A Heartwarming Story About I-95 That Illuminates Themes of Love and Leadership…or Fuck You, If You Call Me a Bridezilla Again, I’ll Fucking Act Like One
I read this Frank Bruni editorial the other day about his niece driving his father up on I-95 as a gesture of love and familial piety, and I was like, “This crap is getting published in the New York Times, and I’m afraid about writing another blog post about my wedding because I might annoy somebody?” It freed me up a little. It allowed me to write another post about my wedding, even though I promised y’all I would put the kabosh on it a few days ago.
I was especially irritated about the Bruni editorial because I had my own I-95 story. A better I-95 story. This story didn’t have to do with familial piety, but rather with female empowerment. It went something like this.
So, I am not a passive driver. I am not a passive anything, in fact. There is not a single moment of any day when I am passively sitting back, just enjoying life. I am 100% engaged in fucking everything, and it is a terrible fucking pain in the ass. Like some people can sit in a bar, and be like, “Oh, there’s a beer.” And I’m like, “Oh, there’s a beer, why didn’t I choose the other beer, that beer looks better, I shouldn’t be drinking, is there something in here I can take a picture of to put on my Instagram, does that funny looking Asian girl think that I’m crazy? What am I going to be doing in five minutes from now and should I eat another bag of free Skittles, or should I eat five Hershey kisses? Is there a blog post in this somewhere?” My brain is moving non-stop, even when I’m heavily under the influence of things.
(To begin, all of the images in this post with a watermark are by Jade + Matthew, our wonderful wedding photographers whom you should seriously hire, and the rest are a hodge podge sent to me guests, in particular the Herdrich-Tirschwells, who get mad props for their sparkler montage.)
Ok, so I’m going to write this wedding dress post in a free-wheelin’ way or else I won’t do it, because I’ve been so massively depressed these past few days that even dressing myself has been difficult. I don’t know if this is the natural fall-out after a wedding; or if it’s because I’ve gone off my depression medication; or a combination of both. But I do know that I literally have lost all of my desire to work, as well as my ambition, which is a terrifying thing, because without my work or my ambition, I have nothing, nothing except for being a wife, which is something that I, a true follower of the norms of my generation, do not consider to be an actual identity.
Anyway, so I wore both wedding dresses I bought on the night of the wedding. (For some background about the petty tragedy that compelled me to buy two in the first place, read this old post.)
Why did I do that?