. Little Miss Never Been Kissed. Julia Gulia.

 

So when I saw she was at Bess, of course I wanted to be neighborly and say hi.

 

Except she was there with a friend. A famous friend. Miss Scarlett Johansson.

 

Now, again, exciting at any time. But mind you this is a mere week or so after the announcement of her split from one of the Sexiest Men Alive. 

 

Let's take a minute to talk about Ry Ren. Swoon. Drool. His attractiveness transcends visual beauty. Let's be honest, a blind person would know how hot he is! It is incredibly difficult to fathom ending a relationship with someone so handsome without spawning a few children first. Sigh.

 

At this point I was clearly unable to control my excitement and was Tweeting/texting up a storm. Celebrities + booze = the kryptonite to my technological self-control. I have a problem. It's not my fault.

 

I'm also a stalker so when we saw ScarJo make a play for the bathroom I totally took advantage of the fact I'd been downing liquids all night. (See above regarding awesome wine deal.)

 

My friend and I darted in behind her; I almost knocked her over with the heavy bathroom door. Whoops.

 

Just so you know, the girl is tiny. Wispy would be a good way to describe her. Creepy would be a good way to describe me.

 

I tried to pee as fast as humanly possible so we could be washing our hands at the same time because then we would probably become best friends, laughing over that time I almost demolished her with the door. Then I'd be too busy to write this blog post because I'd be with my new besties bonding over Austin's awesomeness.

 

But that wasn't the case so here I am. Great.

 

Eventually we cut ourselves off from celebrity stalking and cheap wine, and as we walked by their table near the exit, I had a twinge of "Just go say hi!" motivation. Except I realized Sandra was crouched down next to their table chatting.

 

I figured it would be rude to knock her over. (Pantomime of me kicking Sandra over.) She's been through enough this year.

 

P dot S: If you're in Austin looking for good food, the lamb scaloppini (lamb medallions topped with crab meat and fried spinach) was amazing. And the macaroni, but I mean, duh, of course it would be delicious. It's macaroni.

My wonderful friends at Bess.