Like I said, the wedding this past weekend was a blast. The weather was great, if a bit chilly (I stepped off the plane and was instantly hit with that familiar sting of Lake Erie air and I thought, “Oh, wow. Despite the racial intolerance and conservative political views, I could really stick around the south for a long time. In fact, I wonder what Alabama is like this time of year”). Everything was meticulously planned thereby avoiding the dreaded last minute wedding day disasters. Even the inevitable mistakes were minor and actually just provided some comic relief.
The best man picked me up at the airport and we arrived at the hotel shortly after the groom and his family. After some drinks at the hotel bar we headed to the church in downtown Youngstown in a 4-car caravan of groomsmen, ushers, aunts, uncles, parents, and significant others. Unfortunately the groom was driving the lead car, in which I was riding, and despite the fact that he'd been to the church like 12 times, and despite the fact that we had a Garmin, two blackberries an iPhone and Mapquest directions, we still got lost. The typical expectation heading into a wedding is the groom will somehow be late, forget something, screw something up, or ruin the entire occasion all with the help and influence of the irresponsible and often drunk groomsmen. On this account we were succeeding marvelously.
Luckily, as we were navigating the streets, and just as we were supposed to be there, the groom spotted the church from a block away. Unluckily, a one-way street going the wrong way stood between us and the church, so we just abandoned the cars in the nearest parking lot and made up the difference on foot. Unluckily once again, the groom was retarded and it was the wrong church. So we had to double-time it to make up the difference between wrong church and wrong parking lot again, piled into the caravan, and set out on our aimless tour of downtown Youngstown.
We eventually did find the correct church where we were met with disappointed glares from all those associated with the bride's side of the event, who were all on time, suggesting an unstated verdict of, "We knew this was going to happen." Actually, I think several of them stated that quite clearly.
The rehearsal was remarkable only in it's brevity. We were briefed on several horror stories about the priest, which suggested he was quite the strict pious Catholic hardass. That was very evident from the outset and things were made more difficult when 1). We could barely hear him and 2). He ran through everything so fast we all had no idea what exactly we were to do. Add to that the fact that we were generally behaving like irresponsible and drunk groomsmen, and you can imagine the potential for disaster. I gathered only that I was first to walk down the aisle with my bridesmaid and our signal to proceed was the priest emerging from the room at the front of the church with the groom and best man, bowing, and kissing the alter. Easy enough.
The rehearsal dinner was fantastic, that was, once we finally arrived after getting lost leaving the church. The unrealistic concern that the groom would get cold feet and not show up for the wedding the next day was replaced with the very real concern that the groom would not be able to find the wedding the next day.
Prior to dinner the aunt of the bride was introduced to offer the prayer. There's nothing funny about the prayer other than Bob Seger's Night Moves was playing on the speakers while she was trying to speak.
"Dear Heavenly Father..."
"Working on our night moves!"
"We ask you to bless this food..."
"Working on our night moves!"
Thankfully they quickly cut the music because laughing through the prayer was not the best way for me to endear myself to the bride's family.
The fathers of the groom and bride gave two great toasts after the prayer, followed by a heartfelt toast by the mother of the bride who very sincerely expressed her happiness for the new addition to their family. So much so that I wasn’t really sure she was talking about the same groom I went to Vegas with a few weeks earlier.
After that I got the itch to jump up and give a toast of my own, or perhaps a roast rather, but thankfully the father of the groom saved me the effort by giving one of his own. In front of everyone in attendance he recounted a story of the time the groom was home from college, went out drinking with his high school buddies, somehow made it home only to pass out in front of the computer and get his foot stuck in the printer where his parents later found him. A rather tame story, especially when I could have told a story about the time the groom passed out in Vegas/Windsor/Panama City/Mexico/close-your-eyes-and-pick-a-place-on-the-map, except when your grandparents and future in-laws are present, hearing your father tell a story about your drunken exploits is not ideal. I believe the groom summed it up when he said something to the effect of, “Two minutes ago I was the world’s best fiancé and now I’m a drunken derelict. [Thanks Dad!]”
We then had a great dinner, some more drinks, and received the best groomsman presents ever. While the girls were unwrapping their stupid purses, all the guys received their favorite sports team jersey. Badass.
This is one for the wedding album.
After that, the guys went bowling, which was simultaneously the best and worst idea. Best because bowling is awesome; worst because I bowl like an amputee. Still, it was great fun.
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