Saturday, January 17, 2009

"And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand..."

Okay, I am going to go ahead and post this, sans good photos. I have emailed the Maid of Honor no less than three hundred times requesting her pictures, but I don't think I'm gonna get them because she has not responded at all. This may or may not be because I may or may not have accidentally sent her a photo of a huge pile of shit, but it's irrelevant whether I did or didn't because I'm not going to tell you anything else about it.

That said, without the photos, this post is not what I had intended it to be, so I apologize if it's not quite up to snuff. I think though, that even without illustrations, the story is outrageous enough to stand for itself.

Without further ado, here you have it.

The Tale of the Tackiest Wedding EVA

So you heard all about how I hated the spa, got shuffled from one hot place to another, got locked out, and spent $25 on a mediocre lunch with naked strangers. I know this because I am sure you read the last two posts instead of just skipping straight ahead to the goods, right? Right?

(Right, because I posted the others a month ago.)

After leaving the spa, we headed back to the inn.

I suppose I need to provide a little geography - Chateau Elan is eeeee-normous. Originally it was just the winery. The inn was later built adjacent to the winery, so you can easily walk between them. There's also a little sports bar called Paddy's between the inn and the winery. The spa is somewhere you have to drive to, but we took a shuttle so I forget where. Wayyyy on down the state highway from the inn and winery is the entrance to the golf club. The golf club has its own restaurant and then on the golf course there are a bunch of villas where guests can stay. 'Zilla, MOH, and I stayed in a suite at the hotel. Everyone else stayed at the golf villas (ergo, it was way more fun there). Unfortunately since you had to drive between the villas and the inn, I did not have the option of hanging out there to party with the cool kids.

But I digress.

Okay, so we went back to the inn from the spa and had about seven seconds to get ready for the rehearsal dinner because we had to go actually rehearse beforehand, and Groom was BLOWING UP 'Zilla's phone all, "HURRY HURRY HURRY AHH!!!"

And I was like, "Chillthefuckout. Everything wedding-related runs late. We got this." Which made me feel cool because

Except that I love the gays like the gays should be loved, you knumsayin, Obama?!?! Plus, I was staying in the presidential suite and all.

But they neither listened to me nor chilledthefuckout.

MOH and I finally arrived a bit late for the rehearsal because it was impossible to find. Lemme tell you where the ceremony was. The Cask Room. It doesn't get capital letters because it's fancy and exciting and A Place You'd Have a Wedding. It's only got capital letters because it's on the winery tour.

Oh, and by the way - it was COLD in there. Which I guess was kind of the point. It's underground, pretty dark, and it is COLD, I assume to keep the wine at a certain temperature. I also assume climate control is not a priority since it is not meant for PEOPLE to have a WEDDING in. It's also dusty and has tape all over the floor and crappy exposed fluorescent light fixtures. I suspect that this ceremony was puuuuuure profit for Chateau Elan. They were probably like, "Someone wants to pay us thousands of dollars to have a wedding in our crappy old dirty wine cellar? SWEET!"

So we went on with the rehearsal and got everything more or less planned out. However, we were instructed to WALK SLOWLY down the aisle. That's pretty standard, so no big deal, right?

But why did we have to WALK SLOWLY in big capital letters?

Because the song we appetizer brides (I can't for the life of me remember where I heard that term for bridesmaids, but isn't it great?) and our escorts were walking to was FOUR MINUTES AND THIRTY-TWO SECONDS long. We had to walk about 50 feet. No fucking joke. And there were only two pairs of us.

So naturally we're like, "What on earth is the song?"

And 'Zilla replied, smug as always, "It's a super-secret surprise."

I'd like to share a little personality trait of hers with you right now. I am sure you will be utterly shocked to learn that she is extremely smug about everything she does. She convinces herself that things she is doing are very original and creative and thus merit a smug tone of voice, raised eyebrows, and a skyward-pointing nose. This of course was no exception.

I was dismayed. One of the many things that delight her about herself is that she just loves Marilyn Manson. I immediately suspected that we would be marching down the aisle to The Beautiful People. I demanded to know if this were the case and announced that they'd damn well better tell me now because if I was surprised by blaring Marilyn Manson at 8:30 in the morning, I could not be expected to walk down the aisle with the customary perma-smile plastered to my face.

(At this point, I figured I was entitled to being a little Matron-zilla.)

Oh, and speaking of smiling - you'd think the bride-to-be would be all smiles, but no. MOH and I tried in vain to take lots of photos so she could make a scrapbook and have happy memories, but I swear to you she actually said "I'm NOT SMILING. I don't WANT to SMILE." And I told her, "You'll be sorry. Mad pictures are not pretty pictures." She was not persuaded. (And I was right; the pissy-face pictures are not pretty at all.)

Anyway, Groom informed me that while Marilyn Manson was an excellent guess, they had sadly been unable to find a "clean" version of "The Beautiful People," so I had nothing to worry about. Still ignorant of the "super-secret special surprise music," I did not feel relieved because 'Zilla's degree of smugness indicated that it could only be something truly awful.

We practiced walking down the "aisle" rrrrreeeeeaaaaaaaallllllllyyyyyy ssssssllllllloooooooowwwwwwlllyyyyyy and were finally excused by the coordinator to leave for the rehearsal dinner.

The rehearsal dinner was, as you know, at the Clubhouse Grille at the golf course. We arrived, we mingled, I feigned excitement and joy for the upcoming celebration of lurve. Feeling profoundly uncomfortable, it was with great relief that I spotted that bastion of welcoming familiarity, The Bar. I made a beeline for The Bar and inquired,

"What beers do you guys have?"

The bartender was a woman who in about 2 years could be accurately described as elderly. I also had her pegged for an alkey in about five seconds. Now, I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just saying. I've served enough espressos to the post-AA-meeting crowd for long enough to know 'em when I see 'em, and let me just say, can somebody please send that broad a meeting schedule?

She fidgeted and shuffled for a moment and replied,

"Uhhh, uhhh......" and then she opened the cooler door and barked, "Bud Lite, Miller Lite, Michelob Lite, Coors Lite, and Blue Moon!"

Marveling that a fancy-pants place like this would have such a diverse selection, I ordered the only one that didn't come in a can - a Blue Moon.

About five minutes later an open bottle appeared on the counter in front of me. I waited while the bartender shuffled papers and punched buttons on her register screen. I waited some more. Finally, she seemed satisfied and said, "That's six twenty-five!"

What!!! I thought she must have accidentally rung up two beers, but I felt sorry for her and her trembly hands and advanced, so I just paid her and took my beer to the table where I savored it veeeeeery veeeeeery sloooooowly. Oh, and by the way, it turned out to be a Killian's. I'm not sure how she managed to read all the bottles in the cooler aloud to me and then hand me one that was not only not what I'd ordered, but also wasn't even there, but whatevs. I like Killian's okay.

As we sat down to eat, Hairdresser finally arrived. I immediately dubbed him "Hairdresser Smurf," so I hope you are paying attention right now because otherwise you might become confused. "Hairdresser" is now "Hairdresser Smurf," got it? Good.

I suppose since I wanted single guys to hang with, Hairdresser Smurf was seated beside me. That was fine because he's chatty and I'm chatty, so we had a nice conversation. I have to tell you though, this guy was a fucking cartoon. He's 45, but he has the haircut of a 15 year old emo kid, except blond and highlighted. He's also in a band. He alleges that he is straight, and I figure, sure, why not? After all, he's been a hairdresser for 20 years, so why wouldn't he just come on out if he's gay? The thing is, the guy is like really protective of his straightness. He wants everybody to know that he is STRAIGHT STRAIGHT STRAIGHT.

Shortly after his arrival, 'Zilla asked Hairdresser Smurf if he felt like he was capable of being up and ready to work by 6:45 the next morning. Hairdresser Smurf replied, "Hey, there are three things I can always wake up for." I cringed. "Work, a party, and BEAUTIFUL WOMEN HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

I should point out that everything he said was punctuated with a "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" What also became apparent to me was that this guy was constantly in character. He was literally like a cartoon; everything he said and did was similar to everything else he said and did, and there were never any surprises. He was ridiculous from start to finish.

I like ridiculous. It's a heck of a lot better than smug and stuffy and demanding and "I don't WANT to SMILE" and downright fucking insane.

I also had to give him credit for enjoying himself in spite of being deposited in the golf villas to live for two days with a bunch of guys he'd never met, including Upstairs Neighbor, whom by now you are fully aware I find repugnant.

Later on, the Mother of the Groom got up to make a little toast. I have to tell you, Groom's family is just lovely. I thought they were the sweetest people, and his dad was too precious for words. So MOG gets up to make a toast, and it's sweet, and she's all teary, and I'm feeling like a cynical asshole for being so cranky and fake about the whole ordeal, when the photographer, who was also like a cartoon said to me, "Who do people tell you you look like?!?!"

Photographer is one of those prissy men who talks like a southern belle, but you can't tell if he's a flaming gay or if he's a mama's boy southern straight man or what. I wasn't sure at this point what would be ruder - do I talk while MOG is giving her emotional speech, or do I ignore someone who's staring at me and waiting for an answer? No idea. So I decided to whisper the quickest answer I could and replied, "Uhh, my mom."

"No, silly!" he gushed. " You look JUST LIKE Anne Hathaway!!!"

"Oh. Okay." I replied.

Later on, he brought it up again. "You even have Anne Hathaway's mannerisms! Why, it is just uncanny!" he said.

"Oh, um. Okay." I said again.

He asked me a few questions, and at one point he goes, "You know, that is even something Anne would say!!! You two are SO ALIKE!!!!!"

At that, I finally had to ask, "So, are you like friends with her or something? It seems like you know her personally."

"Oh, no, I've just followed her work, you know," he replied.

"What's she in? I don't know who she is," said MOH.

"Oh, The Princess Diaries!" he answered. "And then after that, The Princess Diaries 2!"

Now, there are few a things about this. First, I think it's hard to say one really follows Anne Hathaway's work. I mean, I think she's a good actress, but she's relatively new, so it's rather odd to say he follows her. Also, The Princess Diaries is the first thing that comes to his mind? Really? Ooo-kay!

I suppose I shouldn't complain, though. There are certainly worse comparisons, such as when a Starbucks customer once told me I looked like Cynthia Nixon:

You best believe his ass got decaf that day.

Oh, by the way - the quote of the evening award goes to Photog's assistant (whose entire right breast was dangling out of her dress, which seemed like it had to be wrong, but upon furtive inspection I couldn't see where there was a popped seam or a missing button, so I assumed it was supposed to be that way and didn't say anything) who said, "The best was that weddin' with all them blacks. They was all black people, and they was just a'sashayin' down the aisle, and it was so funny!"


Oh, also, Photog was telling 'Zilla that at 8:30 a.m. this was not, in fact, the earliest wedding ceremony he'd shot. He said he'd actually done a sunrise wedding that was outdoors. I actually thought that sounded kind of nice, and at least made more sense than one at 8:30 a.m. in a freezing-ass cellar.

"Well," 'Zilla replied, looking smugly pleased to share the very original idea she'd had but been unable to follow through with, "We'd originally planned on getting married at 5:45 a.m. for Winter Solstice, but we decided against it because there was no way we could have the grandparents up and ready."

I got the fuck out of that conversation before I punched her in the face.

Anyway, during the actual dinner, 'Zilla and Groom presented their attendants with gifts, which was nice and all, except...

MOH and I both received assortments of stinky fragrance stuff from Lady Primrose. Now, I had never heard of this brand before, but if you're thinking based on the name that it's rather old ladyish, you're thinking accurately.

Also, anyone who has known me for seven seconds or more knows that I DO NOT WANT PERFUME or fragrances of any type. I hate hate hate strong smelly stuff and am actually violently allergic to a lot of perfumes. Of particular interest is that 'Zilla knows this, having rather severe allergies herself, so we've discussed it many times over the seven YEARS we have known one another. She told me about 2 months ago that I'd be getting a Lady Primrose set for my attendant gift. I was surprised and tried to politely decline, citing my monster allergies, but she dismissed my concerns and said, "Oh, I know, but I can wear Lady Primrose, and if I can wear it, you can definitely wear it."

You see, if there are any allergies to be had in the world, hers are without question going to be the worst, so obviously I can tolerate Lady Primrose fragrances. Never mind the fact that after 25 fragrance-free years of life, I don't actually want to smell like baby powder or funeral flowers, even if I could do so without going into anaphylactic shock.

Whatever. I thanked her and commented that the fancy ruffly soap dish filled with stinky seashell soaps was "fucking fancy" and that I feared my houseguests might begin to suspect that I am an adult with some measure of class if I have such an item sitting on my bathroom sink.

Finally, finally, finally, we left the dinner. 'Zilla, MOH, and I had to stop by the golf course villas to get some of her bags from the room she'd stayed in the night before with Groom. When we got there, the guests were just starting up a particularly wonderful drinking game called Wally.

Wally is the alligator pictured above. To play, you simply open his mouth and take turns pressing down his teeth one by one til he snaps down. If he snaps down on your finger, you have to drink.

This is my kind of drinking game. I can't deal with crap like "Buzz" where you have to do math, or Beer Pong where you need to be able to aim (which I can't even do sober), and all those other games that have 47 rules. All I wanted out of life was to stay there and push Wally's teeth with all the happy fun people from Wisconsin, but alas, I had to go back to the "bridal suite" for a sleepover. I bid Wally farewell and headed for the door when 'Zilla, who had actually been relatively pleasant, reared her head.

'Zilla had kindly provided a bunch of snacks and goodies in a giant basket for all the guests in the golf villas to share. It wasn't labelled or anything, and it was just randomly filled with junk food that had no particular intended eater, so MOH snagged a bag of M&M's on our way out. She also grabbed a cookie that I had made and brought and insisted she have. 'Zilla stopped her in her tracks and said, "NO. PUT THE COOKIE AND THE M&M'S BACK NOW."

MOH protested feebly, "But, these are Jeannie's cookies, and I'm not going to eat any of it til after the wedding, I promise!" MOH was desperate to fit into the too-small dress 'Zilla was forcing her to wear, and thus the poor woman did not eat a bite of food all weekend until after the ceremony.

"I don't CARE. Fine, you can have the cookie, but you don't need the M&M's! Put them BACK," she snapped. Unable to pretend this was fine, I stood there with my mouth hanging open and my eyes wide as the room fell silent and MOH obediently put the M&M's back in the basket, head hanging in shame.

Back at the suite, I immediately volunteered to sleep on the couch, so I wouldn't be tempted to smother 'Zilla in her sleep MOH could share the bed with 'Zilla.

When we got to the hotel, 'Zilla presented us with more gifts - goodie bags of our own, which, 'Zilla explained was her reason for not letting MOH take M&M's from the villa, but I don't buy that shit. That basket was overflowing with junk food, so it's not like someone else would have gone without, and most of all, you don't fucking treat your best friend like she's at fat camp and you're her evil dietitian in front of a bunch of people, especially strangers.

She also gave us each a bottle of wine, which many of you wouldn't know, but my long-time friends know, I do not drink. Ever. I'll drink sangria, but that's a recent development, and 'Zilla knows this for certain. She loves wine and drinks it all the time, and she freaking knows for a fact that I don't drink it. In a moment alone, I commented to MOH that I felt sort of bad that I would not use any of the stinky stuff as I am allergic and that I also would not be drinking any of the wine because I don't like it.

"ME NEITHER!" she exclaimed.

"What!" I said. "And she knows this?!"

"Yes!" MOH replied. "I told her early on that she didn't need to give me a gift because I couldn't use that fragrance stuff, which she knew anyway! And she knows I don't drink wine!"

BTW, they have been friends for like 20 years. She and I have been "friends" for 7 years. She fucking knows that BOTH of us are allergic to stinky stuff and that NEITHER of us will drink a drop of wine! What the hell! Why is she wasting her money to basically pooh-pooh us and say, "I don't actually give two shits what you like or don't like"?

Fucking special.

But at least I had me a bag o' chocolate, which I destroyed that very night.

A bit later, I was marvelling at how well my shoes matched my bridesmaid dress. I was delighted because they were the shoes I got married in, and I never thought I'd have an opportunity to wear them again, but it happened that they were the perfect shade. I pointed this out to 'Zilla, and glancing at the shoes, she asked me, "Oh, were those a yard sale find?"

No, they were nottafucking yard sale find. They were my wedding shoes, and I had told her ass that ten times, but why would she pay attention? It didn't have anything to do with her, so there was no reason for her to.

A yard sale find.

Finally it was time for bed. Now, I have known (for 7 years) that 'Zilla sleeps with the TV on. And not just on, I mean ON-on, like full volume. This has not really been a problem in the past because the TV at her place is pretty small, and if I was spending the night there, I was usually drunk. The TV here, however, was (as pictured in the previous post) a 50-something inch flat screen. It basically lit up the room like it was 2 in the afternoon.

I laid on the couch and listened to The Wizard of Oz blare from the TV. Then I listened to Matilda blare from the TV. There was another movie on after that, but I forget what it was because I was lost in thoughts of suicide. Seriously, no joke, I wanted to die because I knew I would never ever go to sleep. At one point I got up and felt all over the TV for volume controls, but stupid fancy-ass new TVs don't HAVE that (Ryan now tells me they do, just on the side), and I wasn't going to pry the remote from 'Zilla's sleeping hands. Defeated and weary, I returned to the couch, built a pillow fort over my head, and got about an hour of sleep before the clock went off at 5:30.

I showered, shaved, and cut the fuck out of my legs several times. At 6:45, the irrepressible Hairdresser Smurf arrived. Photographer was close behind him to take "getting ready" photos.

Getting ready photos are decidedly NOT cute at 7 in the effing morning. Ugh. 'Zilla gleefully announced that these photos were our "punishment" for making her smile the night before.

Hairdresser Smurf was all suited up for the wedding, but he announced that he doesn't like to do hair in his nice clothes, so ever the partyboy, took off his coat and dress shirt and pranced about topless for a few minutes saying, "YOUR STRIPPER IS FINALLY HERE! SORRY I'M LATE, LADIES! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

This was funny, but let me tell you, he is not getting a job at Swingin' Richard's any time soon. This boy could get money to keep his shirt ON, knumsayin?

Fortunately, the show was over soon, and he donned a t-shirt (it said "JESUS PATROL") and got to work. The night before, 'Zilla, MOH, and I had had a long conversation about how our hair would look. 'Zilla said she just wanted him to blow-dry all of our hair and just make it smooth and fluffy, no styles necessary. This was fiiiiiine by me and sounded great. No muss, no fuss, and I can snooze while he dries my hair. Sweet. MOH also said she was happy about that because her hair is baby-fine and refuses to hold any sort of curl or style, and looks best flat-ironed. 'Zilla agreed that MOH's hair doesn't hold a curl, and haha, wouldn't it look awful after 10 minutes in the humidity and drizzle if she curled it, haha.

So MOH's hair was up first, and guessthefuckwhat. You will never guess. 'Zilla asked him to CURL IT and leave it DOWN!!!!!!

So he spent like an HOUR curling and curling and curling, and I don't know why the Smurf didn't just SAY that it wasn't going to work with her hair type, but he just kept on curlin' his Smurfy little heart out.

When she was finally "finished," it was my turn. Photographer commented, "Oh, this is gonna be fun, because she has such an... expressive face."

What this means is that I am like a fucking clown. I am aware of this, and you all tease me for the way I cheese at cameras, but seriously, candid shots of me are not pretty. Somehow my lower lip will be flipped up over my left ear, my nose will be inside out, or I'll have two eyes closed and one eye open.

Yeah, that's right.

I look fucking weird in candid photos, which I suppose means I look fucking weird in real life. For example:

Right. Expressive.

Hairdresser Smurf went to town, round-brushing, blowdrying, and ripping my hair out of my head. I swear he had to have been stoned because how could he not feel the same knot of hair getting snagged ten times in a row? I wanted to punch the giddy little "JESUS PATROL" fake-vintage shirted motherfucker in his middle-aged gut.

Oh, and guess what else. He delightedly told us that the previous night at the golf villa, one of the Milwaukee guests asked him, "Where's your wife?" He told the guest he wasn't married, and after a bit of confusion, Hairdresser Smurf determined that the Milwaukee guests who hadn't met me yet thought I was the Smurf's wife. Thus, every time he approached me since, he said, "There's my wife, HAHAHAHAHA, just kiddin', I know you're married, but HAHAHAHAHA I guess I'm your husband for the weekend, HAHAHAHAHAAHHA!!"

It got a little old after a while.

While under the hairdryer, I couldn't hear much, but I did hear the following snippets of conversation...

Photog: "How......become friends?"

'Zilla: "Wah wah wah blah blah cat adopted her."

Here's what actually happened - back in The Day, we both worked in the same mall, but at different kiosks. We knew each other on a first-name basis only and occasionally shared snarks about how much we hated the mall. One day she came up to me and said, "I need you to watch my cat and stay in the condo this weekend. You can come by any time in the next two days after 5 p.m. to get a key and I'll show you where the food is."

We've been "friends" ever since.

And yes, I realize I should have known.

Oh. I also heard this:

Photog's Assistant (who was rocking some epic camel toe in her menswear-"inspired" suit and bow tie ensemble): "'Zilla, have you ever been a bridesmaid before?"

'Zilla: "No."

. . .

Just sayin'.

So Hairdresser Smurf finished with my hair, and I tell you what. It was all smooth and fluffy and loverly and BOY-OH-BOY was I rocking some Kelly Kapowski bangs.

"Whaddya think, man, beautiful!" the Smurf bubbled.

"Um, I'm not feeling the Saved by the Bell bangs," I replied.

"Ohh, noooo mannnn, they're gonna like fall and look great by the time of the ceremony," he assured me.

Hello. Curls fall. Teasing falls. Bangs are supposed to sit on your forehead. They do not get volume. They are not meant to fall because they should never have risen in the first place. It's okay, though, I fixed it.

(Note my tongue that is ever so slightly poking out between my teeth. There are several photos of me like this, and my best guess is that I had actually begun to literally bite my tongue to keep my thoughts to myself all weekend.)

I was happy with my hair, and I was even happier that I would not have to pay for my hair. (Groom's fam. offered to foot Hairdresser Smurf's bill.)

But here's the deal - Hairdresser Smurf's ass was lucky because I brought my whole fucking bathroom with me in a laundry basket, and he used ALL of it. He even tried to thieve my Bumble & Bumble smoothing creme, but that shit is expensive and I would cut a bitch over it, so I was not having that and demanded it when it did not reappear with the rest of my belongings. So there.

But really, he was getting paid, right? And he didn't even bring his own products or hair dryer? Sketchy.

I hadn't seen MOH in like half an hour, so I went to check on her. Her curls had all fallen out, and she looked rather like she'd gone to sleep with wet hair. She was flipping the fuck out about it and attacking her hair with a curling iron. By "attacking" I mean she was wadding her fucking hair up and stuffing it into the iron and then getting pissed that it wasn't curling.

I mean, seriously? She'd told me she was beauty-product impaired, which is fine, but really? She's forty-one years old, and she can't just like LOOK at a curling iron and kinda figure out that you don't just cram your hair inside it?

I demanded the iron and did a few curls for her. They looked okay, but not great, and also loosened immediately. I told her I'd be happy to put her hair in hot rollers and we could just take them out right before the ceremony, so her hair would at least be curly then, which seemed to be her immediate objective. She said okay, but still wouldn't relinquish the goddamn iron and kept curling the SAME STRAND over and over and over! Her hair felt so fucking hot and it was starting make crunching noises.

I put a few rollers in her hair and twisted her hair into really tight curls. When I took the rollers out, she had really tight spiral curls, but I knew they'd relax in a matter of minutes (this is how I do my own hair, which also doesn't like to stay curled, and it works!) She took one look and said "WHAT is THAT" and ripped her fingers through her hair, shredding the curls I'd carefully coaxed into existence, and making her hair look all the more like a bedraggled mop.

I didn't quite understand why she cared so much. I thought my hair looked kind of crummy in both the weddings I've been in, but I was kinda whatever about it because nobody is looking at me anyway. As long as it isn't outright stupid looking, who cares?

I also felt like I was drowning in a whirlpool of crazy. Plus, I began to wonder if everyone around me was crazy, all the other friends and invitees were crazy, was I crazy too? Mustn't I be? I've been invited and thus am part of all this crazy. What if I am fucking bonkers too?


I decided to let MOH deep-fry her hair alone and went back to the main room. 'Zilla, now under the dryer, called to me, "TAKE THE CURLING IRON AWAY FROM HER!"

"I can't!" I said as quietly as possible. "She won't stop."

"TAKE IT AWAY FROM HER!" she insisted.

I went back to the dressing area, and MOH immediately took a defensive posture, almost a crouch, and glared at me. "Don't you try to take this from me!" she said. "I WON'T let you take it!!!" She had obviously heard 'Zilla's command from the other room.

"But....." I began.

"NO. I will NOT let you take it from me. My hair looks like SHIT."

It really didn't, honestly. It didn't look "done," so to speak, but it definitely didn't look like shit, either.

"No, it doesn't," I said reasonably. "It really does NOT look like shit. I could flat iron it for you real quick if you want, otherwise I think you should just leave it alone."


"Ok, well, want me to help you straighten it?" I offered.


"Okay, um, bye," and I flopped on the couch and spoke to no one until......

The Florist arrived.

Our bouquets were actually pretty nice. They were a mixture of white and black (which are actually a very dark red) Calla lilies.

Not bad!

Then I saw......It.

was a.....get ready. Are you sitting down? Are you sitting fucking down?????

A wreath of mistletoe. For her head.

Yes, Jen-nay! She wore a fucking beautiful wreath on her head, Jen-nay, just like in Forrest Gump!

"What is that," I demanded.

"It's my veil," came her smug and aren't-I-original reply.

"Oh," I said. I noticed it was glistening and wet, so I thought it was still wet from the florist's or something. "Want me to dry it off with my hair dryer or something? It looks all wet."

"That's oil," she replied testily.

"Oh, okay. But do you want it on your head?" I asked.

I took her silence and glare as a "no," but I wondered, why the oil? Is it to make the leaves shiny? And does that matter enough to have it get all in her hair?

Or perhaps in further honor of her newfound weird-ass Solstice and mistletoe spirituality, it was anointed with fucking frankincense and myrrh. Who the fuck knows.

Andthenandthenandthen, Hairdresser Smurf attached It to her head. But first he pulled the front part of her hair back and secured it with.....


I died.

I fucking died.

It was a tiny baby butterfly clip, but a butterfly clip nonetheless. I didn't get a shot of it IN her hair, but here ya go -

She got married with a butterfly clip in her hair. Wearing a wreath of mistletoe.

Horrors never cease.

Can you believe we're not even to the wedding yet? Whew. I'm getting tired.

Okay, so finally we head to the winery where we were to make our entrance by coming down some stairs, a colossally poor idea, IMHO. I waited apprehensively, fearing that I would hate the super-secret surprise music so badly that I'd be wincing all the way down the aisle.

I made it down the stairs without injury or calamity, and guess what the song was?

It was Somewhere Over the Rainbow!

Why was this such a big damn deal, worthy of such super-secrecy and smuggery?

I'm not about to provide a witty answer to that. I was hoping you could tell me because I still have no idea.

Also, these people are all tech nerds. Why no one edited the song, I'll never know, because even walking as slowly as we could, we still stood there looking like jackasses waiting for the full 4:32 song to finish.

At long last, the song ended, and 'Zilla and the Groom's song began. At first I began to giggle, certain that it was "Come Sail Away," but about a minute in I realized it was an instrumental version of "100 Years" by Five For Fighting, or as 'Zilla calls it "that Grey's Anatomy song."


So 'Zilla had told me that they had written their own vows and what their officiant would say at the ceremony.

By the way, she kept calling the officiant a "Justice of the Peace," but she was actually ordained through one of those like "Happy Holding Hands Good Friends and Recycle Stuff" churches on the internetz. Now, I'm all for that, boys and girls, but this sort of thing a Justice of the Peace does not make.

A JP is a freaking JUDGE, hello!

Okay, so the vows were kind of taking a while, and I was beginning to drowse, and my frozen grin began to tremble, but THEN.......

"Groom, please repeat the following vows after me," the officiant said.

"You cannot posses me," he began, "for I belong to myself."

I perked up immediately. I knew this was about to get good. He continued.

"But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give.
You cannot command me for I am a free person.
But I shall serve you in those ways you require...

And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand."

Oh. My. God. Oh. Em. Gee. Dude.

I mean, what?


Solstice, mistletoe, and honeycombs?

Look. I am not a religious lady. I went to church when I was wee, and I celebrate Christmas in the commercial, American way, but I would never call myself a Christian. 'Zilla is the same, only her parents are older, so they probably actually still go to church, and she'd probably say that she is a Christian if you asked her. Then she'd probably blink and say, "with some Wiccan Buddhist spiritualism." Because she is original and unique like that, and don't you forfuckingget it.

WELL. From this point on, I had ZERO difficultly keeping a smile plastered on my face, I-tell-you-what.

'Zilla repeated these ridonkulous vows, and my radiant smile grew broader still.

The officiant concluded the ceremony in part with the following, which was nice:

"Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, the initial creation and the exponent of the earth."

Only she didn't say "exponent." She said, "ex...pnt" sandwiched between two awkward pauses. (Also it is worth mentioning that I don't actually understand the phrase "exponent of earth." Like, Earth cubed equals 'Zilla and Groom's love or something? Someone enlighten me.)

I guess that's what happens when you don't let your officiant look at your supersecret plans in advance.

After the hilarity was over, 'Zilla adopted her usual eyebrows-raised smug "look how original and unique and creative I am" face and asked Photographer, "How many different religions didja count in the ceremony?"

"Oh, well, at least five, now, let's see, Christianity, Judaism" (pronounced Judah-izm) "ahhh, let's see Buddhism, Shintoism, Hinduism...." he replied.

And he really seemed like he meant it.

'Zilla eyebrows disappeared into her hairline as she said, "There were at least fifteen. Well, you see, my uncle is Jewish."

"Oh, I see," Photographer said with interest. "And is he here?"

"No, he isn't here, but I wanted to have a multicultural ceremony to represent my multicultural family. We're going to drop some champagne glasses on the floor upstairs and pretend we stepped on them for the pictures, too," 'Zilla said.

I had to interject here before she went smashing up the resort's crystal and cutting up people's feet. "'Zilla, I think you usually use like a little glass wrapped in cloth or a lightbulb or something delicate nowadays instead of the crystal champagne glasses because people's feet get cut up and stuff," I said.

"That's why I said we'll be "dropping them accidentally" and then pretending," she replied.

"Oh. Um. Okay," I said for the forty millionth time since she announced her engagement. Sure, smash glass on the floor so that your Jewish uncle will be convinced that you're Jewish too. Makes perfect sense.

And ugh, did the photos ever take forfucking ever, but I guess that's to be expected. What I do not like are the wretched heterosexualized photos the wedding party has to take. You know, where the bridesmaids have to hike a knee up on the groom or all the groomsmen kiss the bride. That crap's lame, and it doesn't even make any sense.

Photographer put Groom in a big armchair in front of a Christmas tree, and somebody joked that we should take a Santa picture with him.

"I am not sitting on anyone's lap, sorry," I replied.

So then of course I just had to because won't it be such a cute photo.

MOH and I were instructed to each sit on one knee. Can I just say that I hate this bullshit? I like him and all, but I've only met him once. I don't know the guy, I happen to be married, and oh, PS, he just married my friend. On what planet is it appropriate for me to sit in his lap for a photo?


Fortunately, MOH insisted that she was way too big to sit on his knee, so we perched precariously on the chair beside him.

More photos, more photos, more photos, and then FINALLY at long last I headed to the reception where I ate, drank, and even felt a little bit merry. Hairdresser Smurf greeted me with a big hug and a "THERE'S MY WIFE LOOKING BEAUTIFUL!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!"

The food was great. It was brunch type stuff, which I love. I had a hundred mini ham & cheese biscuits, lots of fruit, latkes with apple and mango chutney (now I was glad for the faux Jewishness; I effing LOVE latkes), and about a thousand pieces of brie.

Mmmmm, delicious. Oh, and check the cupcakes - fabulous!

The reception took place in the winery, in a room called the "art" gallery. Here's a brief virtual tour.

First, the wall o' Thomas Kincaid inspired paint-by-numbers:

Second, a colorful cock. Impressionist? Maybe. Art? Absatively.

And finally, the wall o' household pets.

It sort of made me feel at home! I especially liked the kitties.

I noted that had he been able to go at the last minute, there actually was no seat for my husband. My real husband, not Hairdresser Smurf. At least he wasn't seated beside me, thank gawd, but just nearby enough that I could hear his "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" every so often.

I was really pretty happy. 'Zilla had been overall pretty pleasant (to me, at least), and the reception was nice. Groom's family and friends were all soooo nice and friendly, too, so overall, it was a pretty nice time. Oh, and look at our cute toes!

That's me on the right with the huge fucking flippers. The blue pedicure was compulsory, but I was okay with that because I like goofy nail polish.

And yes, that's 'Zilla in the middle. And yes, that's an......anklet. Pardon my French.

MOH even gave a lovely toast, which was an enormous relief because it made me feel like I was off the hook. I really tried to come up with something, but it just wouldn't happen. Perhaps I could have said something like, "My feelings on this occasion are too extensive to share with you right now, because I'm sure these two wanna get back to their room some time before next week. *pause for laughter* But if you'd like to see my thoughts on the beautiful union we saw this morning, please visit jeannie hyphen baby dot blog spot dot com. Cheers."

No, it's probably good I didn't say anything.

So we ate and drank and mingled. Here's the part where my desire to strangle 'Zilla was renewed with a vengeance. However, it requires more background.

'Zilla has, as you know, been friends with MOH for many years. She has also been close friends and fuckbuddies with both of MOH's brothers (ew). Consequently, she is close with the entire family and calls MOH's parents "Mom" and "Dad." Oddly, "Mom" and "Dad" weren't invited to the wedding. They were, however, invited to the after-party at Paddy's bar (recall, it's attached to the winery, by the inn) along with all the other people who were not important enough to get invited to the wedding but were still expected to send gifts.

(By the way, did I tell you 'Zilla registered at NINE different places? NINE? For a 25 guest wedding? And that she registered for three $150 wine chillers and three $80 immersion blenders? I thought this had to be a mistake until I began to obsessively watch Bridezillas on WE and read wedding horror stories, and I discovered that many brides register for high-dollar items multiple times hoping to get one to keep and one to return for cash or store credit. I'm not saying necessarily that's what happened here, but...would you put it past her?)

(Also, I think I forgot to tell you that she registered for Guitar Hero World Tour. Who registers for a $200 video game????? Whatever. Maybe I just don't get it. Whatever.)

Okay, so MOH's mom got an invite to the "you're not invited" party, not the wedding. So 'Zilla's telling some Milwaukee guest about how close she is with MOH's fam, and MOH and I are standing right there, and 'Zilla's raised her eyebrows, pointed her nose in the air and said,

"It's a shame MOH's mom couldn't be here for her favorite daughter's wedding!"

What a dick thing to say. Good fucking god.

I made the most horrible hateful gargoyle face I could muster and just stared at her. I wanted to kick her and push her down and pee on her and tell everyone that the short guy at that table over there who introduced 'Zilla to Groom two years ago was actually her fuckbuddy at the time, and even though she isn't really very good friends with him (more like just co-workers) she saw fit to invite him to their wedding and never tell Groom the truth about their "relationship."

As people began to depart, MOH and I cleared up the tables and packed up the cake plates. We got our stuff from the suite and tidied it up for the newlyweds. Then we headed back to the golf villas to nap until the "you weren't invited" party at Paddy's.

Oh, here's another reason Chateau Elan is so overrated. We had a nice villa to nap in because Groom's brother's fam's was paid for through Monday even though they were leaving Sunday afternoon. Why, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. Chateau Elan has a three-night minimum at the golf villas!


Whatever. Of course they do. Of course they do.

So they were heading out, and gave us their keys so we could nap and hang out til the "you weren't invited" party, which I think only one person who wasn't already there for the wedding actually came to.

I suppose I should tell you about this "you're not invited" party. Know how when people have like a destination wedding, or they elope, they sometimes throw a big party for all their friends and family afterwards? This is sort of like that, only the "destination" was 45 minutes from Atlanta and the party was 7 hours after the ceremony.

Interestingly, the invitation to the "you're not invited" party came from 'Zilla's cat. The cat discussed how even he wasn't invited to the wedding, and he wasn't offended, so you shouldn't be either. The cat also said,

"As I am a cat and don't have any pockets, I cannot carry a wallet. Do I need to spell that out any more???"

MOH's poor dear mother, who does not drink alcohol or go to bars (facts known to 'Zilla, but apparently not to her cat), was invited to the "you're not invited" party. Upon receipt of the invitation, MOH's mother called MOH and asked her, "Did I just get an invitation to a bar? And am I correct that the invitation came from a cat? And....did the cat tell me to bring my wallet?"

That would be yes, yes, and.....yes.

So anyway, the "you're not invited" party was held at Paddy's sports bar at the resort.

At Paddy's, I had two hot chocolates with peppermint Schnapps at $7.75 each and longed for Athens.

Because I am not such a bitch, I am not going to post any photos of 'Zilla in her party dress, but I will give you a good idea. It reminded me of Uhura's dress

But make it sleeveless, low-cut, shiny, and paired with knee-high hooker boots.

And, um, like, not as flattering.

The Paddy's staff was very nice, and gave 'Zilla and Groom this lovely cake

They even drizzled the plate with festively diseased sperm.

Like the rest of the resort, Paddy's was very affordable.

Five dollars for a Corona?????

I would not pay five dollars for a Corona if it were the last beer on earth.

Similarly, I would not "hang out" with Upstairs Neighbor if he were the last single guy on earth. I am going to break my rule on posting pictures of people I'm making fun of because Upstairs Neighbor is just SUCH a butthole. Here is a photo of him with Hairdresser Smurf, whose face I have obscured because he really was very nice.

[Oh, I deleted it. I felt bad, and I feared getting sued somehow. But suffice it to say, he's not exactly a catch.]


Oh! I almost forgot to tell you about College Roommate. 'Zilla's College Roommate was telling MOH some story or other that I wasn't paying attention to when I distinctly hear her say, "I mean, it was a total n***er party!"

Thinking this was not the appropriate occasion for a confrontation (this is how white people like to rationalize their cowardly behavior), I excused myself for another trip to the bar.

I did think, though, that I should introduce her to Upstairs Neighbor. I think they'd get along quite well, and astonishingly, they're both single! Whaddya know.

I decided to visit with 'Zilla for a little bit, and I asked if Photographer would be joining us for the "you're not invited party." She said no, he wouldn't be. Then she explained to me that she chose him over my wedding photographer because he did a much better job touching up her friend's wedding photos than my photographer had done touching up mine.

I was not previously aware that my wedding photos needed touching up. As far as I can tell, I wore garments that fit me properly, and I SMILED all the time because I was HAPPY unlike this fucking sourpuss.

Later on, MOH and I were chatting with Groom's sweetie pie mother, when Hairdresser Smurf approached me looking uncharacteristically serious.

"I've just been over there watching you, standing there looking like a model. You're just so beautiful. It's really a shame your husband isn't here to see you right now. He's missing out by not being here to see you looking so sexy and beautiful. I'm not hitting on you though," he assured me.

"Oh, um, okay," I said for the zillionth time.

"You're married," he reminded me.

"Um, yep," I replied.

"So, I'm just saying, I mean, I'm just telling you you look beautiful. That's all."

"Oh, um, okay," for the zillion and oneth time.

I decided it was time to make my escape.

I made the rounds and said my thank-yous and great-t0-meetchas. I patted Hairdresser Smurf on the shoulder and said it had been so nice to meet him, and thanks so much for all your help making my hair look good this morning.


"Hey no, seriously, stop by my salon, and I'll give you a complimentary cut. No joke, seriously. Just make an appointment, and when you get there, I'll comp you, for real, on me, serious. Just stop by, and no charge, because I think you're a nice person, and I like your hair. For real, promise, here's my card, no charge, okay, you know, you're in school, and I'm for real, I think you're a nice person, so seriously, complimentary, just any time, make an appointment, okay?" he said.

"Okay, you betcha!" I said. He didn't need to remind me again. I'll take a free $70 haircut any time from any Smurf, thankyouverymuch.

MOH walked with me as I booked it to the car. We hugged and thanked one another for helping preserve our small shreds of sanity and rejoiced that it was finally all over. I drove home, went to bed, and slept for 13 hours.

I had anticipated breaking off my relationship with 'Zilla when this was over with, but now I'm not so sure.

And quit making that face at me.

I will, however, definitely be taking a break and distancing myself from her quite a bit.

I think I have to keep knowing her. I cannot WAIT to see the wretched hellspawn they produce.

What a blog that'll be!


UPDATE: A little research on the vows.

I decided there was just no freaking way that they actually "wrote" those vows and that ceremony speech, so I did a little googling. Apparently by "wrote," 'Zilla meant "cobbled together traditional ceremonies from various cultures."

And that's fine, but just say so, jeez.

First, the honeycomb. I read that it's from Brehonic wedding vows (I no haz idea what "Brehonic" is) on this website.

This is the vow in its entirety -

"You cannot posses me for I belong to myself
But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give
You cannot command me for I am a free person
But I shall serve you in those ways you require
And the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand
I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night
And the eyes into which I smile in the morning
I pledge to you the first bite from my meat
And the first drink from my cup
I pledge to you my living and my dying, equally in your care
And tell no strangers our grievances
This is my wedding vow to you
This is a marriage of equals."

After the fact, I was greatly disappointed that they didn't use the whole thing. After all, what could be better than "I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night"? Not a damn thing, that's what.

I found this part in a Celtic Handfasting Ceremony here -

"The law of life is: Love unto all beings. Without love, life is nothing, without love, death has no redemption. Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, the initial creation and the exponent of the earth. If we learn no more in life, let it be this."

But you remember that in our ceremony, "exponent" didn't make the cut.

And this part in another Handfasting Ceremony here -

"Above you the stars, below you the stones. As time passes, remember this: Like a stone your love should be firm; be close, yet not so close that you restrict one another. Have patience with each other for storms may come, but they will quickly go."

Now these are all nice and fancy and happy and good (except the honeycomb part. I feel cheated that they didn't say the what's-my-naaaaame-bitch line!), but they most certainly did not "write" their own vows.

Just sayin'.


Miss C said...

I wish I had pictures! PLEASE post them if you ever get them. What did your dress look like?

BTW, my gay roommate (who you met one night at Blind Pig. He reminded me of this while dropping his jaw throughout the whole thing!) says both Hairdresser Smurf and Photog are gay! There is no doubt!

Roommate also says thanks for the good laugh!

Mary said...

Please always write... but not about my upcoming wedding.

Reagan said...

What a freakin' funhouse!!! And...MUST.HAVE.PICTURES.