Ahhh...the surprising vegan treat.

When Rob and I first started dating, he was sticking to a vegan diet. I had dated vegetarians before, but never a vegan, and I was a little leery of diving into it, seeing as how I try to subsist on bacon alone when I can. (I was a rebellious and inexperienced vegetarian for years, and was done in by a BLT. Sorry, ethics police, but it's my vice.) I quickly found out what an exceptional cook Rob was, so I was excited to see what kind of vegan cuisine he would be whipping up. One of our first hang-outs involved him making me beet soup, which was sweet because it was healthy and a lovely scarlet shade, and DANG, no guy had ever made me soup before. It was a new beginning for us, so I figured I would venture into unfamiliar territory and try making a vegan dessert. I've had a soft spot for baking ever since I was young, and I decided to make a vegan chocolate cake with homemade strawberry icing. I was completely shocked when the cake not only turned out, but tasted light and delicious, and not remotely like cardboard or...i don't know...bran. When I brought my triumphant cake to a backyard hang-out, I was hoping to impress Rob, and I think I not only impressed him, but the rest of the group. It was GOOD!!! As that summer wore on, I tried more and more vegan recipes, eventually honing in on cupcakes and an occasional carrot cake. I'd like to think that my vegan cupcakes are famous within our little social circle. It's such a rush to see someone's eyes light up when you tell them that there are cupcakes to be had, and vegan nonetheless. We have a lot of friends who are very conscious of their diets, and vegan treats let them party too.

Last night I got the baking prerogative, and i made some chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting. Totally vegan, totally awesome. We got a mechanical pastry bag for a wedding gift, so I've been luxuriating with that instead of having to slop my precious frosting like a bricklayer. When Rob got home from work at 4am, and kissed me as he crawled into bed, I could taste a little chocolate-y, peanut-buttery goodness in his smooch.

Please stop when you should.

Today I was driving home with Robert behind a car that ran over a cat and didn't stop to deal with the aftermath. The woman driving the car clearly saw the animal streaking through the street, because i saw her tap her breaks. I can't be angry that she hit the cat, because it sort of came out of nowhere, but I think it's disgusting that she kept driving on. I watched that poor beast convulse and writhe on the pavement and die in a pool of it's own blood within 30 seconds of her speeding off in her posh sedan. Rob called Animal Control, and I couldn't help but sob against the steering wheel. I don't think the cat had a collar on, so who knows who the owners are or if they will ever find out what happened to their pet. It didn't look like a stray: it looked sleek and well fed. I hope that driver feels like shit for not stopping. I hope that if she has a pet at home, she takes better care of it than she did of the animal she killed.

Bachelorette Bacchanal

My girlfriends know me well enough to know that I couldn't bear to have a bachelorette party decorated primarily in penises. Nor could I ever envision myself stumbling downtown covered in a sash with a cheap tiara dangling on my head soliciting people for dollar bills while I throw lollipops at them. (Although it is funny to imagine just HOW DRUNK I would have to be to do that.) I count myself lucky to have such stellar ladyfriends, some of whom flew from the opposite end of the country to be with me for my wedding.


Virginia has been one of my very best friends since the first week of high school, when I volunteered to carry her books across campus due to her injured foot. It was a rare moment of outgoingness for me, and I was richly rewarded with a friend who grew from a chatty, headstrong girl to a fiercely loyal, steadfast and nurturing woman. Ginny was my maid of honor, and the first and only person that I hoped would fill that role.

Kristina planned my bachelorette party, which involved a ridiculously delicious dinner at The Red Stag Supper Club followed by dancing. This photo doesn't foreshadow the kind of windmilling, booty-shaking, sweat-flinging that occurred later that night on the dancefloor (it kind of sounds like Ultimate Fighting, yeah? Instead of dancing? Well, we take our dancing VERY seriously.)

As the evening wore on, Portia and I started to feel...pinker.








My sister-in-law Elizabeth and I had never gone out dancing together before...and it looks like we are using Jazzercise as our inspiration.





Eventually we cleared the bar out with our high-kicks and whirling dervishes. Portia invented a dance that gracefully channeled a drunk guy throwing punches (no photo available, unfortunately.) It felt so awesome to have the space to move like this, and the privacy to act like little girls at a frantic slumber party, plus booze. (I swear, someone handed me a cocktail every 10 minutes!) But, despite all the boozing and bumping, I made it to the next morning sans hangover.