Four years!

Since the Best Wedding Ever. Okay, I am biased.



Tiaras for weddings: Because some of us were too cool for prom.

Four down and many more to come, God willing. I love you, honeybee.

Tomorrow, by the way, is the sixth anniversary of the Fourth of July party where we started dating-ish. So Justin and his roommates had this party at their flat in Rome attended by most of our Latin class as well as some of his roommate's friends from the Largo Argentina cat shelter--and the pub by the shelter--including this drunken British poet and his dog whose name degenerated from Gypsy to Nootsy over the course of the evening. Someone put a lock on the front gate of the building, so we were all locked in for a while, and I got jealous of this creative writing major from Columbia who stole Justin's attention when he and I were alone in the kitchen obviously having a private conversation, so I retreated into his bedroom, lured him in somehow while everyone was freaking out about not being able to leave except by jumping off the terrace, and then we expressed our mutual affection for one another. And the drunken British poet's kind of scary companion cut the lock, so eventually we all went home. The end. Or the beginning. Good times.