Nine years ago today, Brad bought the cow.
Liked it, put a ring on it.
Yes, nine years ago today, my day was a whirlwind of flowers and champagne and smiling so much my face hurt. I had wanted to marry Brad since the week after our first kiss in early 1998, and after two long years of waiting (one of which being particularly challenging) I was finally his wife.
[SIDEBAR: After re-reading that entry I linked to above, I am realizing that I never provided you with the photographic evidence of my infamous bachelorette party! For shame! It seems I was distracted by the small person who came out of my vagina. I will try to find and scan those pictures ASAP so that the circle of embarrassment will finally be complete.]
I often think about what I might do differently if I had to plan my wedding all over again, and I have to say that besides the tiny detail of not having a religious ceremony (my bad, Lord!), I’d keep everything exactly the same. And that’s saying a lot, because there aren’t many things I can look back on ten years after the fact and say, “Nope, wouldn’t change a thing.”
Purchase of Baha Men CD, I’m looking at you.*
We had a pretty medium-sized wedding: 6 bridesmaids, 6 groomsmen, zero adorable children tasked with carrying the rings only to have a total meltdown in the back of the church thereby TOTALLY RUINING THE PICTURES OMG BRIDEZILLA RAAAWR. The only thing that really went wrong with the day was that someone forgot to turn on the lights that illuminate the HUGE altar of the church (something that is not really noticeable when you’re ON the altar, as we were), so in all of the pictures that the photographer took from the choir loft, it looks like the fucking church is closed. Grr.
But no matter: everything else – from the reception to the food to the cake – was absolutely perfect. One of the things I was most excited about (besides the spanokopita appetizers NOM NOM NOM) was the DJ, because – as CFoST knows – I am a huge fan of stroking it to the east/west/woman I love best, and will not hesitate to turn it out to The Thong Song, which was not only played TWICE at my reception, but that I also had the DJ DEDICATE TO MY SISTER, oh yes.
The Holy Spirit was indeed present at our blessed event.
I remember totally neglecting my “visiting each table at the reception” duties to get down with my bad self on the dance floor, which I’m sure ruffled a few etiquette feathers, but whatever. If you want to talk, haul your ass over here and join me as I break it down to “Copacabana.” Is that really too much to ask?
No, it’s not. But it IS too much to ask the wearer of these sleeves to keep pretending he’s straight. Come out, already! We love you, Barry Manilow! We don’t care if your girlfriend’s name is Stan(ilow)!
To this day, I still have people telling me what a great time they had at our wedding, and that really warms my heart. I like to think that they had a great time because they were bathed in the glow of our everlasting love, but it is more likely they were bathed in the glow of Seagram’s 7, because the bar, she was WIDE OPEN. And I will just say that it is downright amazing how many alcohol-condemning Baptists will throw back a rum & Coke or five when that shit is free.
Nearer my buzz to thee.
One of my clearest memories of the reception is breaking into my wedding money to pay the DJ to stay for a few extra hours. Yes, the money that was meant to be spent on down comforters and perfectly lovely sterling silver napkin rings was immediately handed over to fucking Super Duper Charlie Cooper (his real name, OMG) so that my nearest and dearest friends could put their stank on the parquet dance floor.
Hope it gets mopped between receptions.
Eventually, Charlie Cooper had to go be Super Duper somewhere else, so Brad & I moved the party to a local bar where we continued the drinking and ordered some pizzas for the group. This is also where I discovered two things:
1) You don’t have to pay for SHIT when you are wearing a wedding dress in public, and
2) The adrenalin of getting married will somehow allow you to drink for twelve hours straight without so much as a tiny barf-in-your-mouth-that-you-thought-was-going-to-just-be-a-belch.
A glorious day it was.
After we closed down the bar and shared a cab back to the hotel with my cousin, we went about consummating our most holy union by ordering up some dirty movies on the TV and passing out cold on top of the covers.
Alls I can say is THANK GOODNESS FOR PREMARITAL SEX. Otherwise, “the wait” would have lasted until 6pm two days after the wedding, when we were finally able to function without Tylenol and black coffee.
The morning after the wedding, I awoke to the most incredible sight. Well, scratch that. I actually awoke to the most repulsive sight, as the dirty movies we ordered were STILL playing in a loop on the television, and there’s nothing like waking up to the sights and sounds of three very flexible and sexy consenting adults doing…THAT. But once I managed to stop staring at the TV, I turned my gaze to the wonderful and sexy consenting adult beside me: Brad. My best friend. My husband.
From L-R: My heart and my soul.
Happy Anniversary, baby.
*I so did not purchase this CD, and could not bear the thought of you thinking I had. I did, however, routinely Get Jiggy Wit’ It.
Entry filed under: Thanksgiving.