So you see, Aleta, although Peter Davidson was the most handsome man who ever played Dr. Who, it was Tom Baker who got most of the glory. Of the 8 Dr. Who's, that is. Okay, he wasn't really saying that. But he might have. It's certainly not beyond the boy. I think that I look really bitchy in this picture, but other people see it as a look of devotion. Okay. I'll accept that.

mr. casual booze What's funny about this picture to me is that Nic looks just like a debonair mansculine model used in the 'classy' liquor ads, when really he never drinks. Ever. When you're a punk, they call that 'straightedge.' My mom wishes that this wasn't the best picture of Nic; she thinks the bottles look trashy. Well they do. But so? The other funny thing about this picture is that before the wedding, Tymothi:J made a couple jokes about going after James' sisters now that James himself is out of the running. But the day after everything, he told me that my brother was exceptionally good looking and should in fact consider modelling. I wouldn't mind having Tym for a 'sister-in-law' but I don't think that Nic is going to go for it. Yet.

the hilarious first dance Once again, a photo with my mouth open. For our first dance, James & I had agreed on "God Only Knows" by the Beach Boys. I like it because it starts, "I may not always love you," and James likes because it's a Brian Wilson song and he thinks the man is God. We were drifting along, not thinking of anything in particular, when disaster hit. Hilarious disaster...

I was feeling weirdly shy about the whole garter toss in the days leading up to the ceremony: not because I had a problem with it ideologically (although I kind of do) but because I suddenly had no wish to appear trampy to my wedding day. (This from a girl with a pimp-fur edged black miniskirt.) So I came up with what I thought was a brilliantly funny idea: we'd get two garters and put one on James...then, after he went through the tired business of trying to find the garter on me, he could make a theatrical "oh yeah!" gesture and lift his own kilt to get the garter off his leg. The throw would be a practise and it would be a nice way of skewering the "kilts are skirts" demographic.

But. My mom had made the garters at the last minute, and she never got a chance to measure James' leg before the day. So when he donned it, it was a trifle too loose...and when we were dancing, it ceased to be bound by uplifting thoughts and fell down poor James' leg. He was - how could I say this? - wracked with hilarity and embarrassment. He murmured "please god, kill me," in between bouts of laughter, and kept trying to pull away. I have to admit, it was pretty funny. My dad & I talked about it all through our dance, "What a Wonderful World."