Update your feeds to www.dogsandwine.com/feed!

If that doesn’t entice you, how about a story about how one time Patrick thought I was our dog, Horatio?

Update your feeds to: www.dogsandwine.com/feed

You can go directly to the new site:

www.dogsandwine.com

Update your feeds!

www.dogsandwine.com/feed

(There’s already a new post up there, so check it out!  This was the big change… and it’s a lot more anti-climactic than a pregnancy, but oh well! )

Each stage of life or rite of passage that we go through has a corresponding question asked over and over again until our ears are bleeding.  When we’re in high school, it’s “Where are you applying to college?”  When we’re in college, it’s “What’s your major?”  When you’re happily minding your own business in a relationship, it’s “So, when are two getting married?”

Then there’s the whole baby thing, but I am not getting anywhere near that right now.

We grin and bear it while we answer those same questions over and over again.  I’m applying to the University of Guam’s satellite campus in Detriot.  I’m majoring in Squid Studies and International Gnome Relations.  We’ll get married when the Redskins win another super bowl.

Etc, etc, etc…

My least favorite question of late, however, is this unexpected gem:

“Now that you’re married, what are you going to DO with yourself with no wedding to plan?!”

Whenever I hear that, I feel like this:

And then I stab someone.

Yes, there are some brides where the wedding becomes a 24/7 endeavor the moment they become engaged. I even remember an episode of Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? where the bride decided to QUIT HER JOB to devote more time to wedding planning.  She then walked into a meeting with her wedding planner and handed him an itemized EIGHTY FIVE PAGE OUTLINE on her wedding.

Vomit.

Besides the stresses of the weeks leading up to the wedding that had to be smothered with copious amounts of alcohol and cheese, I was not one of those people.

The one thing that did fall by the wayside was cooking. Between the move and getting married, I was exhausted.  In my time of crisis, I turned to ramen, Stouffer’s spinach souffles, and eating out for comfort.

Seriously, my cooking blog needs to have the cobwebs dusted off of it, it’s so neglected.

I guess if I had to answer the question I hate most, it would be to get back in the kitchen.  The time has come for me to stop nuzzling the Celeste Pizza for One box, put it down, and back away slowly.

With that in mind, I am taking back my kitchen this weekend, and I have quite the line up of recipes… one of which is an alcoholic beverage, because I’m a floozy.

Gorgonzola mushrooms, a hummus potato salad, blackberry custard, a salmon dish, a broiled prosciutto sandwich, and a couple of other fun things are on the menu for the weekend.  If anyone wants to partake, just let me know!

The only thing is I will not be bringing back the Klutzy Kitchen as a separate blog.  The reality is that while I adore cooking, I don’t have the brain capacity to work full time, do school full time, booze full time, and try to maintain two separate blogs.  I can barely maintain this one!

Instead I’m going to be integrating it into this blog as its own feature.  My blog is going to be getting a face lift in a number of ways over the next couple of months, and that’s just one part of it. One tasty yummy part of it.  But yes, the Klutzy Kitchen will live on! It’s just going to be here now.

I’m so excited for all the stuff that we’re going to be eating this weekend.  So much so that I hate that it’s only Wednesday.

That’s right, I’m getting my ass back in the kitchen and making some pies.

* * * *

I realize that in my last post I promised a story in which my husband, Patrick, had a conversation with me while he was asleep, and he thought I was our dog, Horatio, the whole time.  I will get to that tomorrow.

No, Patrick, you’re not off the hook.

Seriously, I was grossing myself out because I never wanted to be That Bride.  The bride that won’t shut up about menus, details, colors, dresses, etc.  The bride that just has to tell you at length about their do-it-yourself favors.  The bride you want to suffocate slowly with that custom made ring pillow they scoured Etsy for, for three weeks.

Yet by the time the week before the wedding arrived, I was suffering from what I affectionately dubbed “Bridal Brain Rot”.  (At this time, I would just like to formally apologize to anyone who had to converse with me that week.)

I got cranky a few times.  I stressed out.  I might have even had a bourbon or three to even me out.

And then, just like that?  It was over.

A few friends warned me that there was a good chance I’d succumb to post-wedding depression.  I mean we have been planning this wedding since April of 2008 (!), so wedding planning has always been lurking in the background of our lives in some form or another.

I have to be honest; when we got back from our honeymoon, I breathed a sigh of relief.  No more planning! I wanted to throw another party to celebrate that fact alone.  As soon as I got in my office today, I deleted all the wedding bookmarks in my browser and purged my Google Reader of wedding blogs.  It was so cleansing.

That said, while I will not be forcing in depth recaps upon you, there are some things I hope I never forget about that weekend.

There is something so incredibly special about having everyone you love in one place at the same time.  And it is bittersweet knowing that we’ll never have that group assembled in its entirety ever again.  It’s this magical moment, and depending on how you plan(ned) your wedding, that moment may be as long as a few days or as short as a few hours.

No matter how short or long, it’s over in an instant.  I vaguely remembered Patrick and I sitting in our hotel room after the wedding was all over.  I say “vaguely” because we… well, we thoroughly “enjoyed” our after party.  In our dizzy blissful drunken afterglow, eating chocolate covered strawberries and watching Ninja Warrior in our hotel room at the Hotel Monaco, we were in awe of everything that had transpired.

…and all the cliches are true.  I forgot to eat.  The day before the wedding, I made it to 5pm on 10 (literally) peanut M&Ms.  At the wedding I finally remembered food and had to enlist a bridesmaid to get food for me.  It then took another hour for me to sit down and actually have a little bit of it.

Also true? Not remembering much of what happened. Part of me is still trying to piece together everything!  It’s so bizarre.  When I try to just generally think about the sequence of events, I get lost. I remember feelings and moments.  Snippets here and there.

Slowly it’s coming back to me, though. Very slowly.

I remember the bottle of wine I drank a good bit of before the wedding, under the guise of sharing it with my bridal party in my hotel room.

I remember Derek coming to get me so he could give me away at the ceremony… and we killed time by trying to play Wii in the lobby of the Hotel Monaco.  Why it was there, I don’t know… but God bless the Hotel Monaco.

I remember as Derek was escorting me up the makeshift aisle (our wedding was outdoors) I heard a trumpet player who was camped out at the ceremony site playing “What a Wonderful World,” and thinking how fortuitous because I had wanted to get a trumpet player and never got around to it.

I remember how Patrick kissed me.

I remember being so thankful that I had scheduled in some time alone for Patrick and myself after the ceremony, but before the reception.  We went to Grape and Bean, a wine and coffee bar in Old Town, where we went the night Patrick had proposed.  They gave us free champagne and coffee to celebrate. It was perfect.

I remember how hot and sunny it was. Oh my god. And I was worried about rain!

I remember hanging out with Patrick and the bridal party on the lower floor of Murphy‘s before we were introduced.  For those who don’t know, we rented out the top floor of Murphy’s for the reception.  It was so much fun. Drinking beer. Relaxing. Air conditioning.

I remember us being introduced… kind of.  I vaguely remember cheering.

And this is where things get hazy.   It’s this jumble of hugs, laughter, dancing, maybe one or two (or three?) shots of Jameson… more hugs.  Laughing and almost crying at the same time during the speeches.  Stealing kisses from Patrick when I could.  Him mouthing to me “I love you,” from across the room.  Smiling so hard that my face hurt. Being silly.  Attempting to “get low” in a wedding dress, which was more difficult than I had originally anticipated.

And then, just like that, it was the last dance.  This I do remember.  Our last song was “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond… and the mp3 cut out halfway, but no one cared.  We were all standing around in a circle, arms around each other, singing the rest of the song at the top of our lungs, heh.

The rest of the night was fantastic.  We had our after party downstairs.  There was an Irish musician there, entertaining all of the guests, as well.  I was a class act, eating nachos and mozzarella sticks in my wedding dress.  Given my reputation, the fact that I got no food on that dress is a miracle.

The next morning, after lunch with Derek, we packed up our car and hit the road for Colonial Williamsburg. But that’s another story.

* * * *

While I don’t want to be that bride who spends the rest of her marriage reliving her wedding day, forgive me if I do indulge myself at this moment.  It really was incredible.

I promise that, starting tomorrow, I’ll return to my regularly scheduled blogging, including a story where, in his sleep, Patrick thought I was our dog, Horatio, and had a conversation with me.

When the professional pictures come in (what I’ve shared was only a part of the preview), I might show off a few of those, but really…

…I’m just excited to see what other incredible memories will be making down the road.

It was perfect.  I am at a loss for words.  So much love, generosity, friendship, camaraderie, memories, laughs, hugs, tears… it was the most amazing whirlwind that I will never forget.

And now I must go track down my amazingly wonderful husband (!!) as we have an afternoon at the Williamsburg Spa to look forward to!

It’s 1:03am on the morning of May 2nd, 2010.  It’s the morning of my wedding day.  My dress is hung up on the closet door.  Everything is perfect.

Tonight we were surrounded by our amazing, wonderful friends at an Irish pub in Old Town called Pat Troy’s.  We danced. We sang.  We drank beer.  We hugged.  We laughed.

This wedding has been two years in the making, and it still hasn’t dawned on me that later today I am marrying my best friend and my other part of me.

Words cannot express how I’m feeling right now.  Elated. Happy. Relaxed.  Nervous.  Oblivious.  It’s a pretty incredible feeling.  I have been doing my best not too rush anything.  I have been trying to stay in the moment and enjoy this weekend; take each event as it comes.

There’s not much else to say.

I love you, Patrick.

Here we go.

In an effort to prevent me from doing something so epically stupid as to re-establish contact with my mother, Patrick had me write a letter to her and send it to him instead.

Before I share it, I want to share some valuable links that maybe other people can benefit from.  I’m not looking for pity.  I can only hope that if anyone sees themselves in this kind of situation, or knows of someone who is, that they will do something.

I have spent years trying to outrun the ghost that is my mother, along with her years of alcoholism and abuse.  It has cast a self-loathing shadow over so many things that I have done that, as an adult, there are many days I struggle to function on the most basic of emotional levels.

If you feel like this is something you relate to, please, reach out.  Talk to someone.  Remove yourself from the situation.  No one has the right to be abused.

If you abuse alcohol or find yourself giving into abusive tendencies, it’s never too late to help yourself.  Alcoholism and anger can happen to good people.  The people in your life love you; don’t push them away.

http://www.aa.org/ — Alcoholics Anonymous
http://www.preventchildabuse.org/index.shtml — Prevent Child Abuse America
http://www.ndvh.org/ — National Domestic Violence Hotline

***

Mom,

I wanted to wait until some time had past before contacting you.  This isn’t to attempt to rebuild our relationship, as I think you and I both know we are past that point.  There are some things I wanted to say, however, but I wanted to wait until the anger and hurt I have wasn’t so fresh.I have written and rewritten this letter so many times over the past few hours.  I’ve tried to be diplomatic.  I’ve tried thinking rationally.  I’ve tried to explain my feelings clearly.  I’m failing.  The reality is that the pain is still as fresh as the day I heard your first nasty voicemail telling me good luck with my life.The tragedy is that I do still love you, and that’s what makes this so hard.  There have been times over the past few months where I’ve considered reaching out, but every time I want to your harsh words replay in my head.  All the hateful things you said to me and to Patrick replay in my head like some vicious reoccuring flashback that I cannot turn off.  It’s so confusing to me that someone who claimed to love me and guilted me for so many years about your sacrifices and how much you adored your “one and only beautiful daughter” could hate me so much or think such nasty things about me.

And the thing that kills me is that even if I were able to get past my hurt over this and repair what we have, I know that this incident would just be another thing to guilt me about… and you would succeed in making me feel guilty.  And I would end up apologizing for everything, even though I honestly I have no idea what I did that caused this.  Even now there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t replay what happened in October around your birthday, trying to figure out what I did wrong.  I often find myself wondering if you ever think of me, or am I really that inconsequential?

I just don’t understand why you and Dad ever had me.  While I know I had some hand in the turmoil that has occurred over the years, in the end you guys were my family.  You were supposed to be there for me.  You have guilted me for the past eight years because when I moved in with Dad, I broke off contact.  Like you were the only victim in what happened.  You were a physically and verbally abusive parent who used me as a punching bag for years.  Most of my childhood memories revolve around you, your alcoholism, and making excuses as to why I was constantly missing school or never available for playdates.  (And in the end, kids my age just stopped inviting me to do anything.)  There were nights when I used to lay in bed, thinking that one night you’d come into my room, drunk, and you’d kill me.  I mean you came into my room drunk enough times, just to destroy my room or punish me for some unknown reason that I was scared of you.

Ugh so many memories are rushing back to me, and I want to scream at you and tell you all about them, as if it’ll drown out everything you say about this being my fault.  As if it will drown out the voices in my head telling me that this was all my fault and I brought everything on myself.  Locking me outside during a thunderstorm on our 12th floor balcony because I broke a full wine bottle.  Pretending on the metro that you didn’t know who I was, and I was just some crazy child following you, as a JOKE, to the point where I was reduced to tears.  Punching me in the stomach on a class trip to Cooper’s Cove because I wanted to partner with a classmate instead of you for some sort of activity.  Drunkenly passing out in the kitchen on the floor at least once a week.  Never working a day in your life that I can remember.

Even in light of all of those bad memories, I still find myself instinctively wanting to apologize to you, just so you’ll show me some affection.  How sick and twisted is that?  Even though I’m a grown woman, I still just want my mom.

I’m so angry because I feel like you robbed me of my childhood.  Because of you I had no friends.  I could never have anyone over.  And because I was always with you, you were my only “friend”, and all you did was hurt me.

And yet this is my fault.  You publicly tell people how I was such a god awful kid; how you had to deal with so much because I was a terror.  You actually said those things to Patrick a few times; enough that he mentioned it to me afterward, and noticed how visibly upset I was when you would say those things.  I’m the bad guy.  I’m the manic one.

There is so much hate in me, and I want to say it’s because of you, but it’s me.  I’ve allowed you to be this poison inside of me.  Sometimes I slip and say hurtful and nasty things to those I do care about, and I disgust myself because in those moments I remind myself of you.

I just don’t understand.  Why couldn’t you just love me?  I see pictures of us together when I was a baby, and you looked so happy with me.  What did I do?  What changed?

I’m getting married a week from Sunday, and you won’t be there.  I have to admit that there is a part of me that is relieved.  If you’re not at the wedding, I know that is something we can never come back from, and it’ll be something that keeps us apart forever.  I don’t want to ever crack when it comes to you.

What’s sad is that I want you to know that I still love you.  I don’t know why.  Your vile behavior has infected the very fiber of my being, to the point where it’s a battle every day to feel like I’m a person worthy of anything or anyone.  I feel guilty that you are alone and probably unhappy.  I wish so much that I could be there and things weren’t this way.  But I can’t.  If I were to be there, you’d kill me slowly.  You have drained so much from me over the past 27 years.

Heh, clearly, even months later I cannot seem to emotionally detach myself from any of this.  It hurts the same, if not moreso, as when this first happened last year.

I simultaneously wish you peace, and an immeasurable amount of agony… the latter of which I feel every second I am awake.

I don’t know how to end this.  I guess… I love you, mom.  Everything happens for a reason, and I hope one day I’ll be able to let you go.  Until then you’re just this ghost that haunts me.

Your daughter,
Elizabeth