So, I’ve been married for almost two weeks and I have yet to blog about the wedding. I mean, I was on my honeymoon for almost the first week so that’s sort of excusable. But I really need to write this stuff down before I forget all the fabulous and gory details.
So, the wedding. If you weren’t there you missed the greatest party ever. I set out to throw a really good party that also happened to be a wedding, and I think I succeeded.
First there was the cocktails on Saturday night. We figured we’d have about 20 people in from out of town already on Saturday, and since we weren’t really doing a rehearsal, we weren’t doing a rehearsal dinner, but we should do something. So we opened the bar and passed some apps (I will call them apps throughout this blog because I forever have to look up the correct spelling of hors d’oerves and it’s harder to type.) Now, I should add that I’d been drinking for the better part of the afternoon even before cocktails. So cocktail hour starts, we’re on the deck the bar is open and the apps are out. All of a sudden I look up and at the end of the table is a cake. A cake that looks strangely like a wedding cake. Most strangely, like my wedding cake. I’d recognize those $40 edible birds-of-paradise anywhere. So I go to the catering guy who’s like – you know, I thought that was weird. He goes and gets Sindy, who is the greatest wedding coordinator ever. She’s like – WTF? (Well, she didn’t say that. But that was the general idea.) She calls the cake lady – I have no idea what happened after that, but we cut it the next night so I guess everything turned out OK. Those people should just be grateful that I’m not one of those psycho chicks on Bridezillas. Those bitches woulda gone off the handle.
So anyway, my vague memories of Saturday night include several shots of Patron, the best man opening beer with his flip flops and … oh yeah, I picked that night to give my Drunk Speech. I give the best speeches ever when I’m drunk. I once entertained the entire top deck of the Las Vegas Margaritaville. Eh. I mean everything I say when I’m drunk – I’m just a bit more effusive about it.
Fortunately, I was coherent enough to remember the Never-Fail Preventative Hangover Treatment: Two ibuprofen and a bottle of Propel before bed. I add an Alka Seltzer Morning Relief and a Coke the next morning and I’m good to go.
So, wedding day. Most of the morning is a blur. I think we went down to breakfast. At some point Tracey and I went to the hairdresser. Tracey was done and ran off to Publix to find some baby’s breath for my hair, and this is when I really started to lose it. Got a bit shaky, so ate some granola and trail mix with champagne to straighten out my blood sugar a bit. I really don’t remember much, although I apparently screamed at my mom on the phone at some point. Barry called when we were leaving to say the photographer was at the room already. Shit. So, after practicing my makeup so painstakingly for so long – I put it on in the car on the way back to the hotel. All except the eyeliner. I’m not sure why I did this. I didn’t want to run into anyone in the hallway with my hair done and no makeup? I was afraid the photographer would start snapping pictures without my consent? Not sure, but my wedding-day makeup was applied in moving car. What self-respecting bride does that?
We get to the hotel room and the best man is still ironing his shirt, and I started screaming at him and Barry to get out. I’m not dressed, I have no eyeliner on, the photographer is in the living room of the suite and Beth and Trina are suddenly calling my cell phone from outside the door – it was chaos, I tell you. And then … Trina looks at the counter and says, “what’s this?”
It was the elixer of the gods, I tell you. The most magical relaxation potion ever. A bottle of Dom Perignon, 1999. With a note from a good buddy saying “pour. drink. repeat.” I did.
The day got better after that.
So my memories after this point are sporadic and maybe a little psychotic. Like, I got down into the bar area and see my cousin’s kid, Aaron, with his dad. I’m screaming, what are you doing? You can’t be here? Ronnie’s like, “Aaron wanted a Sprite.” I’m all, “you have to wait, you have to go and sit down, the ceremony’s starting, you can’t have a Sprite NOW!!” Poor Aaron. He’ll probably never be able to drink a Sprite again without the vision of some crazy woman in white with her head spinning. Sorry, bud.
One thing I’m so grateful for is that my cousin Nancy (poor traumatized Aaron’s mother) videoed the whole ceremony and a lot of the reception. I’d told her I wasn’t planning on a videographer, and she warned me I’d want one. But I was stubborn and didn’t think I needed it. She was right. Even though I remember the walk down the aisle, I don’t remember hearing music at all – my $200 steel drums. I’m so glad I got to watch the video later and hear them.
The reception? Fabulous. Days like that should last longer, someone said, and it’s so true. So many great friends and family members gathered together in one space – there just wasn’t enough time to spend enough time with all of them. There are so many great things I could say about that reception, but it was just the best time ever. Somewhere around 11 that night I wandered upstairs, got out of the dress, and realized I hadn’t peed all night. I blame that on why I look pregnant in the side-view photos. Well that and being too drunk to suck my gut in. Oh well. Miraculously (this one’s for you, Beth) I also somehow took off the sticky boobs, very neatly re-attached them to the backing and put them in the box. I don’t even know what I did with the dress that night – but the sticky boobs got put away. And then I put on my shorts and tank top and went back downstairs to a table with three buckets of beer and lots of friends and hung out for another few hours.
And then on Monday we got up, sat around for breakfast for a while and finally drove up to Port Canaveral for the cruise. That was fun, although for my next vacation I’d just as soon do an all-inclusive resort. My favorite parts of the cruise were lying on the beaches in the ports. The ship itself – eh.
However, it’s still better than work, which I came back to with earth-shattering reality on Tuesday, which is why it’s taken me so long to blog. One lousy person just put me in such a rotten, miserable state of mind that I’ve been trying to rebound all week.