one of these: Doesn't the world know I'm trying to have a nonpartisan marriage???

I have collected about 600 pictures of the wedding between aunts, uncles, friends, and the photographer, all of which are lovely, and I spend way to much of my day pouring over in glee.  However, this is currently my desktop, based on the awesomeness of its existence: it's from the Tour de France, and beyond that, I know absolutely nothing about why this man is jousting in a plowed field next to a bunch of professional bicyclists, and why are they are so lame as to ignore him.  SPOLIER ALERT: Hey professional bicyclist dudes. You lose to the Spanish guy about a mile ahead of you.  Take a moment and appreciate the jouster, if at all possible. Thanks. no, no, I spoke too soon.  Green jersey in the back is with me. Well done, green jersey professional bicyclist dude. Well done.

So I got a little sick at my own wedding.  And by sick, I mean I still had indents on my knees from the tile floor of the bathroom the next day (little x's, very cute). The good news is, I got married, I got some wonderful pictures that my photographer magically made me seem not sicky in, and I got to see firsthand, under the pressures of a happy/stressful/sick bride day, how truly wonderful my friends, family, and therapist are. My Daddy not only walked me down the aisle on my wedding day, he held ice packs all over my body to get my temperature down after my heat stroke.  He not only did the daddy daughter dance with grace and humour (here, there, and everywhere by the beatles) but he spent extra hours giving class and color and life to the wedding spaces as only my Dad can.  He not only paid for everything, he befriended our friends, bonded with my in laws, and taught people the Evans line dance.  That was cool, Dad. Gretchen not only introduced me to my husband 9 months a