My best friend got married a few weeks ago and I was the maid of honor. It was an awesome weekend filled with car towing, scotch drinking, falling, fighting, dancing, and police intervention. Let's recap that weekend, shall we?
Wednesday morning, 8am: Rad Boyfriend and I walk out of my house in San Diego and realize my car is not where I left it. I call the police and they inform me that it's been towed. After 2 hours of phone calls, emails, faxes and tears, RB drives me to work, picks me up later, then drives me to the airport. And all without complaint.
Wednesday night, 11pm: My red-eye to NY is full, RB comes back to the airport to pick me up.
Thursday morning, 4:45am: Cab comes to pick me up and drive me to the airport, where I am told the chances of getting on a flight are slim. I somehow get to Atlanta, and then to NY.
Thursday afternoon: Exhausted and hungry, I arrive at what used to be my childhood home, but is now virtually a brand new house--new kitchen, new bathroom, new floors, new windows, new cabinets, new everything. I am immediately put to work cleaning.
Friday morning: I walk downstairs in my robe and nearly give our contractor a heart attack as he looks awkwardly at my mother, then back to me, then decides the best thing to do is to turn his body completely away from me. Laughter ensues. More cleaning. I spend 3 hours at the DMV. I come home, eat, and resume cleaning the house in preparation for the 20 people we will have over before the wedding the next day. Meanwhile, back in San Diego, Extremely Rad Boyfriend is at the tow yard with the million documents I've sent him, getting my car back for me. (Have I mentioned how awesome he is?)
Friday evening, 9:30pm: Exhausted and filthy, I go get my nails done and practically fall asleep in the pedicure chair. Chinese food at my house with the bridesmaids, all of whom are sleeping over, makes me so tired that I can't keep my eyes open. We finally all get to bed at midnight.
Saturday morning, the big day: I wake up to find that everyone else has been up for over an hour and a half. I take a shower and rush to the salon where everyone is getting their hair and makeup done. We spend 3 hours getting washed, blown, straightened, curled, sprayed, brushed, lined, and photographed. Back at the house, the bride's family arrives as the 7 girls try to get ready in 2 bedrooms. It is a veritable mess of safety pins, hair spray, tears, mascara, tape, heels, bags, bobby pins, and people. People everywhere: photographer people, bridesmaid people, family people, little people (as in children, I wasn't that lucky!!) and more People.
Saturday afternoon: It's pouring rain. The bride is surprisingly calm about all the People and photographers and big wet drops falling from the sky. As the 3pm hour of the ceremony draws near, the People start to leave. We receive multiple phone calls from the groom telling us that the wedding before theirs is running super late, and not to leave yet. Learning that we have at least another 20 minutes, the bride hitches up her skirt and goes upstairs to collect her belongings. She returns with 3 bags on each arm and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, which she proceeds to drink straight from the bottle. We look around nervously for the photographer. The limo driver is waiting patiently under an umbrella in the pouring rain. We get the call that it's ok to leave, and we get on our way. The limo driver takes us one by one from the front door in the pouring rain and into the waiting limo--the limo that has marble floors. As everyone steps in with their heels, one by one we trip and fall. Hilarity ensues. The limo driver begins to pull away when I remember I've forgotten my speech, the reading I'm supposed to do in church, on the kitchen table. In a series of awkward turns that sends all of us flying around the back of the limo, we get back to my house.... only to find that someone has locked both doors (to which I have keys) and the screen door (to which I do not have a key.) "FUCK!" is the only thing I can say. Someone suggests I read the passage from my iPhone. "FUCK!" turns into "Fuck it." And that's what I end up doing.
In the next installment of this story, I will introduce to you the groomsmen, the priest, the catering staff at the reception hall, and the police.
To be continued.....