rode the streetcar down st charles st. and looked at the pretty houses through the open window and got a sunburn and listened to joni and wandered and wandered and saw lots of people like us straggling home already drunk it seemed, wishing me a happy new year. i sat on a bench and listened to music and ate a po boy and that morning Sarah’s mom and dad came and dropped off some wedding presents and before they left her dad said, “Alright, when are you moving back? I mean, enough of this New York shit, it’s fun for awhile but now you need to come back where you belong.”

I’m reading my last Lorrie Moore book. Who Will Run The Frog Hospital? (no seriously, WHO WILL?!)… I have been afraid to read it for fear I will feel abandoned and forsaken with nothing left to ingest so I have put it off and put it off, but I think it’s time. I’ve had it in my bag since Christmas and I look at it and already feel sad. I only read a few pages today, on a bench in Jackson Square. Already I have underlined

The affectionate farce I make of him ignores the ways I feel his lack of love for me. But we are managing. We touch each other’s sleeves. We say, “Look at that!,” wanting our eyes to merge, our minds to be one.

Hm. Then I met up with Sarah and her new husband and new in-laws and we ordered in Chinese and we taught them how to Skype and I learned that they take their rottweilers to Burger King every Saturday to get ice cream. “Oh, they don’t like McDonald’s,” the mother-in-law told me from the kitchen. She waved her hand in dismissal. Sarah turned to me with a laugh in her throat, “They know the difference between Burger King and McDonald’s ice cream.” I screamed laughing, and then hoped I didn’t make them feel bad.

My favorite part of the wedding was at the very end. All of the guests were second line-ing out of the reception, all very drunk and waving their handkerchiefs in time with the jazz quartet. The bride and groom were at the front, and the line curled its way down the steps and through the arcade (shut up_not that kind) and i was wheeling Sarah’s suitcase and purse through the crowd, shoutin comin through! comin through! At this point I was basically a celebrity, which is such a funny thing about big weddings, so everyone was watching me. Or so I imagine. I threw the suitcase into their horse-drawn carriage, squeezed Sarah’s hand, then remembered I forgot her iPhone. So I booked it back to the little green room, in my fancy ass dress, 10 pounds of makeup, and insane hair-don’t, just barely making it over the cobblestones. When I came out, the carriage was pulling away and everyone was waving goodbye and shouting. I held the iphone high in the air, like a baseball fan when he catches a foul ball and shouted to Sarah. She quit kissing Paul and peeked over the back of the carriage and waved to me to start running. I forgot about the crowd and took off down the street, fucking running like i stole somethin.  Sarah stood up in the carriage and was cheering me on; I got about half a block before the driver stopped and I got to kiss her goodbye one last time then off they went.

Sarah told me today that she was tempted not to tell the driver guy to stop just so that we could do one of those movie scene hand-offs, like in a League of Their Own when they throw the luggage on the bus. You know you know what I’m talkin about.

• Sarah is my oldest friend. No really, all of my other friends are toddlers and babies.