You are probably wondering why I am flooding this blog with more wedding photos, especially since this isn’t some sort of anniversary, nor is it one of those days the Internet dedicates to old pictures of ourselves, nor do I have any actual point or advice to share which correlates to these images. Nope. Nada. Zilch.

But it all started with takeout from P.F. Chang’s.

Ok, I should back up. It actually started when I decided to go out to my friend Susannah’s home in Fairfax Friday night after work. You should know that city life has totally spoiled my ability to trek out to the suburbs. If someone tells me that they live past the last metro stop somewhere, I just blink slowly and try to stave off the fear of being eaten by wolves or dying of starvation were I ever to trek out there. Past the last metro stop – do they have electricity? Plumbing? Chipotle? I know this is ridiculous, just as I know that growing up in a little town meant that I routinely drove 45 minutes to see someone. But still. Now I am old and weak and love me that city life.

All of this was confirmed when it took me THREE HOURS to drive from my office to her home. Mind you, the total distance is a whopping 32.8 miles, but in the hellish deathtrap that is Friday afternoon traffic in DC, it took me three hours. As in, 180 minutes. As in, in that time period, I managed listen my way through three rounds of the same NPR news updates, heard “Shake it off” twice, and despaired of ever making it at least 10 times. And when my frustration hit a new low, I seized hold of my phone in standstill traffic and called and ordered Chinese takeout to stave off the yelling. Obviously, by the time I rolled into her driveway, I had consumed most of an order of crab rangoon by myself, but I was still alive. Our classy evening involved reckless consumption of all the food I had hunger-ordered in my traffic delirium (lettuce wraps and cheesecake, just to name one of several rockstar combos), classy drinks made of un-chilled pink champagne mixed with apple cider and ice cubes, and a little “I Love Lucy” watching. If that’s not almost enough to erase the PTSD of three hours in traffic, then I don’t know what is.

Anyway, in the midst of our wild reveling, we remembered that Suze had a whole bunch of photos that she had taken alongside our photographer at our wedding that I had never gotten from her. So, in lieu of actual exciting things that are [not] happening in my life these days, here is a dump of old wedding photos, very similar to the ones I overwhelmed you with here. Because anyone who has ever gotten married knows that you never get tired of seeing more perspectives of that day.

//Duck lips for a weepy moment with my dad and bossy fingers for everyone else, all the time.// //Bethany, the unsung hero of the wedding who faced her intense dislike for cats by protecting me from mine, intent on climbing up the wedding dress the whole time we took photos.//

//That look of glee because I managed to sneak an ee cummings poem into the wedding, despite some haters (my mom and James) and those awesome former students sang it and made me cry.//Now then. I promise to try harder next weekend to do things other than binge on takeout and drool over old photos of myself.