Here’s a photo of one of the table centerpieces at my wedding. My mom made 14 of these suckers for the tables inside Holimont Ski Lodge. She’s craftier than Martha Stewart and way less snide. The concept was loosely inspired by my wedding crown.
And the Ikea lanterns I have hanging on my back porch.
Until I get my photos from kate backdrop Photographer Wendy, these random shots from my dad’s camera will have to do. Here’s me & Joe with my Oma & Opa on the top of HoliMont ski hill in Ellicottville, N.Y.
Joe and I with our brilliant officiant Zac Chase – the man who insisted I ask Joe out.
The wedding party and the perfect wedding veil– and what a party it was.
Joe played the guitar when I walked down the aisle. The song was one he had come up with (coincidentally) on the same night we met.
Papa and Nana with my cousins Reb and Erik. I love this photo. A lot.
My cousins Krystle and Cory are newlyweds too! They got married in Buffalo a month ago. After the wedding they drove us back to our suite in their yellow Hummer and 15 minutes later brought us back takeout from The Gin Mill. Cory, unable to find salt packets for our french fries, decided to swipe the bar’s glass salt shaker and stick it in the bag with our food. I’m forever grateful for this and thus plan to use the salt shaker forever.
MEN IN BLACK: Adam (my future brother-in-law), Zipper Boy, Joe’s brother Phil, and of course Joe.
MY GIRLS: Leilani, Rosey & Ro.
MY GIRLS, TAKE TWO: Yuuki, Heelya & PK.
This was the view coming up the hill.
This was the view coming down the hill.
And this was the view on the top of the hill: me, Joe, Grandpa Ra and Joe’s mom, MaryAnn.
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This is my maid of honor, my sister Heelya, whose real name is Holly. I’m a sucker for nicknames and whenever I give them, they tend to stick, so beware. When Holly and I were kids, she reminded me of Amelia Bedelia, the absent-minded, but endearing protagonist in those little paperbacks by Peggy Parish, so I started calling her Heelya Bedelia. I even wrote a song to go with the name, but whenever I sing it, she turns into The Hulk so I’ll keep my mouth shut and just say that Holly is 11 months and 29 days younger than me. She’s a funny girl, mostly because she doesn’t even know she’s funny. Up until three weeks ago, she and my best friend Ro (see below) worked at the same school in Buffalo, and Ro used to say, “Your sister is so stinkin’ funny. I just piss my pants when I’m around her.” Heelya likes to poke her head out of shrubbery and/or flowers, especially when she’s having her picture taken. She has mad art skills and a pug named Owen Oscar. She moved to Conway, S.C. a few weeks ago with her boyfriend Brian, who reads this Lance more often than she does. Together they enjoy 1 a.m.Walmart runs and hiking through enchanted forests. They are quite possibly the most compatible yin-yang couple I know. Ro and I are taking bets on when they’ll get engaged. I can’t wait to see their house in Conway. Joe can’t wait to see their refrigerator. My sister grocery shops like she’s feeding an army.
This is my youngest sister PK. Look familiar? PK’s sense of humor is totally different than Heelya’s. She’s sarcastic and self-deprecating. See here. She’s naive, but not vulnerable. She’s guarded, but not reserved. I don’t really know how to describe PK without writing contradictions. She’s a freakin trip. We spend a lot of time together. Some of you might recall that PK moved to Florida a year or so ago. She got a job working as a preschool teacher in Sarasota and despite the hour drive, would head up to St. Pete on the weekends to lay on the beach with me. PK doesn’t have a pug. Her current landlord won’t let her, so instead she visits the same pet shop every Friday and holds the same French bulldog for an hour and cries to the employees about how she can’t have a dog, but if she could have a dog, she’d take the French bulldog and treat him like a prince. When we were growing up, PK, who’s four years younger than me, used to bite her own arm until it bled and then wail like hell until my parents noticed, and in the most pathetic voice imaginable, blame Heelya and I for biting her. PK is a figure skater. She can do jumps and twirls and spins and all that crazy shit. Growing up, she idolized Michelle Kwan. In fact, my father called her Kwanee for awhile because she was so obsessed. She used to record the Olympics on VHS tapes so she could watch them over and over. She watched the 1998 Nagano Winter Olympics so much the tape fell apart. PK started a new job last week at a Greek elementary school in Clearwater. Joe and I are taking her apartment hunting today. I’ll let you know how that goes later.
This is my gal Ro (at left) in one of my favorite photos of all time. She and Cubbie look so darling together my eyes get misty every time I look at this picture. Ro is getting married July 10, 2010. I’m her maid of honor. You should have heard us squeal when we figured out that by the time she gets married, I’ll be her matron of honor. Ro has a memory like an elephant. If you’re trying to figure out what so-and-so did to piss off so-and-so in 8th grade, Ro will not only fill in their names, she’ll tell you what the bitches were wearing when they pulled each other’s hair out. Ro is a girlie girl, but a tomboy too. How do I explain this? Well, for example, she sent me a text message the other day about how she wants an ice sculpture at her wedding and when I responded with the text, “ICE SCULPTURE OF WHAT? You and Tom embracing?” She replied, “Something Bills or Sabres related. You know, elegant but trashy.” Ro is one of my greatest confidants. She still lives in Buffalo and I love that she refuses to leave. We try to talk at least once a week, sometimes more, sometimes less depending on how crazy things are in our lives. Ro’s fiancé, Tom, is so funny and warm. He makes me giggle within seconds of seeing him. The drunkest Joe has been in YEARS happened on Tom’s watch two Christmases ago when he took us out to a grungy metal-head bar in Buffalo. I seriously thought Joe was going to die. That night, on Ro’s trundle bed in her spare room, Joe started trembling so bad I thought he was having a seizure. In the morning, when we returned to my parents house and walked through the front door, my dad, who was sitting at the kitchen table shooting the shit with a friend of his, was all like, “Yelllllo Joe! Sit down. Meet Bruce.” And Joe was all like, “Gotta barf. Sorry Rick.” Also that night, while Tom and Joe pounded their weight in Labatt Blue, Ro and I talked about whether or not we’d be engaged in a year. Ahh life.