The wedding extravaganza began two Thursdays ago, with a trip to the courthouse with my special lady and her fambly--her mother having travelled from Australia, her father coming from Nicaragua, and her sister having a comparably shorter trip from Los Angeles. Of course, the father did not have a cell phone and tracking him down on the streets of Arlington was a bit of a challenge, but it worked out--the legal side of everything was taken care of, and we were officiated by an attorney and standup comedian whose law office was next door to Jerry's Subs and Pizza. Romantical it sure was!
With final errands put together and meeting my own fambly for dinner that evening, the next day came upon us with the infamous rehearsal. As with all rehearsals, it was choppy and left me wondering if things would come together better on the big day (they did--people somehow seem to get their rhythm in the key moment). Shortly, the whole gang--wedding party, musicians, MC, and families--were off to a fancy dinner nearby. Unfortunately, the restaurant could not give us our private room right away--another party had arrived an hour late for their own reservation and were still lingering despite having the check paid and finished all food. At one point, a particularly rude woman at the table made a snide comment about our hovering.
This was the point where the ole "rage cauldron" began to bubble up, which would shortly lead to an embarrassing incident involving table jumping and untoward actions that could ruin the night. As it happened, it didn't come to that as my sister in law managed to convince management to drive these squatters out of there pronto, with what threat, I do not know. But we did seat, about a half hour late, and began our meal.
Toasts were exchanged, food was eaten and wine drunk, and afterwards it was time to head down to the bar to meet friends for drinkage. Out of nowhere, some drunk dude grabs my special lady as if to kiss her. Eek! As my feebled brain tried to process this in the mere seconds that passed, a friend of mine with lightning quick reflexes grabs the drunk guy by the throat and pulls him back, informing the bouncer that the guy needed to go. It was a bit surreal, and we soon left ourselves. For wedding tradition, I headed back by Metro alone to the apartment that night--it was around 2 AM.
Of course, I'm pretty tired and drunk at this point, and fall asleep on the Metro. I am awoken by the conductor who tells me it's the end of the line--which, due to track maintenance, would that night be at Stadium Armory (four stops from my stop). Fortunately for me, I'm able to simply take the last train of the night back in my direction (though from there I could have walked if necessary) and thanking my lucky stars that the Metro wasn't going its normal full route that night--otherwise, I'd have awoken out in Largo, likely after the last train back to the city had left, and without adequate cab fare. Eek!
Wedding day comes, and I cure the old hangover with brunch with friends, and run final errands (desserts, etc.) before heading to the hotel to put on tux, get photos with the gang, and start the ceremony. Turnout is great--only one no-show, and we're at total capacity--and the ceremony goes off without a problem. Everyone looks great--especially my new wife, whose dress was kept hidden from me for months--and the ceremony is brief and flawless. Next step--getting over 90 people (many infirm!) from the cereomony location to the reception in short time, while having formal photos taken with party and famblies.
Photos start going well (we even got some shots of the guys in tuxedoes with a football, as a reference to cult classic "The Room"), we get the couple, the rings, the wedding party, my fambly, and now . . . wait, her mom took one of the shuttles to the reception already, before photos? Eek! A phone call is made, she's put back on a return shuttle, we get the photos, and off to the races! The long-planned reception . . .