A Loving Union

  Saturday was my cousin Jessica's wedding reception, her and her now-husband Chris (they've been together 10-odd years and I love him) are finally hitched! Daniel escorted me as my hot date and I found it extremely pleasing that he looks so dashing in a suit - complete with suspenders, hubba hubba.
They had a nice video of the real wedding which took place in Punta Cana, a splendidly pleasant DJ named Christian, an actual Candy Bar, and of course at the end of the night - in true classy nature - the bride was a drunken mess who loved her life more than anything.
Daniel was a charming gentleman the entire night, we had an abundance of intimate laughs - most of which took place during his requested song Hello by Lionel Richie. There also happened to be a University Mathematics Graduation party going on next door, filled to the brim with orientals (not to be prejudice in the slightest, but I didn't see one white person) who all looked exceptionally fabulous in their party dresses and gowns. Naturally, Daniel peeked into their party, ran back over to grab me (while not wearing shoes) and dragged me onto their dance floor for a little bit of inebriated, obnoxious and explicit gyrating for less than a full song before sprinting to a table, grabbing a rose, handing it off to me and jetting back to our own party where the bartender was happily waiting.

There was a sandcastle

This is my Oma looking fabulous in her sparkle gown.

'Nuff said.

   On our way out we grabbed more candy, souvenir shot glasses, and the top of the wedding cake that nobody touched because they forgot to place out a knife. The ride home was used for telling terribly inappropriate jokes and upon apartment arrival we got cozy and silly with Photobooth:

How Terrible It Is, To Love Something Death Can Touch.

Hi, I miss you. I love you. Where are you? Why aren't you here? Do you miss me? I hope you're okay. I hope you're fantastic. I hope it didn't hurt. I hope it didn't hurt too much. Please smile at me one more time. Please. I hope you aren't in pain wherever you are. I wish you could talk. I wish I could feel you around me. I wish I could feel your embrace. Were you scared? Were you thankful? Do you feel regret? Do you feel cheated? Do you even feel? Do you know how much I love you? Did I ever tell you enough? I talk to you sometimes. You're beautiful. I wish you still existed. Hi, I miss you.

  I've been thinking about you consistently for the past hour or so, and then I got caught up in that concept. For as long - or as short, or as well, as I knew you was the result of the amount of time I spend thinking of you now that you're gone. I don't think about you every minute, every hour, or even every day. But I think about you. It comes and goes because time passes with each tick of the second hand and aches like the pulse behind a bruise. It passes unevenly, in strange lurches and dragging lulls and I grit down and bear it.
Someone thinks about you every single day. Someone thinks about you multiple times every single day. How much time did they spend with you? How little time? How well did they know you? Should I be jealous that someone knew you better than I did if they consumed less of your presence? Should I be angry that I don't think about you more often? That's absurd.
I just want to turn the corner and feel my heart swell when I get to see your smile in flesh and colour. When I get to embrace you and stroke your wig-less boy hair and for a moment know that you are safe. And it wouldn't matter - all the questions, all the things I want to say but haven't been able to, all of the chances that were taken away for you to be a part of my life. I would be lost in the safety net.

  Hi Tamarra, I miss you.

Nothing Like Good Food, Good Wine and a Bad Girl.

  I've been in such a fluster I entirely forgot to show the delicious meal my lad made from scratch two-ish weeks ago (of course now I'm craving it, but I'm a sucker for any seafood).

Pan-seared Haddock covered in a white wine pan sauce with ham and pea soup, and a little bit of the wine in a glass.
Mmm.

Going crazy, need delicious substance.