Engagement Pics are Here!!

Just a little preview until we get the full disc. More to come!

Emily and Ryan's Engagement Photos from Emily Rearick on Vimeo.

"It's a Love Story. Baby Just Say Yes!"

Saturday was a day I’ll never forget.

As the start of the weekend and my only real day off with the Boo I cherish my Saturdays regardless but this Saturday…this Saturday was even more memorable.

We started off the morning lazy and loving. Wrapped in each other’s arms we awoke to a day full of possibilities and promises. 24 blissfully uninterrupted hours with my sucker. I woke up with a smile on my face.

We set off to Starbucks to use that gift card my Dad had sent as part of my birthday gift. Two iced venti Caramel Macchiatos and 2 blueberry crumb cakes later we took our goods and headed home to relax.

We had said all week we would save money for the month. With a trip to Ohio coming up in September and the holidays closer than you would think we had agreed to start staying in and saving up. I had a few movies I thought we could lounge around and watch but the Boo...he had other plans.

Coaxing and persuading he finally smooth talked me into getting ready and presentable and we set off for a gorgeous part of town under the pretense of just a quick lunch.

He took me to an adorable wine bar and café. We sat on lime green and chocolate brown couches with low chic glass tables on the balcony overlooking an amazing water fountain. We ordered an incredible bottle of pinot noir, a cheese plate of Fleurvert, Bleu, and Cotswald cheeses and marinated Mussels.

We talked about our grandparents fighting in WW2 together. We laughed about the happenings of the week. We lamented our worries and stresses. We reveled in each other’s company.

I jokingly asked him “Can we talk about the wedding?” “No” was his quick and determinate answer. Laughingly I assured him I was more than kidding. I was fine with waiting.

Conversation progressed and lulled as only comfortable companions can procure. And there in one of those quiet moments. In one of the infinitesimal silences that only come with complete safety and trust he looked at me. A mixture of love, anticipation and adrenaline.

I blinked and he was on one knee.

He pulled out a small black box.

His lips moved and said words that neither of us will ever recall. So consumed in the moment and shocked by it’s sudden manifestation I was enraptured.

Somewhere in there he said “I love you. Will you marry me?”

And somewhere in there I said “Yes.”

He slipped the ring on my finger as a tear slid down my check.

A kiss (plus many more), a happy cry (that ruined my makeup) and a champagne toast (or two) later, the deal was sealed.

For better or for worse. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.

We’re officially engaged!

And he said “Now we can talk about the wedding.”

You Know How You Know When You've Found the One?

It’s when you finish each other’s sentences, understand each other’s toothpaste filled mumbles and comprehend the slightest facial expression.

It’s when you don’t mind sleeping with a sweat soaked eye mask (courtesy of your beloved) because you know they only wanted to be close to your side of the bed.

It’s when you find secret notes in your lunch pledging their undying love and all consuming misery when you’re away.

It’s when you are content with a movie, a bottle of wine and a block of cheese than any other bar or club, just as long as they’re there with you.

It’s when you realize they’re worth it.

It’s when you’ve found someone who will always tell you, no matter what the day may have brought or what their mood, that you are the queen of their life and they love you more than anything in this world.

And you believe them.

It’s when you still get butterflies in the pit of your stomach driving home from work to see them.

It’s when the sappy songs on the radio STILL relate to you after more than a year.

It’s when you’re heart simply breaks at the mere thought of them experiencing pain.

It’s when you’re life slowly begins to mesh and breathe and synchronize with theirs.

It’s when they give you the first bite of a meal their dying to taste or the last bite of their favorite sandwich.

It’s when they tell you they love you, fully clothed, without expectation or pretense, and mean it. Really mean it.

It’s when you envision yourself in that white dress or 6 months pregnant or with a head full of grey and they’re still always by your side.

It’s when you know your soul would be incomplete without them encompassing part of it.

It’s when you can say “I trust you” and for once you don’t have to lie.

It’s when your heart sinks interminably into the pool of their eyes.

It’s when you know. And they know. Then that’s it.

And you realize it was so worth it.

Say What You Need to Say

There are moments in everyone’s life that resonant endlessly throughout your soul. Defining, life-altering, wake-the-fuck-up-calls that smack you across the face and smart with their sting.

The loss of a life, instantly, unexpectedly, is sadly one of those smacks.

Over the past two days I’ve caught myself obsessing over the fragility of life. How quickly it can be gone. How mortal we truly are. And how much we take it all for granted.

It’s times like these where you realize how naïve you’ve been all along. That that person whom you would give your life for may not be there tomorrow. That those you hold closest to your heart could be ripped from your grasp instantaneously. That life as you now know it could cease to exist.

And it is times like these that have forced me to take inventory of the things in my life that I am truly, utterly grateful for. My family, friends, and love of my life who have always without fail supported, encouraged and loved me unconditionally. It’s unfortunate that it takes such tragic events to awaken this sense of thankfulness but nevertheless it must be said.

Now.

To whomever you cherish in your life, tell them. Tell them that you love them and appreciate them and NEED them in your life. Even if you think you say it too much. Even if (especially if) you don’t say it enough. Tell them what they mean to you. Tell them.

Tell them.

Because you never know when they won’t be there to hear it. You just never know…

Friday's Food for Thought

"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being "in love" which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two." - Captain Corelli's Mandolin

**Have a fabulous weekend lovelies. Catch ya on the flip side.

Pondering Deep Thoughts ala Carrie Bradshaw

It’s no secret that I have expensive taste. I love expensive wine, expensive cheese, expensive shoes….

However I find myself more recently having to live vicariously through others in this regard as I am currently (still) unemployed and penny pinching has reared its ugly head as my newly acquired skill. GAY.

So in an effort to save a few dollars and still retain our togetherness and romance, the Boo and I decided that this week we should have date night at home. We set out with only one recipe (for Bleu cheese and shallot bread [which is amazing I might add]) in hand and ended up with much more. We wandered the aisles of Total Wine and perused various wines from across the globe before finally deciding on four bottles from various regions (all of which we had never tried.) We try to keep an open mind and sample as much as possible in our constant pursuit of wine aficionado status. (We’re getting there.)

Next we headed to our local Fresh Market to buy the tapas ingredients for our date night. On the menu: Havardi, Brie (my newest obsession), Gruyere, Bleu, and Mozzarella cheeses as well as an assortment of olives, the ingredients for homemade bruschetta and our own little salmon ahumado.

It was over sips of Zinfandel and bites of creamy Brie on crackers that it arose.

Boo: (Out of nowhere) How would you feel if I proposed to you and we didn’t exactly have all the money to have your dream wedding?

Me: (Suddenly all ears) What?!?!?!

Boo: (Sincerely..trust me I questioned it) Ya know. If I were to propose, sayyyyyy sometime this summer or fall and we didn’t have all the money for a huge fantasy wedding would you still want to marry me?

Me: (Trying to suppress a massively cheesy grin) Well…yes. Of course. All I want is to marry you.

Boo: (Still imploring) But you wouldn’t be upset if it wasn’t at ______ (the venue I wanted) or we couldn’t have the world’s best caterer and 200+ guests. Would you still want to?

Me: (Pause for contemplation and silent squeals of jubilation) Well babe all that really matters is that in the end I marry you. That’s all I want. I mean, obviously in my wildest dreams I would love to have everything perfect and extravagant because I only plan to get married once…but at the same time I wouldn’t ever want that to deter you from asking because you think my expectations are too high. And, and…I don’t want us to talk about it too much where it’s more like a business transaction and you feel forced to ask me by X date. I don’t want it to be like that. Just whenever you want to ask me…ask me.

Boo: (Smiling now) Oh trust me, you won’t know when or how I’m going to propose. I’ve already thought about it and you’ll have no idea. Don’t worry.

We ended the conversation discussing exactly what type of ring (cut and color) was acceptable and of course, he passed. But I couldn’t help but think that maybe I’m being too selfish.

It’s no secret that every girl has the fantasy of getting married at the perfect venue with the perfect dress, perfect flowers, perfect cake and of course, perfect man. It’s what we’re conditioned to mull over from age 3 when we see our first Lifetime movie. But at what point do we slowly let go of those dreams in lieu of the only thing that really truly matters? Being with the one you love…your soul mate??

At what point do the colorful bouquets, open bar, couture dress and insane guest list take a back seat? Because that’s what I can’t stop mulling over now. In the end, the only thing that matters is that I’m with him. Married to him. And while he’s guaranteed me that it won’t be a court house wedding, I still can’t help but set my expectations low as of this warning. Of course I want the fairy tale dress and the expensive venue but at what cost am I willing to give that up??

And then I look into those gorgeous blue eyes that know me so well and that enormous heart that accepts me, faults and all (and that’s A LOT) and I can’t possibly think of anything that could ever stop me. All that I want is to be with him…court house or not…couture or consignment…150 guests or 2...none of it matters…as long as I’m with him

Maybe I won’t need that slideshow after all….

One for the Record Books

In light of the momentous holiday that was Valentine’s Day (yea right) I’m postponing our regularly scheduled “Work It Out Weekends” post for tomorrow (or sometime later this week.) Trust me, the results won’t surprise you.

And now for a slightly belated but nonetheless greatly anticipated review of the Boo and I’s first Valentine’s day together. Now you may think that because of this post I’m about to wax poetic on all the ways our day was romantic and perfect and something straight out of the fairy tales. But nay. I thought the same thing in light of how the day started but I was sorely mistaken.

Yes, he bought me a bunch of gorgeous flowers and huge balloons to surprise me that morning. Yes, he wrote me the sweetest letter ever telling me how he felt. Yes, he made me heart-shaped banana pancakes and cuddled with me. (Oh and I think I may have given him a box of inscribed candy hearts as a token of my love. Kidding. My gift was slightly better. And I use the term “better” loosely.)

But I digress. While the morning showed the makings of what seemed to be a perfectly romantic day it soon fell apart in the true fashion of anything I’ve built up to be something grand in my mind. I clearly have yet to learn the meaning of the phrase “Don’t get your hopes up.”

That evening the Boo and I donned our semi-formal-look-at-us-we’re-somewhat-grown-up-adults attire and headed out to Bernini’s where we had made reservations earlier in the week. We had researched the place a little more than the last disaster of a restaurant we tried out and we were fairly confident that it would be just what we envisioned for our very romantic and soon-to-be infamous first V-Day together.

We drove down to Ybor City where the restaurant was located (not exactly the safest place to be at night but we figured maybe the streets would be cleared of the crime and crust since it was a somewhat fancy night out. WRONG.)

We hit a couple detours and got a little turned around after we noticed that the sign accompanying the main detour said “The street you need to get to for your date is CLOSED. Drive 13 miles out of your way HERE and park downtown. Oh and then once you get there WALK. And try not to be late. Even though you left 45 minutes early to be on time.” (Or something like that.)

We somehow finagled our way past the Pigs and the road blocks and found an open parking garage only to find that not only was the parking $10 (what the eff?) but they also took CASH ONLY. Ok, hold up. Umm…how long has it been that our country has been completely and totally dependent on debit and credit cards to do any and everything on a day to day basis??? Oh yeah. That would be FOREVER!!! Sorry I left all my hustle cash from the gratuitous BJs I doled out earlier back at the house. My bad. Let me go another 18.9 miles out of my way to find an ATM crawling with degenerates, try not to get mugged in the process of extracting my last $20 out of my account and then I’ll come back and fork it over to you you thieving, heartless son of a bitch.

(Can you tell I was not happy with this news?)

Well we finally managed to get the cash, pay the money hungry whore at the gate and find a parking place (oh, what’s that??) ON THE ROOF!!

Fantastic. Now I get to walk (run) in my brand new extremely uncomfortable stilettos to the restaurant that we’re now late for. Whilst I’m trying to harness the power of my mind to will us through the throngs of imbreds and dredges of humanity surrounding us to get to our restaurant I realize, “Hey wait a minute! Who let all these crazies out in public …at the same time?? And on MY night nonetheless.”

Answer: Apparently there was some monstrosity of a “parade” about to take place in the streets directly in front of our restaurant and this had apparently compelled the masses of crust epitomized to collectively gather all along the sidewalks, Natty light cans clutched in their sweaty, greasy palms, crack rock in other hand, and of course, the ever classy Mardi Gras beads that simply scream class (and frat party) draped around every neck and shoved in every orifice.

I almost cried.

We finally managed to brave our way down the 14 blocks of inbreds to the restaurant. At last.

“We have reservations for 2 at 6:30”, I exclaim breathless and disoriented. The hostess seems shocked (not a good sign) and then calls over the manager (again, red flag) to seat us to which he turns to us and says “Ya mind climbing a few stairs?”

“Uhh ok.”

Side note: apparently “climbing a few stairs” is code for "I’m about to take you on an 8 minute trek through our attic and into our dry storage closet where no one else is seated because the space has been rented out for a PRIVATE SINGLES AWARENESS PARTY but we’ve thrown a few tables in the corner to make you and 3 other unlucky couples feel awkward and out of place so I hope you don’t mind but here’s your table and why are you sweating so profusely?”

He then ran off before we could protest.

Whatever, at this point I was just over it. The entire room had quieted when we walked in as the throngs of party INVITES (ie. NOT US) turned to see which one of their guests had just arrived. SURPRISE. We weren’t on the guest list but don’t mind us. We’re just gonna sit over here dead smack in the middle of your party and have us a romantic Valentine’s day dinner. Carry on.

I don’t know if there’s much else one can say about this disaster of a date. We sipped pounded copious amounts of wine to ease the awkwardness of the monstrosity that was our Valentine’s day but alas, nothing can completely drown out the screams, yells, whistles and cat calls of 30+ horny and highly inebriated singles in the same room as you.

At least the drum line sounded decent.

We finished the night at our good ol standby, Roy’s where we drank more and while the Boo kept it classy with his cheese plate for dessert I wrote the night off as a total disaster and gorged myself on the chocolate soufflé cake.

The following day I woke up to a raging headache and some fuzzy memories of a night that left something to be desired. But I think we’ve learned our lesson. Next year we’ll just frequent our local flea market and likely get the same effect.

Ahh gotta love those self-inflicted, societal constructed and completely unrealistic expectations that embody the holidays. Nothing like it.