I have a job interview in 90 minutes. I have a job interview in 90 minutes and my hair is a grease pit because I can’t bring myself to wash away my perfect wedding blowout—to admit that I am no longer a bride.
On March 15, 2024, before our loved ones and a tiny, sassy Italian judge whose words, warm and acerbic and real, hit like the first sip of coffee, I married the love of my life. It was a perfect day. Even through a bit of rain. Even through the courthouse clerk rushing us out of the room. Even through the exhaustion and dehydration of a 90-minute photoshoot. Even through the jitters. We slid those rings on with intention—to love and honor and make fun of each other, to always fill the Brita. When we got home that evening, we threw on pajamas and watched TV until bed. Everything was so fucking regular. What bliss.
Because we canceled our honeymoon to save money for a house, I’ve decided to take a little honeymoon of the brain and log off social media and Substack for a bit. Paid subscribers will receive their monthly “A poem, a recipe, and a rec” post before the end of March, but everyone else can expect me back the first week of April.
There is nothing more existentially fulfilling than being in love and having the space to rave about it. Thank you for all the warm wishes, gifts, etc. I am so grateful I could cry for the bazillionth time. I love you. All of you. I mean it.
You look stunning and so so happy 🥹 Cheers to being wildly in love. It truly is one of the best feelings in the world. ❤️🔥 I’m so happy you’re savoring this moment in life!
Good luck on the job interview!
“Everything was so fucking regular.” The best part about once the wedding is over 🥲