So, uh, it’s been over a year!
I’m now 33, I got a new tattoo, I’m still considering a Subaru. We bought a new house. The wiener dog still eats shit, and probably still thinks I’m too old to be wearing flower crowns. Pastry’s engagement ring, Edison, met a watery, very drunken, very nude death on our honeymoon in Jamaica after Pastry did a Bob Marley shot at the pool bar and beelined to the nude beach. (Please also note, it was no longer a nude beach after 5pm, and my very pale, naked husband ran past a whole group of very confused Jamaican fishermen.) In other news, I’ve taken Cookie Monster’s advice to heart, and Triscuits are now a “sometimes food.” I’ve recently been flirting with summertime’s smelly pee experiment as I keep eating grilled asparagus for dinner. I am a joy to be around. Bridal Magazine Carla is also married at this point after a very epic Mexican-American and Russian wedding featuring opening champagne with a SABER and a mariachi band! I’m ABD in my dissertation pursuits, and about a year from finishing. I told Pastry that should I ever consider another degree, certificate, minor, program, class anything, just slap me and yell “REMEMBER ALL THAT TIME YOU LOST WRITING SNARKY BLOG POSTS BECAUSE YOU WERE TRYING TO CHANGE THE WORLD!”
WHAM! BAM! POW! DR. PEPINA, NO MORE DEGREES!
I study and teach courses on failure, so hey, forgotten blog. You’re not a failure – you were just put aside for, oh, 14 months. (Horrifying moment of consideration that we could have a TODDLER at this point. I’m still working on the whole keeping houseplants alive business.)
Oh yeah. And, our wedding was AWESOME.
Me: “How would you describe our wedding?”
Pastry: “Uhhhhh…A whimsical explosion of color and sound. The vows were my favorite part because it was what we were there for.”
Me: EYEBROWS OF DEATH.
Pastry: “Well, they were the vows we said to each other in front of our friends and family. I could write entire blog posts, and I might now, about the wedding itself. But, putting me on the spot.”
Me: EYEBROWS OF UNDERSTANDING.
First point: Can an explosion really be whimsical? Would it have to be filmed by Wes Anderson in that case? And, because of that, would said explosion both be super annoying and also have a great soundtrack with a pleasing ka-boom of a retro color palette? Wes Anderson themed weddings, turns out, are a thing.
This was not our wedding.
Pastry: “What do you want to drink with dinner?”
Me: “I think I’ll fuel the asparagus project and have some water.”
Pastry: “I’m having white wine.”
Me: “I WANT WHITE WINE.”
Pastry: “No. Only water for you.”
Me: EYEBROWS OF SADNESS. (He pours me a glass of wine.)
Not much has changed. But, we still go on lots of adventures, and have lots of tales to tell such as how Gary, the inflatable pink dinosaur at our wedding, was the real star of the whole weekend, took pictures with another wedding party, and pretty much generally stole the show. How unexpected family members rocked out at karaoke. How the rehearsal dinner ended up being exceedingly tame, and how herding groomsmen is, in fact, worse than herding cats, especially when they are very stoned cats in my mom’s hotel room. How I found a white feather that had so much meaning to me. How there was a mystery of a broken wine bottle that we figured out a year later. How we share our pie and talk about how amazing the whole crazy, dinosaur, purple LED lighted, fiesta, succulent, insanity of our wedding was perfect.
But, now for white wine with my Pastry.
EYEBROWS OF HAPPINESS.
(post) nuptial adventures 