The (Not) Silent Patient

Back in the fall, (you remember fall, right? When the weather was great and the world wasn’t garbage?) my family and I were having THAT fall Saturday. The family hike in sweaters cause it was just a little chilly, the dog not panting from near heatstroke and the kind of day where I was thinking “Tonight, I am going to make chili.” 

I didn’t, but the thought crossed my mind. A Pinterest perfect fall day. 

 

Until it wasn’t. 

 

We returned to the car from our hike and I drew in a delightful fall breath of leaves and also something else because I started choking so hard, JD actually took it seriously. When I came to myself, I realized what I had swallowed; part of my tooth. 

 

By Monday I was in the dental chair. Which for me is only slightly less desirable than the electric chair.  My dentist came in, took a split second look in my mouth and said “Yup. This one is surgery.” 

 

Aggressive. 

 

And what?  No. It's is Den-tis-tree.

 

Long story short, and I apologize if I lose you in the medical jargon, my tooth broke too close to my gum parts and they would have to get my gum parts down to where they could reach the thing that my new tooth could hook on to. And they do that with a laser. 

 

A gigantic, on loan from NASA laser. *

 

*Probably

 

Two-weeks later, I am sitting in the office of a man who specializes in surgery on gums with gigantic lasers. Something –adontist. Nice guy; terrible office music. He explained the surgery to me and said it was better sooner than later.  As I do in ANY medical situation, I immediately inquired as to whether or not I could be put to sleep for the procedure. I would get local anesthetic for allergy shots if they would let me. He told me he would prescribe me something for “anxiety,” but that I wouldn’t need much more than just a numbed up mouth. 

 

Fool. 

 

But I am not a gum lasering doctor, so I played along. I picked up my prescription and took it 30-minutes before arriving for surgery a few weeks later.  I sat with JD my DD in the waiting room slowly turning to sludge. Everything was tingling and my lucid thoughts were waning. From there, this will mostly be based on eye witness accounts, but some of the highlights are as follows:

 

·      I had to have JD take me to the bathroom which I am counting as a Valentine’s Day celebration. 

·     When the nurse asked if there was ANY chance I was pregnant, I said yes, but that I wasn’t sure I wanted another baby. 

·     When they laid me down in the chair, I apparently told the surgeon that his office music “sucks” and that I brought my air pods to listen to a podcast.

·     Hand to God, I also asked that they “not steal my air pods if I fell asleep.” 

 

So I managed to bring up a completely false unwanted pregnancy and accuse them of larceny in a short 25-30 minutes. 

 

Ok, now I can pick back up the details. 

 

I woke-up what felt like DAYS later. Surprisingly, I felt amazing. Literally, zero pain and my face didn’t look swollen at all. I knew it. I am a medical marvel. I had printed off to-the-letter instructions for my aftercare for JD, who had gone to take Bee to a practice. I texted him and asked him to bring me  Frosty for my sad mouth.  

 

“I can, but you should be fine.” 

 

What the hell? DO NOT mansplain my own oral pain to me, sir. I may not be in pain or visibly swollen, but I sure as heck deserve a Frosty for my trouble. Who does he think he is…. 

 

“Katie, you didn’t have the surgery.” 

 

I mean, his talk-to –text is seriously jacked. Of course I had the surgery. I took the pill and was scheduled to have the surgery, so I clearly had the surgery. 

 

Whatever. Still groggy and now even more confused, I went to finish the podcast I had been coherent for all of .2-seconds of earlier that day. Where are my air pods… sonofabith…. They stole my air pods. 

EVEN WHEN I ASKED THEM POLITELY NOT TO!!!!!

 

I am a mess; like someone in a movie that wakes up with amnesia and has to put their life together using clues. Find my air pods, explore my mouth with every mirror in the house. WHAT HAPPENED TO ME TODAY?? JD gets home, with a Frosty as an insurance policy on his life, and tells me the whole sordid thing:

 

Yes, I went back for surgery, told them their music sucks, asked them not to steal my personal property and started a podcast. JD went back to the waiting room where he was told the surgery would last about 30-45 minutes.  He said he got into some work and when he looked up, it was about an hour later. Shortly after, the surgical assistant came out  and said “Mr. Sanderson, can you please come back with me? There have been some complications with your wife’s surgery.” 

 

What he has told me he found that day in the surgeon’s office, he cannot tell me without obnoxious laughter. Apparently, I had an uncommon and VIOLENT reaction to the “anxiety” medication.  If you believe JD, the surgeon and the surgical assistant  (some nurses, a pharma rep and the office manager), I went CRAZY. 

Full “Girl, Interrupted.” 

 

JD said that it was hard to put it all together at first, because I seemed totally fine, but I kept asking him to help me “Unzip my skin.”  When I pressed for more information on that he said, “I don’t know, other than you thought your skin was too tight and you needed it unzipped.” 

Fair enough. 

 

Moreover, it seems that each time the surgeon went to open my mouth, I told them I was going to throw-up. 

 

At one point there was some hallucinogenic bargaining like “I’m actually fine. I’ll just keep the tooth the way it is.” 

 

And rounding out the crazy anxiety med episode was me talking about how much I hate his music. Really driving the point home.  

 

So, there we were. 

 

No surgery. 

Tooth still broken. 

 

I asked what the plan was going forward, outside of a psychiatric hold, obviously. JD said I was supposed to call them on Monday to explore my options. Thankfully I had  a whole weekend reserved for what I thought was bruised gums that I could now use for bruised ego.  

 

On Monday, I called first thing.

 

“Hi, it’s Margaret Sanderson,  I don’t know if you remember me….” 

 

**Pause while Office Manager almost dies from laughter and quickly shares the joke with the whole office.**

 

Turns out, my options were option. Singular. I would have to go completely under. 

 

Meaning, they were going to have to bring in an actual, for real life anesthesiologists to put me so far out so that they could operate on my gums. Like a dog having to go under to get its teeth cleaned at the vet.

 

Luckily, I was able to get it scheduled a week later. On his off day. I am such a dental and psychological problem that it would take a day that the office was closed to the public to get it done.

 

Surgery day 2. 

I arrived with JD as DD again and within minutes, the whole shutdown office is filled with laughter.  Everyone from the office manager to the surgeon laughing and regaling me with tale of the fateful prior surgical attempt. 

 

Yes, hilarious. 

 

They took me back to a different chair in a different part of the office. The chair was covered in warm blankets and there was a weighted blanket for me when I laid down.  Oddly spa-like.  And the best part?  NO MUSIC WAS PLAYING. 

 

The anesthesiologist came over, introduced himself and said “So, what happened to you last time?” 

 

Um, were you not JUST here? This whole office might as well have been standing around a pony keg roasting me like it was Comedy Central. 

 

Um, I freaked out on drugs, accused a professional surgeon of petty theft, tried to unzip my skin like it was the skin suit from Silence of the Lambs….“faked” a pregnancy, passed judgment on someone’s musical taste, apparently lied about having had surgery… you want the deep cuts or just the hits? 

 

But I didn’t say that. 

 

“Well, I think I just have a very delicate threshold to toxic street drugs. “ 

 

He looked into my SOUL and said, “Well that is awful. I am going to be here, the WHOLE time watching you to make sure that you are in a deep, peaceful sleep, that everything goes smoothly with the surgery and then when it is all done, I will wake you up and help get you to your car.  This won’t take long and you can go home and rest the whole weekend. You have been through so much. You deserve to have a good surgery.” 

 

WORTH. EVERY. DOLLAR. 

 

Did I mention that the anestheoligist was “at my own expense?”  It was. 

 

After that, like Biggie said, “It was all a dream.”

 

I woke up what felt like DAYS later with excruciating face, neck,  back  and was that kidney pain? My hand was throbbing where they had put in the IV. My face was so swollen, I looked like fat Gwyneth Paltrow in Shallow Hal.  OMG, the pain! Somebody get me a Frosty!

 

There was no confusing that this time, I had made it through the surgery. Again, a medical marvel.  JD said it was a hot 45-minutes and we were headed back out to the car where I was asking everyone what they wanted Santa to bring them for Christmas and asking JD if we could go to the mall to get some lip gloss and a pretzel. 

 

It was another month before I could finally put this tooth business to rest. I had to wait to heal before they could fix it. I had learned to eat on the other side of my mouth and endured the antibiotic  rinses. I don’t want to call myself hero, but would understood if you did. 

 

A week before I was set to have my tooth all fixed, we were eating dinner when I had that same, choking feeling. 

 

No. 

Not again. 

 

But yes, again. On the other side. They had warned me of a “mirror image”  injury when I took to overcompensating with the opposite side of my mouth. 

 

WHY ME?!?!?!?

 

There I was in the dentist chair again. In the most twisted and sick version of Groundhog Day ever. She came in, plopped down and looked in my mouth for a split second. 

 

“It’s not too deep. I can fix this.” 

I breathed the heaviest sigh of relief thinking the nightmare was finally over. Just moments before she said, "Good thing, right? I heard about your last surgery." 

Summer of '89. Part 3.

Last stop in 1989 (ish). After today, you can put away your scrunchies and tie dye. 

Unless you are headed to Target, because that is all they sell. 

The last stop in '89(ish) is a literal favorite. 

This is one of those gifts that you think only comes around once IN a lifetime. 

Well, this one came around ON Lifetime. 

Betty. Freaking. Broderick. 

I first found this movie on Lifetime back when Lifetime movies weren't all about a secret blind prince who falls in love with an organic dryer sheet artist/orphan from a small-town in Vermont. Back when Lifetime had movies about murderous cheerleaders and socialites; scandals in politics and bake sales; indiscretions amongst a group of pet allergists. You know, GOOD material. Titles like Mother May I Sleep With Danger? Or something like Straight A's to XXX.  And the always popular Newlywed, Now Dead. 

It used to be so good and it was movies like this: A Woman Scorned: The Betty Broderick Story that not only had every salacious point checked, but it was a  true, ripped from the headlines, story.  Take that, blind prince. 

I vividly remember watching this movie for the first time. It was a rainy, cold day in the fall and I snuggled into my Mom's bed to watch from the very beginning. I don't know. It could have been a beautiful 75-degree day with kids flying kites up and down my street. I was into Lifetime movies and I will not apologize. 

What initially caught my eye was that the main character, Betty, was played by Meredith Baxter Birney. AKA Elise Keaton from Family Ties.  I thought she was an AMAZING TV Mom. She was smart, funny, pretty, professional and if she was good enough for Alex P, she would be just fine for me. Little did I know at the time, this was to be Meredith Baxter Birney's "break out" role. The role where no one would accuse her of being Elise Keaton, former flower child. 

She nailed it. 

A perfect homage to the 80's narcissism and sense of excess. Betty had it all; the perfect house, the cars, adorable kids, money, vacations, all that big clunky 80's jewelry, her feathered blonde hair was an exact accent to the flipped collar of her Ralph Lauren ponte polo shirts. 

Betty also had FULL crazy. 

If you don't know the story, it's a doozie. Betty meets her future husband, Dan, while he is in medical school at Columbia. They fall in love, get married and 4 kids later, Dan decides that medicine isn't for him. So, he decides to got to Harvard (heard of it?) to pursue his true passion, medicine. Betty never bats an eye. She supports Dan's dream through poverty, food stamps, crippling student loan debit and selling Tupperware. Yes, she sold Tupperware. Door to damn door. 

No spoilers, but when Dan finally becomes a Doctor/Lawyer, Betty gets all that is coming to her and never has to sell a burp lid again. Tiny spoiler, Dan leaves Betty for his secretary who looks exactly like Betty... 20-years-ago Betty. 

Dan Broderick  was a pure garbage human. Even a young Katie could see that.  And I took a vow when  I saw him that if I ever married a man who went to Columbia medical school and then decided he hated it and wanted to go to Harvard law and we had kids and I had to support him and then he left me for someone who looked like me when I was in my prime, I would shoot him too. 

Crap. I said I wasn't going to spoil it. 

This movie STUCK with me. I had very real feelings about this movie. First of all, ELISE KEATON would never. Dan was played by Stephen... Stephen something. He was also the Dad on Seventh Heaven who just got in trouble for touching kids, so you see why he is so inherently hatable. Even at a young age, I kind of felt sorry for Betty. I saw my Mom stay home with us while my Dad was working his tail off to make sure we were flush in clothes from The Limited and Nintendo 64 games. Was my Mom going to kill my Dad? Was she going to drive a Suburban into his house? Was she going to tell me and my brother that we were going to Disneyland, but instead, take us to our Dad's and drop us off and call the cops on my Dad???? (She didn't.)

I had ZERO business watching this movie at a young age. But again, the 80's. 

I would catch up with Betty whenever she was on Lifetime on those hungover Saturday's in college. Or, when I found out I could watch it on YouTube while I was on maternity leave. Pro tip: If you are already hormonal and *kind* of mad at your husband because you are home with an infant all day, DO NOT watch A Woman Scorned: The Betty Broderick Story.  

I could probably rent a theater and charge you all admission to watch me perform this as a one woman show I know it so well. 

And just when I think I only have room for one crazy Betty in my life...

Summer of '89 Part 2

Get in the Dolorian with the flux capacitor, loser. We are going back to '89. 

Like I said last week, Netflix is bringing all the late 80's/early 90's nostalgia for TV and to be honest, I think it is something we all need more of. 

Netflix is a gift. It can make me laugh (Tiger King), cry (Last Chance U), mad (Jeffrey Epstein: Filthy Rich) and even hungry (Great British Baking Show) Netflix is the only reason 95% of us are surviving this pandemic and just as the ink dried on my thank you note to Ted Sarandos, President of Netflix, they dropped this:

Ted Sarandos for President of America.

Unsolved Mysteries was back in my life. Just like that kid from, I don't know, Mississippi or Louisiana who went missing after school, but turned up as an adult years later in the same town with no memory of what had happened. 

Now you know, I have a real love/hate relationship with horror movies/shows/books/podcasts, but I am ALWAYS here for some True Crime.  If I die a mysterious death, the FBI will take one look at my podcast line-up and assume I am both the victim and the culprit. I.Love. True.Crime. 

Probably because of this show. 

In the late 80's this was a sit down, get all my chores, homework and other child labor done so I could be focused and ready to solve any crimes Robert Stack had for me.  

I feel like we got about 3 different stories per episode. Robert Stack in that smart trench coat always appearing out of a mist in like a train station or abandoned mall parking lot. With that salt-and-pepper hair, introducing us to the mystery before us with linguistic clues and deep eyes. 

Was/am I in love with Robert Stack?

Oh the material they covered. UFO's, haunted houses, abducted waitresses. I especially loved when they revisited an "old time" mystery. Like someone they thought went down with the Titanic, but was instead living as a housewife in Minot, North Dakota. So many mysteries to be solved!!! 

This show was appointment viewing at my house not only for me, but for my parents. It was kind of our little ritual since my brother was "too young" to watch. I couldn't have felt more grown up if it had been me watching Porky's with my parents. That's gross.  What I mean is I just felt like a grown-up doing something that my brother couldn't do. 

I can still hear my mom saying things like "Did anyone consider he drowned?" in the episode where a little boy went missing near a river. Part of me was like "duh," but the other part drew from the keen eye witness interviews UM was known for and said "No, too obvious. Figure it out, Mom." My Dad always liked the ones about aliens or things like Stonehenge. He would just say things like "Well I'll be dipped."  I don't know what it means either, but it's a phrase I still use to this day. Dipped. 

As much as I loved the ritual and watching UM, I hated when they flashed up that "If you have any information on the whereabouts of..." because I knew that was the signal it was time for me to go to sleep. 

Bedtime after UM was always as drawn out as I could get away with. An extra tooth brushing to prevent a cavity I felt burgeoning. A quick check from my non-physician mother to see if she also thought that spot on my knee was cancer. My parents should have had me tested for diabetes as you never knew a kid so dehydrated as I was after a night watching UM. "Just one more glass of water before bed..." 

There, in the dark of my room, I would reflect on all that I had seen. The UFO's, the aliens, the Titanic ghosts, the whole lot. And I would get so caught up in the details and the fear and sadness. But I could never let on or I knew my parents wouldn't allow me to watch it anymore if they knew I was scared. So, I hid it pretty well. Except after one episode where a little girl had gone to the store with her grandmother  and the grandmother never came back; up and vanished. I called my grandmothers every day for a week. Back when you had to pay for long distance. You can't be too careful. 


Precious UM. Definitely the precursor to all the other mystery and whodunit shows I still love today. But sometimes, even those get stale. Dateline is basically just a show about murders in Miami or small towns in Alaska, now.  And some of the stuff on ID is just deplorable. So when Netflix brought back the OG, I was never more ready. 

It was a Saturday, but  a Pandemic Saturday which could have also been a Monday for all I know. Bee was gone and JD was doing stupid stuff like vacuuming and emptying the dishwasher. I had to watch in daylight, in case it was too scary, but I was ready. Snacks in hand and beagle by my side, I hit play. 

THEY KEPT THE ORIGINAL THEME SONG!!!!

Well, this is already perfect. Nowhere to go from here, we have hit apex mountain. 

Until...

THEY HAD A SHADOWY HOMAGE TO ROBERT STACK IN THE BACKGROUND. 

Will life even get better? 

Wow. I hit that first episode and was hooked. Hooked on nostalgia, mystery solving and Robert Stack all over again. (This Robert Stack thing is literally unfolding as I type. I am as confused by it as you are.) 

Only six episodes, but already talk of a second season... JD came in during episode 2 and said "I see that you're watching the new Unsolved Mysteries...so, you'll be up all night?" 

Damn you, tattletale Netflix app. And yes, probably. 

I am not even a little ashamed to tell you I watched them all in one sitting. I marathoned UM and I wish I had a t-shirt or a trophy for doing so. It was every bit as good as I remember, but with a shiny Netflix update. In all fairness, some of the stories I had actually already heard on a couple of the True Crime podcasts I like, but I didn't even care. I will take all the evidence I can get. Bring me the clues... What if I, just a simple Kentucky housewife and mother could solve a high profile crime?  As I live and breathe, I would be like the winner of Unsolved Mysteries. Look at me, changing lives just by watching true crime tv. 

A couple of days after I had finished it, Bee came in and asked if she could watch it.  I didn't even think before shouting "No! You're a child." Unphased, she left and JD said "Weren't you JUST telling me how you used to watch this with your parents all the time? And wouldn't that put you about her age?" Yes, but that was different. We didn't have the Internet then. 

Oh, but we have it now. And with the Internet, we have Netflix. And with Netflix, we get all the good stuff like Baby-Sitters Club  and updated versions of Unsolved Mysteries.  

I can also use the Internet to Google "Robert Stack Foggy Trench Coat..." 

Summer of '89. Part 1

Guys... 

Where are we? 

I am past the "Is it Monday, Sunday, Someday or That day." I am  starting to wonder what DECADE we are working with. 

Considering I get all my news from Instagram and Royal blogs, current events are running together a little in my tired brain. 

But my streaming services have led me to believe I am enjoying the summer of around 1989. 

This was too much for one post, so like the late 80's/early 90's let's enjoy it in small doses. 

Photo: Stolen from Google

As I live and breathe... the only 5 friends I had in the late 80's. (Unless you count those twins I knew from Sweet Valley High. But they were kind of bitchy.)

Kristy, Dawn, Claudia, Stacey and Mallory. The Baby-Sitters Club.  

These were my people! The jock, the artist, the fashionista, the California girl and the diabetic. Well, not that one, but the rest were a spot on portrayal of everyone I knew. They were all around my age living in a small, but cozy Connecticut town just like I was living in a small town in Western Kentucky where everyone drank Mt. Dew. They, like me, spent their every waking second baby-sitting. Make. That. Money. 

As I have previously blogged, I did a TON of baby-sitting when I was younger and this was my bible. The blueprint from which I worked. These books covered everything from toddler tantrums to kids with special needs to a house that may or may not have been haunted. Name something more on brand for Katie Thomas Sanderson. (Although, would it have killed Ann M. Martin to write a book about babysitting with a Tibetan Monk in the house? ) They were coming-of-age in the best way for someone like me who was, to quote the poet laureate Britney Spears, "Not a girl, not yet a woman." This series got me through a lot of the emotions that run between tween and teen years. First crushes, kisses and heartbreaks. They covered it all. 

As I have also previously blogged, I was a fat kid. For this, Babysitters Club is also to blame. I spent ALL my free time reading these books. Thank God I was making all that cash baby-sitting to support this habit.  As quick as I would finish one, the next one would be out and I would be waiting for it. The only cardio I was getting was running to B. Dalton to buy the newest release. If turning pages counted in MyFitnessPal, I would have set records.  Sleepover this weekend? Doubt it. I've got a new BSC to cruise through. Plus, I was reading so many of these that I CONSTANTLY qualified for Book-It!  I was basically existing on BSC and Pizza Hut personal pan pizzas. 

Luckily, my Mother had the divine foresight to save all of my BSC books. Every single one I read. She moved them from Kentucky to Wyoming and back and finally let me have them back when I got my first big girl house.  I used to dream about a day when I would have a daughter that could get lost in these books like I did. But when that day came, she got about 5-pages in and said "Is it just a club of girls who babysit?" 

HOW DARE YOU. Clearly, I am raising a monster. 

I bargained with her; I bribed her. "But I have 34 of the regular series, some of the bonus mystery ones and the summer only editions!!!" No dice. Not even when I told her I had won a BSC trivia contest (probably) judged by Ann M. Martin herself did she bat an eye. Is this child even mine? 

But thanks to Netflix, I did get to introduce Bee to my 5 very best friends. 

This show is SUPER cute. It is modified only slightly from the books, which I really don't mind because it is making Bee a more woke kid. There was probably more undesirable stereotyping in those books than I would like to admit.  Surprisingly, the scope of the babysitting landscape hasn't changed that much. Kids are still messy and tween girls still  have full blown anxiety over boys.  Netflix really did an awesome job casting this; most of these characters are exactly as I remember them from all those years ago. I would like to say the clothes are better, but even those trends have come back around. They did incorporate the "see through phone" that was on the cover of the books, which I appreciated  But they also referenced that the girls bought it as an "antique" from Etsy, which i took umbrage with. The nostalgia has been REALLY good for me during all of this. There was no COVID when I read these... or in Stonybrook, CT. Here they are again, my 5 besties making me feel safe and loved and like everything is going to be ok. And also, fast forward 30-years to me being holed up in my house with the BSC again eating pizza. 

The real bonus was watching the first episode and asking Bee "Do you know who  that is playing Kristy's Mom?" She thought and when she gave up I said "That's Cher, from Clueless." Her whole brain exploded. While she sorted that out, I went to put on a little extra Retin-A because I am old as hell. 

Wedded Glitz

JD and I celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary last week. 

Even with a pandemic, racial injustices on the reg, political upheaval and maybe murder hornets(?), it was kind of a weird anniversary. 

I truly feel like 14 is the year you could start to question your choices. Not husband choice, oh, God no. But like this is the anniversary where things that DO age are going to age. And you might have the pictures to prove it. 

Like bridesmaids dresses. It seems  14 is the year you start to say things like "Maybe yellow sequin wasn't the way to go."  Or the hairstyles. I was in a wedding with a FULL Kelly Clarkson/Ashley Simpson "blonder on top and dark under" hair color. In an updo, no less. One of my absolute ardent vetoes was NO chocolate fountain. And that holds up because you can't have a chocolate fountain with COVID. Definitely the music; "Did we play too much Jay Z?"

Would I change things? Yes. But not many. I stand by most of my choices and think that those of us married before like 2008 when Pinterest came on the scene deserve a medal. Yes, a Pinterest free wedding. We had no idea what we were doing. We made choices the best we had with what we had. And all we had was Martha Stewart and her $900 magazine that came out bi-annually. 

The obvious choice for me to emulate in a Pinterest free zone, given my undying love and affections (except you, Andrew) were the royal weddings. All that pomp and circumstance and flowers and beefeaters and crowns and ALL OF IT. But when we got married in 2006, there hadn't been a royal wedding of note since Diana and Fergie. Speaking of questionable wedding choices... 

The point is, one regret I do have in life is not getting married like a member of the royal family. 

Since my wedding we have seen some doozies; Wills and Kate, some random one-off cousins, a non-specific Lord and Lady and sweet Prince Harry and that bitch he married.  All these beautiful, aspirational weddings that I will never have. Sensing my angst for never having a royal wedding (but not bringing up the fact that I am neither British, royal, noble, a member of the peerage et al) JD indulged me in a "Royal Wedding Re-do" when we were in London.

I really think the pictures say it all. 

google.com

Just another Kathryn (spelled the right way) with her prince outside of the Abbey. 

Nailed it. 

google.com

Remember this? Yeah. Everyone does. I was barely alive then and I still consider it in my Top 5 greatest days of my life. 

Uncanny. 

google.com

St. George's is my absolute FAVORITE. I don't know that I have ever seen a church more beautiful. 

Just wishing I'd packed a wedding dress instead of so many hats.  

Also, these idiots got married there. But I will not let that ruin it for me. 

google.com

So in the end, I kind of did get my royal wedding. And 14-years later, I stand by my choices. No matter royal or common, it was still a pretty magical day. These have been the BEST 14-years of my life. 

And I think we played just the right amount of Jay Z.