Matt Dojny and Sybil Young
Engaged: Nov. 8, 2003
Projected Wedding Date: June 12, 2004
We’ve heard of “till death do us part,” but this is ridiculous! Sybil Young, 30, and Matt Dojny, 32, are holding their wedding ceremony at Green-Wood Cemetery, near the tombstones of Leonard Bernstein, Boss Tweed and Jean Michel Basquiat, none of whom could be reached for comment ( ba-dum-dum ). “Occasionally I think it’s creepy,” said Mr. Dojny said. “But it’s just a place we love to go.”
“I don’t think it’s creepy at all ,” said Ms. Young, a Columbia graduate student in historic preservation who’s been interning with preservationists at the cemetery. “I think it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world. It’s just so interesting.”
Talk about from cradle to grave: These morbid main squeezes have been squeezing each other practically since babyhood. Their mothers were lifelong friends (Mr. Dojny’s mom introduced Ms. Young’s parents), and the tykes spent many a blissful summer at their grandmothers’ houses in Connecticut, drawing cartoons and listening to the Pixies. “She was simultaneously shy and funny and weird,” said Mr. Dojny of dark-haired, blue-eyed little Sybil. “I always had a crush on her.”
Playing house, they agreed to one day have kids and to name their dog Elvis. “I knew he was ‘The One’ when I was, like, 14,” Ms. Young said.
But they lost touch around college (Bates for her, Oberlin for him). After a stint doing hand-modeling in Thailand in 1997, the shaggy-haired, plump-lipped Mr. Dojny came to New York to pursue a career in graphic design. With tremulous-but great-looking!-fingers, he dialed his old playmate and offered to paint a mural in her Stuyvesant Town apartment in exchange for a month’s lodging. He whipped up a “sexy” underwater scene (“Hieronymous Bosch meets SpongeBob SquarePants,” he said), and it wasn’t long before their Underoo longings became reality. “We were getting to know each other for the first time as adults,” Mr. Dojny said. “The whole thing was taboo and scandalous … and vaguely incestuous.”
“When we kissed for the first time, I remember thinking, ‘ Whoooooaaaah! What’s going on?’” Ms. Young said. “It was very, very, very weird.”
They celebrated the anniversary of their adult romance with a trip to the Mohonk Mountain House. Her gift to him: a misshapen blue hat that she’d knit. His to her: a yellow diamond ring from Reinstein Ross, which Ms. Young blithely put on her index finger. Mr. Dojny’s face fell. “You know, it’s an engagement ring,” he said.
“Oh,” she said.
Then they went hiking.
The ghoulish lovers have moved to a Park Slope one-bedroom, which they share with a scrappy cur with behavioral problems (named Lizzy, not Elvis) whom they compare to a “troubled Russian orphan.” The apartment is conveniently located near the cemetery where they’ll exchange vows.
“I think being buried there would be a nice ‘circle of life’–type thing,” Mr. Dojny said.
Alessandra Bocco and Garrett Rafferty
Met: Fall 1999
Engaged: March 4, 2003
Projected Wedding Date: May 7, 2004
Alessandra Bocco was hardly an hour into her first date with Garrett Rafferty before she had swooned- literally . Yes, folks, she’s a fainter!
Ms. Bocco, the copy chief at W, collapsed in a midtown gutter after sharing her first smooch with Mr. Rafferty, a longtime bartender at Patrick Kavanagh’s, in the back seat of a cab going from Swift’s. “I’m deadly,” he said impishly. (She claims it was low blood sugar.)
Mr. Rafferty spirited her back to her apartment in the East Village-”Do you know how hard it is to hail a taxi when you have a woman lying on the ground?” he said-where he fortified her with Irish breakfast tea loaded with sugar and cream and tucked her into bed. “And he slept in the bed with me,” she said. “Clothes on.”
After a two-year marriage to a florist foundered, Ms. Bocco had spent a year touring Europe on her orange ’93 Harley before taking a job tending bar at the Leopard Lounge on Second Avenue. The boyishly handsome, blue-eyed Mr. Rafferty was friends with another staffer and often hung around. “I thought he was adorable. He had such a kissable face!” said Ms. Bocco, who is 37 and dark-haired, with a sexy beauty mark on the tip of her nose. Nor was she put off by his long yarns about a misspent youth in Monaghan making petrol bombs. She began referring to him as “Rump-o.” She became “Bum-sy.” (They both melted into giggles when we asked them to explain the monikers.)
Mr. Rafferty, 32, moved into her apartment three years later. He’s taking motorcycle-riding lessons and working on his grammar. “He has punctuation problems,” she said gravely. “He’s always starting sentences in the middle.”
Maybe that’s why he let a photo album full of pictures and a round diamond set in platinum do the talkin’ over dinner at Artisanal one special evening. “She was crying before I even gave her the ring,” he said. They celebrated their engagement at Patrick Kavanagh’s, then gave up drinking for Lent the next morning. But they were off the wagon by nightfall. “Everyone kept buying us champagne!” she said.
Following a sober wedding ceremony with bagpipers at St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral (Ms. Bocco said she’s checked the wording on the invitations “400 times”), all hell is expected to break loose at the New York Botanical Gardens. The reception will feature an open bar, which is apparently unusual at Irish nuptials. Heaven knows why.
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