I don’t know if I’ve ever expressed this, but I am extraordinarily fond of my parents. Or at least I used to be. As I was talking to my mommy & daddy, I was telling them that I had decided against the stilettoes in favor of the wedges because I had a blister and am not so graceful. And my father said, “Graceful like a gazelle?” And all was silence. So I said, “Was there something you wanted to add to the end of that last sentence? Like the words ON CRACK????” He tried to be all innocent. I didn’t buy it. I accused him of reading this blog. He was silent. (However, he did incriminate himself the next day by quoting a different entry.) I really don’t mind that he reads it. I never say anything that I would be ashamed of. They know I’m not a goody-two shoes church goer (not that church goers are goody-two shoes! Some aren’t! I’m just neither) and that I hung with the pagans for a few years. But, my first thought was, “Fuck! I say fuck a lot on my fucking blog. Now my dad is going to know that I say fuck. Fuck!” He said he was going to stop reading it, but I don’t believe him.
Ahem…on with the story.
The wedding itself was beautiful. All day it had been (thankfully) cool & cloudy. We got a little sweaty in our dresses, but that was to be expected. I was definitely happy that my dress was sleeveless. However, just as Marcy started down the aisle with her dad, the sun broke through the clouds. It was all magical and miraculous and all that.
The ceremony was short (yay!) and I did not cry at ALL. (Shut up, Steph!) Steph bawled like a baby. Wus.
Then, there was a reception. With yummy food including corn that came from real corn plants in a field and not from a can at a supermarket! Yummy! And, best of all? There was a freaking cheese plate! And gin! And that is why I love Marcy so much. cheese and gin. And no one took any cheese away from me. So that was good, too.
After the gin and cheese, I hung out with my parents until the wedding party had to pretend they’d not been to the dance floor and were introduced. Then,Marcy & Glen danced. Then Marcy & her dad danced. And still, I did not cry. Even though I was sad because I’m not having a dance at my wedding and so will not dance with my father. I didn’t cry even a tiny, tiny bit. I mean, once, there was some dust in my eye, but no tears at all. I swear. (Shut up, Steph.)
After my parents left, I got all crazy and had four, count ‘em, four drinks in 8 hours. I know. The craziness will never stop. We had fun. There was dancing & talking and marvelling at the number of kids my friends are producing. Thank god they weren’t all there (mostly just the in utero ones)
The inappropriate Jew was there. I like him. He’s very funny. Plus, and this may not be funny to anyone who didn’t go to school with us, this is one of his standard poses for most college photos. So it was all nostalgic & shit.
The evening wouldn’t have been complete without…karaoke! Marcy & I used to karaoke almost every week in LA, and although I don’t make it much anymore, it was still more fun than a drunken barrel of monkeys. There was much karaoke-ing.
The drunk hairdresser had a little too much fun — she kept trying to steal microphones and then fall down with them. Some drunk middle-aged white men sang the worst version of “Baby Got Back” that I’ve ever heard during karaoke, and, of course, much fun was had. I sang a special song (I Touch Myself), dedicated to the lovely bride, with whom I lived for 4+ years. Although I have no photos of that special moment, I know we were both deeply…touched.
So, then there was more…vigorous dancing. And I learned an important lesson about combining vigorous dancing, skirts & thong panties that I won’t go into here. I finally begged off about 2:30 or so. Sara & Steph were troopers and stayed until 3. I got to sleep about 3:30, I think. The next morning, I was up at 8 so I could shower and have breakfast with my parents.
Then, out to the farm for second breakfast and gifts. Then, drive back to Sioux Falls to catch my plane.
The first flight out, which left late, was a bit bumpy, but nothing scary. The second flight, after the looooooooong layover (which should have been shorter, because flight #1 was late, was actually longer, because flight #2 was really late), and the storm (I saw horizontal rain),
and the pilot being diverted to Colorado Springs or something like that, I got on the plane. And discovered a beautiful thing. I had been magically (and freely) upgraded to business class. And, there was no one in the seat next to me. After we got up in the air (the take off was really bumpy), the flight was pretty good, and I even managed to doze for a little bit.
And then, only about 1 hour late, I was in the airport. Of course, we landed at terminal six. My luggage (and my architect) were in terminal seven. And the car? Terminal five. So I got my exercise in after all.
I’m fairly certain that by Friday, I will have caught up on my sleep.