Paperblog A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

"Mabel's not crazy... she's unusual."

Ok, everyone, I’m giving myself two more days of recapping this wedding nonsense and then I swear to you I’ll start writing about world events or Korean teenagers or Beyonce or something. I’m sorry if I’ve been incredibly annoying. I don’t even feel like a writer anymore, I feel like a fucking moron.
But if you’d like to see some pictures from our wedding day, check out a blog post with some preliminary ones from Jade + Matthew, our wonderful wedding photographers. They did an incredible job, even after I drove them crazy by being completely disorganized and having a family who asked them questions about timing literally every thirty seconds. 
Look at the pictures here. Hire Jade + Matthew for your own wedding. And stay tuned for comments on my dress (I wore both!), the rest of our vendors, and a diatribe on embracing your inner bitch chez moi. I love you, thank you for being patient with me while I bleed out my bride monster. I hope I can move on to other things soon. 

Ok, everyone, I’m giving myself two more days of recapping this wedding nonsense and then I swear to you I’ll start writing about world events or Korean teenagers or Beyonce or something. I’m sorry if I’ve been incredibly annoying. I don’t even feel like a writer anymore, I feel like a fucking moron.

But if you’d like to see some pictures from our wedding day, check out a blog post with some preliminary ones from Jade + Matthew, our wonderful wedding photographers. They did an incredible job, even after I drove them crazy by being completely disorganized and having a family who asked them questions about timing literally every thirty seconds. 

Look at the pictures here. Hire Jade + Matthew for your own wedding. And stay tuned for comments on my dress (I wore both!), the rest of our vendors, and a diatribe on embracing your inner bitch chez moi. I love you, thank you for being patient with me while I bleed out my bride monster. I hope I can move on to other things soon. 

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The Modern Day Guide To Being the Perfect Wedding Guest

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As I’ve written many times in the past, before throwing my own wedding, I absolutely detested going to them. Who knows the reason for that. Maybe that I am a horrible mega bitch?

No, the reason is that I detested weddings was because they are a huge, enormous investment of time and money, and I am cheap with both. I went to every single one I was invited to anyway, mostly out of fear that if I didn’t go, I would lose the friend who invited me. And also, as an Irish Catholic, I love to suffer. 

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Having my own wedding, I was privy to many insider things that I would like to share with those of you who, like the pre-bride me, absolutely detest weddings. I know you’re out there, you horrible mega bitches, and I know that under your cold hard hearts, you still go to weddings anyway, because the real reason why you hate weddings is not because they’re not fun, but rather, because you’re not sure of the rules of how you’re supposed to act as a guest at one.

The following rules will make them less insufferable, I swear it to you.

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Shane Lynam.
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A Technicolor Semi-Tropical Dreamscape

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God, there is so much I want to write, I feel like I am going to suffocate from it. Something else I’m going to suffocate from is my self loathing. After two weeks of being the center of attention literally all of the time, I feel physically nauseous even thinking about writing more about myself on this blog. But, given that all I’ve been doing is thinking and breathing the wedding, all I have to write about is myself. I haven’t even watched a single television program in two weeks, with the marked exception of two episodes of “The Real Housewives of Atlanta” while talking a bubble bath in the jacuzzi of our honeymoon suite the day after the wedding. If I don’t write about myself; I have nothing to write. If I don’t write; you stop reading. If you stop reading; then all I’m left with is nothing, because career is floundering, I’m down to almost zero in the bank (my precious!), and I think that I’m lost almost all of my ambition. Oh I guess I have my husband, which is something great, but not something I want to define me as a person.

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Why do people live in New York? It makes almost no sense. Everything was so fucking easy in Savannah. You woke up in the morning, and the air was fresh, and I could go for a run in Forsyth Park while the air grew warm through the Spanish moss hanging from the trees.

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Palm trees make everything more beautiful.

Palm trees make everything more beautiful.

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Two of the things I hate most in the world are the music that Blara listens to and the music that Caleb listens to, so it was unsurprising to me when yesterday, the two collided together.
Caleb’s favorite type of music is elevator music, which he says is actually very hip in certain circles I’ve never been introduced to. I’m not sure if Nancy Sinatra is technically elevator music, but he also listens to her.
Blara’s favorite kind of music is the sort you can dance to if you’re dressed up like a slutty unicorn at a rave in Los Vegas. All of her favorite songs start out normal, and quickly break down into beats so frantic that while I was driving last night listening to one, I screamed to Caleb, “Turn it off, I’m going to have a fucking heart attack!” 
The song in question was "Shot Me Down" by David Guetta, and it features Nancy Sinatra’s track, “Bang Bang.” We were listening to a mix of songs on Spotify that Blara had assembled as the official dj for the wedding. “I would give you a speech,” she said while she was giving her speech as the maid of honor. “But Brienne gave me way too many jobs at this fucking wedding.”
"This actually isn’t bad," Caleb said about half way through the Guetta song in the car. "I like it when songs are surprising."
"It’s so obvious that you and Blara would love the same music," I said. I don’t know why that’s obvious. Maybe because Techno music is like elevator music to my ears, by which I mean that they both sound bad? 
"Yo, Caleb, do you want to come to a rave this weekend in Bushwick," Blara asked him when we called her later on the speaker phone. "There’s going to be light sticks, alien abductors, a bouncy castle, totem poles, a may day parade, sumo wrestlers…I’m reading this all from a text this guy sent me."
"I’m good," Caleb said. But later in the drive, when he thought I was sleeping, he put back on "Shot Me Down," and it woke me up like a sledge hammer. 

Two of the things I hate most in the world are the music that Blara listens to and the music that Caleb listens to, so it was unsurprising to me when yesterday, the two collided together.

Caleb’s favorite type of music is elevator music, which he says is actually very hip in certain circles I’ve never been introduced to. I’m not sure if Nancy Sinatra is technically elevator music, but he also listens to her.

Blara’s favorite kind of music is the sort you can dance to if you’re dressed up like a slutty unicorn at a rave in Los Vegas. All of her favorite songs start out normal, and quickly break down into beats so frantic that while I was driving last night listening to one, I screamed to Caleb, “Turn it off, I’m going to have a fucking heart attack!” 

The song in question was "Shot Me Down" by David Guetta, and it features Nancy Sinatra’s track, “Bang Bang.” We were listening to a mix of songs on Spotify that Blara had assembled as the official dj for the wedding. “I would give you a speech,” she said while she was giving her speech as the maid of honor. “But Brienne gave me way too many jobs at this fucking wedding.”

"This actually isn’t bad," Caleb said about half way through the Guetta song in the car. "I like it when songs are surprising."

"It’s so obvious that you and Blara would love the same music," I said. I don’t know why that’s obvious. Maybe because Techno music is like elevator music to my ears, by which I mean that they both sound bad? 

"Yo, Caleb, do you want to come to a rave this weekend in Bushwick," Blara asked him when we called her later on the speaker phone. "There’s going to be light sticks, alien abductors, a bouncy castle, totem poles, a may day parade, sumo wrestlers…I’m reading this all from a text this guy sent me."

"I’m good," Caleb said. But later in the drive, when he thought I was sleeping, he put back on "Shot Me Down," and it woke me up like a sledge hammer. 

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Home.

Home.

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Yellow fields in South Carolina.

Yellow fields in South Carolina.

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Leaving Savannah, and Caleb and I are crying our eyes out.

Leaving Savannah, and Caleb and I are crying our eyes out.

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To begin, I’m not going to lie, I just started crying when I looked at this picture DEH took of my father and I dancing at the wedding.
Anyway, Caleb and I are headed back to New York today. The weather we came in with is the weather we are leaving — spitting rain. If I were a paranoid schizophrenic, I would characterize our otherwise literally ideal weather (78 and sunny) to some world leader coming in and shooting silver iodine into the clouds the week before our perfect weekend, to make the skies rain out in preparation. 
Fortunately for me, I have some Pride & Prejudice paper dolls to keep me company in the car ride, a wedding gift from one of my oldest and dearest friends Laura Beth Daly (aka LBD). 
Unfortunately for you if you are looking to this blog for some entertainment, I will be on I-95, where there will be literally nothing beautiful or interesting to take pictures of. Is I-95 the ugliest place in the world? I imagine it contends in the competition.
To leave, I give you a poem by Robert Burns my father meant to read at the wedding, but couldn’t because his eyesight is leaving him. 
A Red, Red Rose


O my Luve is like a red, red rose
   That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
   That’s sweetly played in tune.
So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
   So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
   Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
   While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
   And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
   Though it were ten thousand mile.

To begin, I’m not going to lie, I just started crying when I looked at this picture DEH took of my father and I dancing at the wedding.

Anyway, Caleb and I are headed back to New York today. The weather we came in with is the weather we are leaving — spitting rain. If I were a paranoid schizophrenic, I would characterize our otherwise literally ideal weather (78 and sunny) to some world leader coming in and shooting silver iodine into the clouds the week before our perfect weekend, to make the skies rain out in preparation. 

Fortunately for me, I have some Pride & Prejudice paper dolls to keep me company in the car ride, a wedding gift from one of my oldest and dearest friends Laura Beth Daly (aka LBD). 

Unfortunately for you if you are looking to this blog for some entertainment, I will be on I-95, where there will be literally nothing beautiful or interesting to take pictures of. Is I-95 the ugliest place in the world? I imagine it contends in the competition.

To leave, I give you a poem by Robert Burns my father meant to read at the wedding, but couldn’t because his eyesight is leaving him. 

A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve is like a red, red rose
   That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Luve is like the melody
   That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
   So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
   Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
   And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will love thee still, my dear,
   While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve!
   And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my luve,
   Though it were ten thousand mile.
Comments 12 notes
One of the best parts about the whole wedding was introducing Caleb’s twin brother Cage to my family. They loved him. Understandably so, given that he’s sort of a male version of Blara. See their body language above to get a sense of it. IT’S LIKE THEY ARE IMITATING EACH OTHER.
Cage, as I’ve written before, is ostensibly a lobster fisherman in Maine, but really he’s so much more. He’s a romantic and a storyteller. He sobbed so hard at the wedding that people gave him his own row. He calls his former inlaws “outlaws” and lives with and cares for his former wife’s grandmother, whom he calls Waysie. 
"You pretty," he told my mom when he met her. "You hitched?"
Which captured my mother’s heart forever, as it did the hearts of many of my aunts, upon whom he used the same line.
Right before he processed down the aisle, he took off in one direction, and my sister took off in the other. They are like quacking ducks, the two of them. “Where are you both going?” I said. “You have to walk in front of me.” 
"Sorry, Boo Boo," Cage said. "I’m just getting so excited."
He’s also the Pied Piper of children. “Come over here, I want to introduce you to your first hillbillies,” he told my baby sisters Mariah and Kiara at the wedding, and brought them over to his best friend Jerome, who keeps an 18-wheeler cab in his front yard, and was wearing a full camouflage tuxedo to the wedding. “No wonder we lost the war,” Jerome declared while the attendants at the fort took their time loaded the canon fired at the wedding.
"Do you know what Kiara said to me last night?" my dad told me this morning. "She said, ‘I wish I had school today because I want to show everyone the ‘coon skin Cage gave me."
The coon skin being a former raccoon, which Cage presented to the girls at a final dinner on Sunday night, wrapped around his hand and chattering. 
We have a family, my Caleb and I. Our family is an epic full of colorful characters.

One of the best parts about the whole wedding was introducing Caleb’s twin brother Cage to my family. They loved him. Understandably so, given that he’s sort of a male version of Blara. See their body language above to get a sense of it. IT’S LIKE THEY ARE IMITATING EACH OTHER.

Cage, as I’ve written before, is ostensibly a lobster fisherman in Maine, but really he’s so much more. He’s a romantic and a storyteller. He sobbed so hard at the wedding that people gave him his own row. He calls his former inlaws “outlaws” and lives with and cares for his former wife’s grandmother, whom he calls Waysie. 

"You pretty," he told my mom when he met her. "You hitched?"

Which captured my mother’s heart forever, as it did the hearts of many of my aunts, upon whom he used the same line.

Right before he processed down the aisle, he took off in one direction, and my sister took off in the other. They are like quacking ducks, the two of them. “Where are you both going?” I said. “You have to walk in front of me.” 

"Sorry, Boo Boo," Cage said. "I’m just getting so excited."

He’s also the Pied Piper of children. “Come over here, I want to introduce you to your first hillbillies,” he told my baby sisters Mariah and Kiara at the wedding, and brought them over to his best friend Jerome, who keeps an 18-wheeler cab in his front yard, and was wearing a full camouflage tuxedo to the wedding. “No wonder we lost the war,” Jerome declared while the attendants at the fort took their time loaded the canon fired at the wedding.

"Do you know what Kiara said to me last night?" my dad told me this morning. "She said, ‘I wish I had school today because I want to show everyone the ‘coon skin Cage gave me."

The coon skin being a former raccoon, which Cage presented to the girls at a final dinner on Sunday night, wrapped around his hand and chattering. 

We have a family, my Caleb and I. Our family is an epic full of colorful characters.

Comments 12 notes
The whole weekend my parents were calling me Scarlett O’Hara, because my whole life I’ve wanted to be her, and now I’m a step closer having married a Southern gentleman. It can’t be an accident that “Gone With the Wind” is playing on tv our last night in Savannah. Which is to say, my best friend the television knows I’m here, and it’s giving me a wedding gift.

The whole weekend my parents were calling me Scarlett O’Hara, because my whole life I’ve wanted to be her, and now I’m a step closer having married a Southern gentleman. It can’t be an accident that “Gone With the Wind” is playing on tv our last night in Savannah. Which is to say, my best friend the television knows I’m here, and it’s giving me a wedding gift.

Comments 10 notes
I like this one. #brienneandcaleb

I like this one. #brienneandcaleb

Comments 5 notes
As anyone has every thrown a wedding can imagine, these last few days have been absolute mayhem. I have so much to write about it all, but still haven’t quite re-entered my body. I think it might be a few days before I can process it all, and a few more after that before I can write anything about it.
I will say that it was absolutely beautiful. I will say that the night before, I slept only for three hours. I will say that in the hours before the ceremony, some sort of strange chemical reaction happened in my body that made me so preternaturally calm that everyone kept on asking me if I had taken anti-anxiety medication. I could feel the adrenaline running underneath my skin like waves of electricity. I was so nervous that whenever one of my bridesmaids or aunts would leave me alone in a room, I’d start bleating for them so that they would come back and hold my hand to keep me from shaking.
I will say that the nerves completely dissipated by the time I was fully dressed. When we got to the fort where we got married, my dad entangled his hand in mine, and he walked me down the aisle in silence. “Hi everyone!” I said. “I forgot to do the music.” So all of them, all of my family, and Caleb’s family, and our old friends, and our new friends and our neighbors, and the vendors, they all started singing “Here comes the bride” in unison until I reached the altar.
I will say that I did not feel nervous at all marrying Caleb. In front of the ancient judge who called him “Cable” and me “Brian” while he read the vows, we gripped each other’s hands, and at the end, Caleb picked me up in his arms, and kissed me with exactly the sort of passion I had always dreamed about.
"Tell them enough!" my father apparently whispered to my sister.
"I guess you can all disperse now," I told the crowd when the kiss was done. 
But they didn’t disperse. They cheered for Caleb and I as we walked past them, and then they enveloped us in love as the sun set over the Savannah River.
I’m bereft without them. I wish I could live on a compound with all of my friends and family forever, and never be more than a few hundred feet away from them. 
As it is, everyone’s gone. Caleb’s in bed with the terrible fever his body was polite enough to wait to unleash until the weekend was over. And I’m sitting with my computer, paying the final bills, just off the phone with my accountant. “Your business is prospering now, so let’s pay more estimated taxes this year,” she told me in her Indian accent. Vijaya is here name, and when she signed off her final note about the taxes I owed, she did so with a “love” because even she is happy for me and Caleb.
There will be a million more pictures to post when I get them from the photographers. And a million more stories to tell. Thank you for all of the love you’ve given us. Now I must go take care of my sick husband Cable, as I promised to do in front of a judge on Saturday.

As anyone has every thrown a wedding can imagine, these last few days have been absolute mayhem. I have so much to write about it all, but still haven’t quite re-entered my body. I think it might be a few days before I can process it all, and a few more after that before I can write anything about it.

I will say that it was absolutely beautiful. I will say that the night before, I slept only for three hours. I will say that in the hours before the ceremony, some sort of strange chemical reaction happened in my body that made me so preternaturally calm that everyone kept on asking me if I had taken anti-anxiety medication. I could feel the adrenaline running underneath my skin like waves of electricity. I was so nervous that whenever one of my bridesmaids or aunts would leave me alone in a room, I’d start bleating for them so that they would come back and hold my hand to keep me from shaking.

I will say that the nerves completely dissipated by the time I was fully dressed. When we got to the fort where we got married, my dad entangled his hand in mine, and he walked me down the aisle in silence. “Hi everyone!” I said. “I forgot to do the music.” So all of them, all of my family, and Caleb’s family, and our old friends, and our new friends and our neighbors, and the vendors, they all started singing “Here comes the bride” in unison until I reached the altar.

I will say that I did not feel nervous at all marrying Caleb. In front of the ancient judge who called him “Cable” and me “Brian” while he read the vows, we gripped each other’s hands, and at the end, Caleb picked me up in his arms, and kissed me with exactly the sort of passion I had always dreamed about.

"Tell them enough!" my father apparently whispered to my sister.

"I guess you can all disperse now," I told the crowd when the kiss was done. 

But they didn’t disperse. They cheered for Caleb and I as we walked past them, and then they enveloped us in love as the sun set over the Savannah River.

I’m bereft without them. I wish I could live on a compound with all of my friends and family forever, and never be more than a few hundred feet away from them. 

As it is, everyone’s gone. Caleb’s in bed with the terrible fever his body was polite enough to wait to unleash until the weekend was over. And I’m sitting with my computer, paying the final bills, just off the phone with my accountant. “Your business is prospering now, so let’s pay more estimated taxes this year,” she told me in her Indian accent. Vijaya is here name, and when she signed off her final note about the taxes I owed, she did so with a “love” because even she is happy for me and Caleb.

There will be a million more pictures to post when I get them from the photographers. And a million more stories to tell. Thank you for all of the love you’ve given us. Now I must go take care of my sick husband Cable, as I promised to do in front of a judge on Saturday.

Comments 32 notes
Last night. (Photo courtesy of the lovely Marlady, many more to come obviously.)

Last night. (Photo courtesy of the lovely Marlady, many more to come obviously.)

Comments 14 notes