I don’t think I’ve ever looked more forward to the end of a weekend than I did this previous one. Subsequently, I’ve never awoke to a Monday morning with so much joy and relief. Today, I slipped back into my quiet routine of general housework, television and naps.
The wedding went better than it could have, I’ll give them that. When Celia was talking about the night before, during the rehearsal and dinner, I was certain that I would witness a meltdown of the most severe church proportions. And while it came close at times, everything remained just smooth enough for everyone to go home not angry.
Celia was already at the church when I showed up. I drove her Mother there, and the two of us stood in the lobby for 15 minutes, desperately looking for anyone that we knew. Finally, we saw Celia and the other bridesmaids, looking fantastic and confirming that we were indeed at the right church. Eventually Erin, Ben and Sherry showed up and we all took our seats uncomfortably close to the front. The ceremony started, nobody tripped over anything, and everyone settled in.
Then the minister spoke, and promptly made an ass out of himself. He was a greasy-type who looked more at home selling you real-estate or plea-bargaining for his client on death row. He was trying to teach us that there was a “right way” and a “wrong way” to have a wedding. To establish this point, he told a truly revolting story about when he decided to cook a rabbit for dinner, and instead turned it into a disgusting mess which he fed to his also repulsed dog. And that’s where the story ended. No moral, no lesson. Just horror and stunned looks from the crowd as he begrudgingly moved on to the next part of the ceremony.
The rest was just standard fare, as the wedding ended and we all filed into the lobby to discuss what to do next. Everyone I sat with disappeared until the reception started that evening, as I hung around with Celia as she had pictures taken with the rest of the wedding party. The photographer was a jackass, and I made fun of him behind his back, because I’m mature like that. Finally, we hopped in the car and went to the reception at the Legion Hall in Oshkosh.
I’ve never been here, but I soon found that it held 8 people comfortably. This wouldn’t be a problem, but there was a little over a hundred people there, stuffed into long dinner tables like bridesmaids stuffed into barbaric, sadistic shoes. The sheet that was made so beautifully by Celia was shining like a beacon behind the main table, and it received a good share of positive comments. I like to think that I was partly responsible for its beauty, because I did nothing to wreck it while it sat on my living room floor.
Vegetarians always get screwed over at reception dinners. I helped myself to a bun filled with cheese and 2 pounds of potato salad (I didn’t put 2 pounds of potato salad in the bun, just next to it). I then spent the next 10 minutes talking to a complete stranger about what I did in college. This was the same guy that thought that me and Celia were brother and sister (which we are). Dinner was over, the chairs were cleared and the rockin’ dance began.
Remember, there was no alcohol served. This means several things. Mainly it meant that most people left and nobody danced, but small children. (there was one baby who just sat in the middle of the dance floor by himself just completely rocking out. It was absolutely fantastic) This fit right up my alley. So me, Celia, Ben, Sherry, Lindsay, Amy and Amy’s boyfriend (who’s name I cannot spell, respectfully) crowded around a table and talked loudly about nothing. Hopefully I didn’t come off as annoying, but it was just so staggeringly boring that I resorted to lame jokes and accidentally throwing a cup of ice into Lindsay’s lap, as I frantically apologized and turned red. This went on for about 5 hours, until we decided that we had been polite enough and left. We went to Perkins to eat again, as dinner had sucked out loud, as previously stated.
Tired and cold, we all retired to our separate quarters, where I’m quite certain we had the best sleep of our lives.
(Lots of other things happened during the evening, but I’m no longer going to bore you with the details. I sang too much, and danced like an ass way too much. Enough of that. If anyone who was there wants to comment on this night, please do so in the comments section.)
Oh, and on Sunday I told my Grandmother that I was going to change my name. There were tears and sadness and an awful feeling in my gut that’s sure to keep me sick all week. That’s all I want to say about that.