Post-marital blogging
So, now that the wedding is over, I can finally get back to my normal life. For the past few months, I've been neglecting my friends, and I feel badly about that. Just today, I got a phone call from my friend Phil over at Citibank, who expressed that he really missed hanging out with my credit card payment. It was really thoughtful of him.
Before the wedding, I got so busy that I was even neglecting my neuroses. I think they've missed me. Now that the wedding is over, I can get back to focusing on them pretty much full time.
I've been pretty insane/depressed since we got back from the honeymoon, but not so much because it's all over. It's just that wedding planning was a distraction from the fact that my career, etc. utterly sucks, and I'm a total looser and I should just die, a sentiment which I'm sure has absolutely nothing to do with PMS.
On the whole, the wedding went shockingly well. I kept waiting for something disasterous to happen, such as one of the Kennedy family's famous grammar arguments (people have thought that I was making this up, as it sounds false, unless you grow up in da Souf). My Alabama relatives are famously hotblodded grammarians who all seem to have a borderline-unhealthy obsession with grammar, obscure Greco-Roman trivia, and college football, although not necessarily in that order. Decade-long family feuds have erupted over a disagreement over the correct diagraming of a sentence in which "Thucydides" and "a can of whoop-ass" are, alternately, the direct and indirect objects in question. Such arguments typically end with one of my cousins heading out to the gun rack in the truck. Thankfully, nobody brought up Pliny the Minor at the wedding.
Even though the whole wedding was a whirlwind (both literally and figuratively, considering the spring mini-tornadoes that were whipping around), I had a great time, even thoguh it still seems kind of unreal. I'll go into the whole thing at some point. Blogging about happy, fun occasions is somehow difficult; it feels - irrelevent. It's kind of like Willa Cather's observation that there's nothing is harder to write about than a good person. A good wedding makes for less interesting copy than a disasterous one, although I'm definitely not complaining.
There weren't many disasters, despite the great potential for disasters when one combines the following ingredients:
mint juleps
Yankees who don't know how much booze is in those f*ckers
outdoor wedding
wedding in The Bold New City of the South, which is also the "Largest City in America" (in land size, due to some 19th century gerimandering that my dad could, and probably did, explain the details of in intricate detail to any guests who might have asked, or not asked.)
gale force winds, like in those York's Peppermint Patty commercials
live swans (fortunately got mange, or some duck-related illness and hence did not show up)
one porn star (that is, one we know about)
many Republicans
a french poodle in a tuxedo
grits
It's late, and I have to go to bed. But first, I wanted to say thank you, thank you thank you to everyone who came to the wedding. I love all of you and I'm absolutely humbled that you were nice enough to come all the way to The Bold New City of the South. Y'all are amazing, hear?
Before the wedding, I got so busy that I was even neglecting my neuroses. I think they've missed me. Now that the wedding is over, I can get back to focusing on them pretty much full time.
I've been pretty insane/depressed since we got back from the honeymoon, but not so much because it's all over. It's just that wedding planning was a distraction from the fact that my career, etc. utterly sucks, and I'm a total looser and I should just die, a sentiment which I'm sure has absolutely nothing to do with PMS.
On the whole, the wedding went shockingly well. I kept waiting for something disasterous to happen, such as one of the Kennedy family's famous grammar arguments (people have thought that I was making this up, as it sounds false, unless you grow up in da Souf). My Alabama relatives are famously hotblodded grammarians who all seem to have a borderline-unhealthy obsession with grammar, obscure Greco-Roman trivia, and college football, although not necessarily in that order. Decade-long family feuds have erupted over a disagreement over the correct diagraming of a sentence in which "Thucydides" and "a can of whoop-ass" are, alternately, the direct and indirect objects in question. Such arguments typically end with one of my cousins heading out to the gun rack in the truck. Thankfully, nobody brought up Pliny the Minor at the wedding.
Even though the whole wedding was a whirlwind (both literally and figuratively, considering the spring mini-tornadoes that were whipping around), I had a great time, even thoguh it still seems kind of unreal. I'll go into the whole thing at some point. Blogging about happy, fun occasions is somehow difficult; it feels - irrelevent. It's kind of like Willa Cather's observation that there's nothing is harder to write about than a good person. A good wedding makes for less interesting copy than a disasterous one, although I'm definitely not complaining.
There weren't many disasters, despite the great potential for disasters when one combines the following ingredients:
mint juleps
Yankees who don't know how much booze is in those f*ckers
outdoor wedding
wedding in The Bold New City of the South, which is also the "Largest City in America" (in land size, due to some 19th century gerimandering that my dad could, and probably did, explain the details of in intricate detail to any guests who might have asked, or not asked.)
gale force winds, like in those York's Peppermint Patty commercials
live swans (fortunately got mange, or some duck-related illness and hence did not show up)
one porn star (that is, one we know about)
many Republicans
a french poodle in a tuxedo
grits
It's late, and I have to go to bed. But first, I wanted to say thank you, thank you thank you to everyone who came to the wedding. I love all of you and I'm absolutely humbled that you were nice enough to come all the way to The Bold New City of the South. Y'all are amazing, hear?
posted by Marguerite at 8:07 PM
1 comments
