It’s Like Picking up Trash in Dresses

I’m a masochistic son of a bitch and I don’t know where this tendency comes from but I’m the chick who’s gonna listen to the first song I danced to at my wedding on repeat even after I’ve separated from the jackass’ whose hand I held and eyes I gazed into as Ben Harper crooned, “I don’t want that kind of forever in my life anymore.”  I’m the masochistic being who’s gonna inhale his favorite cologne at Sephora.  I’m the crazy ass who will walk through Prospect Park and sit down in front of the big, fat ass tree in the Nethermead area that hosted our beautiful wedding day that hot, humid Summer in July of 2012.  And I’m that bitch who’s gonna watch “Going the Distance” with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and tell myself that it’s totally normal knowing good damn and well that there’s nothing “normal” about my behavior.

I recently heard that it takes half the time you were with someone to “get over” that person.  That shit’s for the birds and that sitcom, Sex and The City, because the truth is, I’ll never “get over” the one I pledged my life to – the one I stood in front of and vowed, “’til death do us part…”

There’s something to be said for the fact that I can still speak of how splendid my wedding day was.  It was perfectly imperfect.  I can recall two days prior to the “big day” and my closest friends and family pouring in from all corners of the North American continent.  Manhattan is a small island but it’s not every day you run into your best friend and her boyfriend at the bar of a randomly picked Italian restaurant in the quaint and lively neighborhood of Little Italy.  There’s nothing that makes me happier than bringing together the people I love under a single roof, conversing and feasting on the grub of David and I’s people.

I embraced the idea of marriage no more than I encompassed it that night, adoring the faces of all of my loved ones around the dinner table indulging on Italian entrées and antipasto.  David wanted me to be his wife so I was willingly there to make his wishes come true.  Marriage certificate or not, I had found the “love of my life,” the man I wanted to father my children, the person I saw myself growing old with.

Two days shy of our wedding date, David, my big brother and I made our way back to Brooklyn via the iconic Brooklyn Bridge that night.  David and I, hand in hand, wedding bells in the back of our minds and dreams of our honeymoon in Mexico nearby.  I’m still trying to figure out why love just aint enough…

To be continued…

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One thought on “It’s Like Picking up Trash in Dresses

  1. Joan says:

    I hope you are doing ok? It is hard to get over the love of your life but, you have been through so much in your years I not knowing you but knowing your Mom you are strong and will make it.
    Keep on writing let it all out.

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