From Her Perspective

As everyone who graduated high school before the millennium knows, this time of year is prime wedding season.  Every weekend is expensive, every weekend you have to dress up, every weekend you get incredibly drunk and dance like a jerk in front of your buddy’s grandma.  These past few weeks have been no different for me, but what made this last wedding I went to extra special was that the two nerds who got married were college friends, who have been together since before I started squeezing into black pants with no pockets every Friday and Saturday night.  So it meant a lot that we were all still friends, that they were still in love, and that people from all over the country got to spend some time together and pretend like we were still able to sleep until noon everyday and get carded at the liquor store with no irony.

The wedding itself was really beautiful and the ceremony was sweet and simple.  I cried my fake eyelashes off about fifteen minutes in, which is strange for me since I usually reserve wedding tears for couples that mean a lot to me, like when I’m watching A Wedding Story (um, what happened to that show?).  Maybe I was still drunk from the beers I had had that afternoon with my girlfriends who flew in from DC and California, who knows.  But I think it’s because I’m finally mature enough to appreciate how wonderful marriage is and how happy I am for my friends when they find that right person.  Anyway, enough of that.  Let’s get to the real fun.

When we got to the reception, the requisite cocktail hour, rife with delicious little appetizers and Jack Daniels (ah, open bar – how I bless and curse thee), served as a chance for all of us to catch up on what we have been doing, make fun of one another’s outfits, and discuss important things, like how we are all handling Britney Spears’ latest meltdown.  We probably all should have enjoyed the food a little more and the booze a little less, because by the time we came into the main room, we were all falling over in our stilettos and my boyfriend, who hadn’t met most of these people before, was surely thanking his lucky stars that he ended up with a classy broad like me, especially after I started pointing out which guys in the wedding party that were circumcised and which weren’t.  Just kidding!

The thing that is most hilarious about hanging out with college friends (and I am sure that this is the same for you) is that when we get together, we think we’re still 19 years old.  We think that if we start drinking straight vodka out of the bottle, that the only thing that will happen is that we will become ten times funnier and much better dancers.  Yeah, no longer the case.  We probably are better dancers, sure, but I am quite positive that when that wedding video comes back we will never get over the shame of how stupid we looked.  But it was fun, that’s the most important thing.  For a couple of hours, nothing had changed in the past (gulp) ten years.  That is, until the booze really started hitting us.

It was probably around midnight when all hell broke loose.  I say this not knowing what time it actually was, but if I tell you this all went down at 8:30, I feel like you’ll be embarrassed for me.  This one guy we all knew didn’t remember me from college (probably because I was hot then and now, not so much) and after a long conversation that involved my telling him that we don’t have to take our clothes off to have a good time (ten points to whoever gets that reference), he ended up taking off his shoes and throwing them at me.  At the time, it was pretty hilarious, but the shoe-shaped bruises that appeared on my legs the next day were an entirely different matter.  Several circles were formed on the dance floor and many tall, hulking white guys jumped into the middle and showed off their hottest moves.  It was kind of like a Saved by the Bell prom, only more intense. 

When the party was over, it was time for the real party to begin.  Well, not before we walked over to the IHOP across the street from the hotel for some chicken fingers.  Fine, I don’t really remember doing this, but apparently we ended up sitting on the floor in our formal wear, not only eating the chicken fingers, but grilled cheese, French fries and pancakes.  And I have a vague memory of eating something I dropped on the floor.  I’m sure it was fine, right?  Anyway, after we were done I was completely partied out and ended up going home, forgetting that I did so and woke up the next day still hammered and having no idea where I was.

It was such a good time, though I’m not sure my liver can handle another weekend like that for a while.  Even though we’re far away from our glory days, it doesn’t mean we still can’t enjoy ourselves.  And to the beautiful bride and groom, I love you so much, congratulations, and when you’re back from the honeymoon let’s meet at 6B.  Kisses!