Que Sera Sera


Nick has been working around the clock trying to boost our savings for when we return to New York, which is really great; it means things aren't as scary as they were this winter, but it also means we don’t see each other a lot. Or when we do, we’re asleep, or it’s that groggy coffee/email checking/getting ready to go to work time. I have to admit, I’ve done a bit of feeling sorry for myself because we’re here in London and it’s summer and light until 10 pm and all I want is to be one of those couples holding hands and drinking and laughing by South Bank, but we don’t get to do that very often. I’m so grateful that Nick has work that he loves and is able to do this for our future, but I don’t always have the best attitude about it. When he does have a rare day off, he’s understandably exhausted and wants to rest, and I have to fight the urge to be like a little kid on Christmas morning.

On Friday night, some friends of ours were DJing at a pub in North London. Nick managed to get out of work early and we met at the pub around midnight. It was a warm summer night, the music was good, and the pub was full of friends we hadn’t seen in months. I was wearing a new sundress and cute shoes and a week-old haircut. We drank gin and tonics in tall glasses and kissed and flirted in the corner like we’d just met. Everyone looked flushed and happy and everything was buzzing.

Nick said, “I’m going to see if they’ll play that song we like,” and I went to the bar to get another drink. I noticed the girl in line next to me was wearing an antique-looking heart-shaped necklace. I touched her arm and said, “I’m sorry, but does your locket open? Where did you get it?” She seemed as cheerful and talkative as I was and more than happy to discuss her necklace. She’d found it at Urban Outfitters, but it didn’t open; was I American, where was I from? Oh, New York, she loved New York! Since we were instant friends and I’d had a few drinks, I rambled, “I have a heart-shaped locket that opens, and my friends’ little girl loves it. I’m getting married in the fall and I want to get her one of her own as a flower girl gift, but I’m getting ahead of myself there—” and then she cut me off, grabbed my arm and said, “Wait, say that again.”

I hesitated, “Which part?”

”’I’m getting married in the fall,’” she said.

“I’m getting married in the fall?” I repeated.

She grabbed my arm again and smiled so big and said, “That’s so wonderful! You’re getting married in the fall! I love that, that’s so happy!”

I was suddenly flooded with gratitude for this complete stranger. I’ve spent so much of the past year fretting and worrying and thinking “if only this,” waiting and wondering and focusing on money and our pending visa and living logistics, and sometimes I forget the big picture here. I have the steadfast love of an amazing man who makes me happy in every way possible. If all goes well, I am getting married in the fall. How often in life do you get to say that?

“Oh wow,” I said. “I’m getting married in the fall! I don’t ever really think of it that way. Thank you!” And we both smiled and squealed and squeezed each other’s arms like we were old friends.

Then Nick reached out and grabbed me and said, “They’re playing the song! They’re playing it right now, come on!” and pulled me out of line to dance. We were both sweaty and smiling and singing along while he spun me around.

“Guess what?” I shouted into his ear.


“We’re getting married in the fall! How great is that?”

He smiled bigger and kissed my ear before spinning me out again.

I am not allowed to ever complain about anything.

Did you know Anastasia Elizabeth McGill was of Scottish and French heritage?

My second Dooce guest post is up. I’ll just warn you now, I’m talking about Stacey McGill. Again.

Guest posting at Dooce

I’m guest posting at Dooce right now, if you want to come over and watch.

Still holds true

I’m going through all my saved drafts on this blog, and just found this unpublished post, dated May 8, 2008:

Things That Will Always Grab My Attention

Cringe Wednesday, June 16

A Bloomsday Cringe! Let’s all be the flower of the mountain! Extra points for stream of consciousness teenage diary entries.

Wednesday, June 16, 7:30 pm
Upstairs at The George Pub
213 The Strand, London WC2R 1AP

In July, Cringe will be at the Big Chill Bar in Brick Lane in anticipation of Cringe’s tent at the Big Chill Festival in August. More on that to come.

If you’re on Facebook and would like to join the Cringe group, please knock yourself out. It’s full of attractive people with cool names, and only messages you about upcoming Cringe events, never about farm chores or wanting money.


So, I’m pretty old. One day away from being as old as Jesus. And I’ve never been particularly with it (see: the time I had to ask what “oh snap” meant because I couldn’t figure it out from “contextual clues”; the time I disastrously googled “sheboy” instead of “shaboy” after listening to lots of Jay-Z; just now, when I had to look up Jay-Z on Wikipedia to make sure he had a hyphen). I just sent the following email to my friend Chris:

Chris, help me. I feel old and confused. Can you please explain the “bros icing bros” phenomenon that everyone keeps talking about but never actually explaining?

He replied:

It’s man stuff. http://deadspin.com/5557348/the-awful-epitome-of-brahsomeness-bros-icing-bros

The best part of that article:

“Have some free will, turn down the Ice, and go about your business. That’s what Paul fucking Newman would have done. You think anyone tried to ice Paul Newman? Paul Newman would have raped your head if you tried to pull that shit.”

While I don’t necessarily think Paul Newman would have raped anyone’s head, I still think this is excellent advice. If you’re a man and you live your life by the code, “What would Paul Newman do in this situation?” you’re going to mostly do all right.

A Letter to 20 Year Old Me

piñata, originally uploaded by Sarah Brown.

This is a photo of me at my 20th birthday party, in my college boyfriend’s parents’ backyard in Sperry, Oklahoma. I’d just conquered a piñata while wearing white iridescent platform sandals and already had quite a tan for early June. What couldn’t I do?

Inspired by Maggie, I wrote a letter to 20 year old me as part of Cassie Boorn’s project. You can read it here.

Check that back view

My friend Tiffany sent me this link, and now I have visions of outfitting my very own slut army.

P.S. Two posts in one day! What is it, 2002?

This Land

I’ll be contributing occasionally to This Land Press, a new publication written by current and former Oklahomans. Here’s my first article, where I promise not to go all Gwyneth while in London.

Copyright © 2001–2012 by sb
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