Lord Help the Mister, Who Comes Between Me and My Sister

Conversely, Lord help the sister, who comes between me and my man. Thankfully, I need not worry about either end of this rhyming equation; Saturday evening, I introduced the film maker to my older sister, Elizabeth, and though they got along swimmingly, she has her own beau-hunk and a stable, fulfilling relationship going on seven years strong. She and her mister have a charming and breath-taking-bridge-view apartment in DUMBO; last week, she invited the film maker and myself to join them for a casual roast chicken, fingerling potato, and swiss chard dinner. As I have already mentioned, and lamented, as it has not yet permeated over to me, my sister exudes exceptional culinary might, so the meal was simply divine: rustic, pure flavors, which spoke boldly on their own, with no need for accents and flairs. I brought over a malbec-syrah blend from Argentina, which was a great complement to the hearty meat and potatoes. We ended the meal sharing a Ritter cornflake milk chocolate bar; again, delicious simplicity that requires no dressing up.

The evening was punctuated with much laughter, a few competitive rounds of the strategist game Blokus, great tunes both new and classic, and wonderful conversation centered on art, film, books, and viral Internet trends. Although I was slightly nervous, desperately hoping the evening would not devolve to forced courtesies, everything was natural and pleasant and, mirroring the flavors of our feast, delightfully casual. My sister having always been such a powerful and helpful and beautiful force in my life, it was reassuring to feel her ease with my first true and real romantic partner. I look forward to many more dinners together.

Before charrioting into the city from our respective suburban country abodes, the film maker captured a few images, again, with his fancy and rather professional camera.

Narrowing in on my trusted and devoted heavy bangles, and large square ivory colored ring. I feel utterly naked and alone on the rare days I forget to wear that ring.

I love the length of this skirt, and especially love the sea foam, algal, phosphorescence color; it is very gossamer and whimsical, connoting a number of fairy and childhood tales in one: mermaids, water nymphs, and little girls meandering through wondrous lands. Due to the length and silken material, this skirt can have a more formal appearance; for our casual, at-home dinner, I dressed it down and played with the elegance by pairing it with a tight cream and black striped boat neck tee shirt.

The concrete, definitive power and design of this grandfather clock, a physical manifestation of the ever changing and dynamic and thrusting notion of time, stowed in the corner of the film maker's home, provides quite to contrast to the elusive innocence of this skirt; overall, I consider myself rather un-photogenic, but I am pleased at how my professional photographer is able to catch such subtle moods. Ironically, both the look of the skirt and the construction of the large clock have a timeless feel to them.