Finally took Wendy and Rich off hiatus. Happy now?
So, the recap of Tripp and Trish's wedding weekend. Tripp and Trish getting married is not at all about me. But this is my blog, which is all about me. So there's going to be a bit of self-absorption. It's a shock, I know.
Also, this shit is mine -- there's a copyright and everything. This'll be in my chick-lit book or no ones. If I see any of these stories in anyone else's book, I'll come after you.
Anyway. This'll be long. You have been warned.
The background
Tripp and I dated for a while, and lived together for about two years. The living together thing was trying to figure out whether we were supposed to be together, and it was always a possibility that we weren't. When we broke up, it was because we both wanted to -- we figured out we were friends but not meant to be anything more than that. When he and Trish got engaged, however, it was a little weird -- not because I wanted to marry him, but if I was going to die alone and be eaten by my cats, the least he could do is die alone too. Ain't spite fun?
The prepwork
What, exactly, does one wear to an amicable ex-boyfriend's wedding? What sort of painful feminine grooming rituals should you undertake? Because your going in on a somewhat defensive note. You want to look good, so people don't look at you and say "Well duh, of course he dumped you," but you don't want to look too good, so you look like you're trying too hard to say "Look at me! I'm gorgeous! I was the best thing that ever happened to him! Look, I've got tits and everything!"Ditto the personal grooming rituals. Eyebrow and (god help me) lip wax? Yes -- you want to put your best face forward. Bikini wax? That's not something one should be planning on putting forward at all.
I went to my favorite store for a kick-ass outfit that made me look fabulous without looking like I was trying. I also had the sort of Massively Supportive Undergarments (MSU) that makes one look somewhat less lumpy. This becomes important later.
The journey
Tripp and Trish were getting married in Trish's hometown, which I, as an arrogant urban Yankee, will refer to as "Middle of Nowhere Virginia." I could have flown into Roanoke, or I could fly much cheaper into DC and drive down with Shannon and Todd. Shannon, (who introduced me to Tripp, and was another of his ex-girlfriends) bonded with me over wardrobe issues and ended up advising me against the faboo outfit I found, which involved a sweater and would be too hot. In turn, I advised her against the fire-engine-red short halter dress that would cause heart attacks amongst the clergy. I went with plan B, a forties-esque skirt and shirt that I'd worn before. (Yes, I had a plan C as well. Yes, this means I took three potential wedding outfits with me. Yes, this completely undermines the idea that I realize this wedding was not about me. Get over it.)
The Blessed Event
We got a little lost driving down to the hotel, so I had to rush to get gorgeous (but not too gorgeous). I shared a room with Jane and Sarah, so we drove out to the church together, joking about potential "woman-scorned" actions I could take. Would I stand up and object? Would I interrupt the vows? Would I throw peanuts? Would I seduce a groomsman? The possibilities were endless, and amusing to consider. No, of course I didn't plan on carrying any of them out. I'm genuinely happy for Tripp and Trish, and I think they're great together, and I always wanted Tripp to be happy, and god knows I wouldn't want to marry him -- we'd kill each other. But still, there was the weird "I am an ex-girlfriend" vibe, and, while I try to be a decent human being, I also have been known to be bitchy. Hey, at least I wasn't wearing white...
We were among the last ones to get there, so we were in the last pew. Again, this becomes important.
The ceremony was very Tripp and Trish -- laid-back, funny, spontaneous, full of people who mattered to them. The homily obliquely mentioned me, which was odd. The vows involved ass-grabbery at the altar, which again isn't something Tripp should probably put on his resume. No one was smote, so God must have a similar sense of humor.
The Wardrobe malfunction
The pews has velvet-esque cushions, cushions that had a little bit of stick to them. This, I think, contributed to what came after.
After the ceremony, we were ushered out row by row, so we were among the last out of the church. Sarah, Jane and I paused to sign the guest book, so really, there were very few people behind us. Which was good, because when I stepped out of the church, onto the steps, and suddenly the waistband of my skirt is around my ankles.
Let me reiterate: I'm standing on the steps of a Baptist church, in Middle of Nowhere Virginia, as my ex-boyfriend and his new bride embark on their new lives, and my skirt is puddled around my feet. Apparently, the Massively Supportive Undergarments smoothed out a few of the bumps that my skirt, which wasn't terribly tight to begin with, usually perched upon. With those lumpy bits squished and covered with a slick fabric, I think every time I moved on the church bench, the velvet gripped my skirt and sent it inching downwards. I don't know what finally made it leap, lemming-like, off my ass as I exited the church, but there it was. Maybe I should have reconsidered that bikini wax....
Jane was among the (god, I hope) very few who witnessed this debacle, and she, of course, thought it was both hysterical and appropriate. I swear to god, it wasn't an editorial comment. But it was so terribly me, humiliating and funny, to have happen. So, um, congrats, guys -- here's a view of my underwear. Whee!
After that, what could I possibly do but drink copiously and dance? I'd already covered making a fool out of myself, so I might as well have fun.
The party
After repairing to the hotel room for some judicious safety-pin application, it was time to party. Great buffet, lots of cool people, a full dance floor, and the general insanity that comes from these sort of things.
Tripp's family has always struck me as, how shall I put this, out there. Loud, funny, no filter, willing to say exactly what they thought at any given time, and very willing to mix you a very, very stiff cocktail. Obviously, I adore them. Compared to Trish's family, they're mute teetotaling accountants with early bedtimes and weak stomachs. Trish's family is nuts, and I mean that in the best possible way. They ruled the dance floor, performed dances I would have thought would be illegal in Middle of Nowhere Virginia, and basically had a blast. God help you if you got in their way. As an Arrogant Urban Yankee, I could have done without the not one, but two renditions of the electric slide, and I'm not sure I was able to fully appreciate the Toby Keith lip-sync, but you couldn't help but love how much fun everyone was having. This led to much frenzied dancing on my part, more than a little wine consumption, hanging out and talking with great people I hadn't seen in far too long (such as Rich, Megan, Damaris, Scott, Jen, John, Judy, Papa Hudgins, Ann and so many others), and generally making a fool out of myself. It also led to much paranoid checking of safety pin integrity, but everything held. Phew.
The Afterparty
This being a Hudgins/Austin affair, there was drunken debauchery after the official event was over. Papa Hudgins had a suite, and he played bartender to the exhausted, inebriated masses. (Damn, that man knows how to mix a drink.) We sat around talking, drinking, mocking each other, catching up, and generally enjoying ourselves. At about 1 a.m., I staggered back to the room for a much deserved, and apparently snoreless, sleep.
The morning after
I should have had a hell of a hangover. Apparently Chaser works. Who knew?
Still, it was good to indulge in the traditional post-booze breakfast of champions: Eggs, biscuits and copious salty meat products. Thank you, oh noble pig, for giving us bacon. Rich, Lesley, Shannon, Todd, Megan, Priscilla and I (and later Tripp) had the typical Gilbert-and-Sullivan-sprinkled, non-sequitorious, rambling conversation that ranged from the proper philosophical questions to propose at a Thinking-and-Drinking party (I have decided I love Megan's friends, none of whom I have met), to what would happen if you had an alpaca ranch next to a drag-racing strip. (I think it would cut down on your workload: The first rev would surprise the alpacas so much that they'd just loose their hair, and you could wander around the fields knitting sweaters for race fans.) This is what we talk about. I love my friends.
Then a sleepy drive back to Shannon and Todd's place,a quick pillage of Todd's music collection, the mechanics of fantasy football explained, and a couple of TV shows watched and recapped. Life was good.
Now back to real life, trying to get articles done and ideas sold and editing out of the way. Congrats to Tripp and Trish, who are currently away on their honeymoon at a house with heated floors. And god, it was good to see everyone again.
So, the recap of Tripp and Trish's wedding weekend. Tripp and Trish getting married is not at all about me. But this is my blog, which is all about me. So there's going to be a bit of self-absorption. It's a shock, I know.
Also, this shit is mine -- there's a copyright and everything. This'll be in my chick-lit book or no ones. If I see any of these stories in anyone else's book, I'll come after you.
Anyway. This'll be long. You have been warned.
The background
Tripp and I dated for a while, and lived together for about two years. The living together thing was trying to figure out whether we were supposed to be together, and it was always a possibility that we weren't. When we broke up, it was because we both wanted to -- we figured out we were friends but not meant to be anything more than that. When he and Trish got engaged, however, it was a little weird -- not because I wanted to marry him, but if I was going to die alone and be eaten by my cats, the least he could do is die alone too. Ain't spite fun?
The prepwork
What, exactly, does one wear to an amicable ex-boyfriend's wedding? What sort of painful feminine grooming rituals should you undertake? Because your going in on a somewhat defensive note. You want to look good, so people don't look at you and say "Well duh, of course he dumped you," but you don't want to look too good, so you look like you're trying too hard to say "Look at me! I'm gorgeous! I was the best thing that ever happened to him! Look, I've got tits and everything!"Ditto the personal grooming rituals. Eyebrow and (god help me) lip wax? Yes -- you want to put your best face forward. Bikini wax? That's not something one should be planning on putting forward at all.
I went to my favorite store for a kick-ass outfit that made me look fabulous without looking like I was trying. I also had the sort of Massively Supportive Undergarments (MSU) that makes one look somewhat less lumpy. This becomes important later.
The journey
Tripp and Trish were getting married in Trish's hometown, which I, as an arrogant urban Yankee, will refer to as "Middle of Nowhere Virginia." I could have flown into Roanoke, or I could fly much cheaper into DC and drive down with Shannon and Todd. Shannon, (who introduced me to Tripp, and was another of his ex-girlfriends) bonded with me over wardrobe issues and ended up advising me against the faboo outfit I found, which involved a sweater and would be too hot. In turn, I advised her against the fire-engine-red short halter dress that would cause heart attacks amongst the clergy. I went with plan B, a forties-esque skirt and shirt that I'd worn before. (Yes, I had a plan C as well. Yes, this means I took three potential wedding outfits with me. Yes, this completely undermines the idea that I realize this wedding was not about me. Get over it.)
The Blessed Event
We got a little lost driving down to the hotel, so I had to rush to get gorgeous (but not too gorgeous). I shared a room with Jane and Sarah, so we drove out to the church together, joking about potential "woman-scorned" actions I could take. Would I stand up and object? Would I interrupt the vows? Would I throw peanuts? Would I seduce a groomsman? The possibilities were endless, and amusing to consider. No, of course I didn't plan on carrying any of them out. I'm genuinely happy for Tripp and Trish, and I think they're great together, and I always wanted Tripp to be happy, and god knows I wouldn't want to marry him -- we'd kill each other. But still, there was the weird "I am an ex-girlfriend" vibe, and, while I try to be a decent human being, I also have been known to be bitchy. Hey, at least I wasn't wearing white...
We were among the last ones to get there, so we were in the last pew. Again, this becomes important.
The ceremony was very Tripp and Trish -- laid-back, funny, spontaneous, full of people who mattered to them. The homily obliquely mentioned me, which was odd. The vows involved ass-grabbery at the altar, which again isn't something Tripp should probably put on his resume. No one was smote, so God must have a similar sense of humor.
The Wardrobe malfunction
The pews has velvet-esque cushions, cushions that had a little bit of stick to them. This, I think, contributed to what came after.
After the ceremony, we were ushered out row by row, so we were among the last out of the church. Sarah, Jane and I paused to sign the guest book, so really, there were very few people behind us. Which was good, because when I stepped out of the church, onto the steps, and suddenly the waistband of my skirt is around my ankles.
Let me reiterate: I'm standing on the steps of a Baptist church, in Middle of Nowhere Virginia, as my ex-boyfriend and his new bride embark on their new lives, and my skirt is puddled around my feet. Apparently, the Massively Supportive Undergarments smoothed out a few of the bumps that my skirt, which wasn't terribly tight to begin with, usually perched upon. With those lumpy bits squished and covered with a slick fabric, I think every time I moved on the church bench, the velvet gripped my skirt and sent it inching downwards. I don't know what finally made it leap, lemming-like, off my ass as I exited the church, but there it was. Maybe I should have reconsidered that bikini wax....
Jane was among the (god, I hope) very few who witnessed this debacle, and she, of course, thought it was both hysterical and appropriate. I swear to god, it wasn't an editorial comment. But it was so terribly me, humiliating and funny, to have happen. So, um, congrats, guys -- here's a view of my underwear. Whee!
After that, what could I possibly do but drink copiously and dance? I'd already covered making a fool out of myself, so I might as well have fun.
The party
After repairing to the hotel room for some judicious safety-pin application, it was time to party. Great buffet, lots of cool people, a full dance floor, and the general insanity that comes from these sort of things.
Tripp's family has always struck me as, how shall I put this, out there. Loud, funny, no filter, willing to say exactly what they thought at any given time, and very willing to mix you a very, very stiff cocktail. Obviously, I adore them. Compared to Trish's family, they're mute teetotaling accountants with early bedtimes and weak stomachs. Trish's family is nuts, and I mean that in the best possible way. They ruled the dance floor, performed dances I would have thought would be illegal in Middle of Nowhere Virginia, and basically had a blast. God help you if you got in their way. As an Arrogant Urban Yankee, I could have done without the not one, but two renditions of the electric slide, and I'm not sure I was able to fully appreciate the Toby Keith lip-sync, but you couldn't help but love how much fun everyone was having. This led to much frenzied dancing on my part, more than a little wine consumption, hanging out and talking with great people I hadn't seen in far too long (such as Rich, Megan, Damaris, Scott, Jen, John, Judy, Papa Hudgins, Ann and so many others), and generally making a fool out of myself. It also led to much paranoid checking of safety pin integrity, but everything held. Phew.
The Afterparty
This being a Hudgins/Austin affair, there was drunken debauchery after the official event was over. Papa Hudgins had a suite, and he played bartender to the exhausted, inebriated masses. (Damn, that man knows how to mix a drink.) We sat around talking, drinking, mocking each other, catching up, and generally enjoying ourselves. At about 1 a.m., I staggered back to the room for a much deserved, and apparently snoreless, sleep.
The morning after
I should have had a hell of a hangover. Apparently Chaser works. Who knew?
Still, it was good to indulge in the traditional post-booze breakfast of champions: Eggs, biscuits and copious salty meat products. Thank you, oh noble pig, for giving us bacon. Rich, Lesley, Shannon, Todd, Megan, Priscilla and I (and later Tripp) had the typical Gilbert-and-Sullivan-sprinkled, non-sequitorious, rambling conversation that ranged from the proper philosophical questions to propose at a Thinking-and-Drinking party (I have decided I love Megan's friends, none of whom I have met), to what would happen if you had an alpaca ranch next to a drag-racing strip. (I think it would cut down on your workload: The first rev would surprise the alpacas so much that they'd just loose their hair, and you could wander around the fields knitting sweaters for race fans.) This is what we talk about. I love my friends.
Then a sleepy drive back to Shannon and Todd's place,a quick pillage of Todd's music collection, the mechanics of fantasy football explained, and a couple of TV shows watched and recapped. Life was good.
Now back to real life, trying to get articles done and ideas sold and editing out of the way. Congrats to Tripp and Trish, who are currently away on their honeymoon at a house with heated floors. And god, it was good to see everyone again.
posted by SAJ at
7:56 PM
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