Sweet + Relief - A Wedding Weekend 10.6.02
You have been waiting with anticipation for this moment.
You want to know all about the wedding weekend. You want to share the romance with me and come into the tunnel of love with nothing but a torch and a smile. Edge of your seat, wiping the salivation from your lightly whiskered chin. Yeah, it's also time to shave. Or bleach, in the case of some people. Don't worry, I've always thought the little peach fuzz was sexy, hon.
But, I won't delay you any more. The great adventure came to an end. Of sorts. My dear friend Matt is now a married man. Which he makes me realize is not at all the end of the adventure, it's a beginning. I'm going to tell you all about it.
I can't even believe I'm writing that line, Matt is Married. *!* That's just silly, he's too young. His wife is too cool. Not for him. That's not what I mean. But for this institution of marriage. It's like... fun, exciting. It gives me hope. I'm excited to get married too, I want to throw a party and be the guest of honor and wear fancy lad clothes and have people watch me make out with my bitch.
Okay, my wedding counselor told me that's the first step to a successful string of dates which lead to expensive rings and a reason to vacation in Aruba, with the "playas". And one day I will remove the word "bitch" from of my vocab.
We did dinner in White Plains a/k/a the Cracker Flats a/k/a the Pale Savannah, with the families, the two groomsmen and myself, the best man. Also in attendance were the bridesmaids, their boyfriends, Matt's sister, her boyfriend... and a waitress who asked "how could ya hate De-rek Je-tah?" (That's how, bitch. Dammit, I did it again.)
Around a table of food and a whole lot of conversation, where I made fun of groomsman Corey-- who conveniently looks like Joe/ Joey McIntyre, the littlest New Kid on The Block. Most recently seen singing gospel songs. Soon to be seen as the new drama laden teacher on everyone's ludicrous favorite, Boston Public. Luckily for me, Corey also is a schoolteacher. Easy cracks flew. he was a little flustered.
On the nerdy side of the table, Pete and I acquainted ourselves with another Pete and Nghi (sp? sounds like Ne-hay, I think) over every bad horror/ 2 AM soft core movie we could think up.
That required a decompression period. We went home.
I was picked up by the groom himself at a station named Graystone on the Hudson line of the Metro-North. Or Grayskull. Or Graymalkin. This is a ride I recommend to everyone, especially to Holiday, who will wax poetic about it one day in Harper's or Esquire. All you see across the gleaming Hudson are cliff faces from Jersey, densely covered in trees. Sailboats, sunlight, and soon, foliage. It's a ridiculous view.
And dressed at the hotel. Also beautiful. I don't receive an endorsement fee from them, and I am not into free name dropping. Hint. Hint. Holiday.
Fast-forward through standing around, and photos where Pete/ Corey/ Pico cannot stop cracking jokes and falling over ourselves laughing. We're cool mellow fellows.
Until this Pico sees people come in.
I start to fret over everything. The speech in my pocket which I decided in the morning I hated; the rings in Angie's hands; the way I looked in a tuxedo; the fact that I was really the ONLY single person at the wedding. Wait, there was also Pete. That's NOT what I was looking for. And my aisle-walking consort Jessica was also sweating a little, and we're in a small white room peeking looks at people filing into the hall. We've been blessed with some munchies to keep us from passing out and some water to keep the cottonmouth at bay. This whole procession thing is taking too long, and we've only run through it once; there is a small aisle and what if we trip? What if someone sneezes real hard? It's outdoors, what if we can hear a passing train? What if some jealous ex-lover is barreling down route 9 intent on breaking up the wedding?
Corey/ Pete/ Pico cannot smile anymore. We've all got the jitters. And Corey's already married. He's been through it! Unlike me...
But there we are, Jessica and I, arm in arm, a pair of horn players (yes, I was so nervous I couldn't tell you if they were playing the oboe or the skin flute) rocking out the wedding march. It's six in the evening; the sun is beginning to lay down towards the western horizon, over the cliffs. The water is shimmering less but blue and dotted with sailboats and turning over with gentle froth. Birds are nearby, the sounds of the upstairs party are over. Three columns of seats on each side of the aisle stretch about 25 deep and a white paper carpet covers the grassy stretch between us and the reverend at the altar.
It's about 65 degrees, enough for a slight chill but also decent for those in sleeveless dresses. Corey, Pete follow with their bridesmaids, Nghi and Greta; Matt and parents; Angie and parents.
Wedding stuff happens. I present the rings. Shaking imperceptibly. No one notices.
I present a glass for Matt to step on. Actually, it's not a glass, it's a light bulb. I won't get into all that. It's symbolic, after all.
And as they kiss, I notice the purple ridges of clouds in the distance, the eyes of the bridesmaids, and I cannot help but smile my ass off.
As an aside, if any of you want to set me up with one of your cute friends, which (once I get my school crap all settled) I of course welcome... with open arms, not an open fly, you dirtballs... I want you to know I don't actually use the word bitch. I just thought it would be an excellent mood lightener.