Dagmar's wedding was wonderful. Beyond wonderful, even. Transcendent, amazing, restful (spiritually, in any case), effervescent with positive emotion. Being who I am, though, and rather liking the limelight, it was difficult to back out and let the bride shine, though I somehow managed. She reminded me (jokingly,) a couple times while we were out that it was all about her. I simply tried to take that to heart, and remembered what I was there for… Her. It was a lot easier than I expected to step aside.
Everything started with the drive which, while not terribly pleasant (me being one-armed and all), wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined. As per usual, I got through Chicago with a minimum of hassle. It was construction SURROUNDING the city, in other states, even, that tacked an extra half-hour onto my trip. Otherwise, it would've been a spec drive… Five and a half hours, door-to-door. When I got home, it was about 2:30 AM EST. Naturally, I was so caffeinated, it took an extra two hours for the sleeping pills to put me under... I bummed about online, running into Orpheus on a web chat we both frequent occasionally. We talked for a bit, especially regarding the losers hitting on us (sometimes concurrently), then I finally got tired enough to sleep… After two glasses of whisky, compliments of Dad's liquor cabinet. The parents weren't yet home.
On Thursday, I got up early, around nine, and did errands, lunch and such with my good friend L., who was one of the unholy triad with Dagmar and I in High School. We picked up my tux, matched a swatch of dark pink cotton to the vest, bought a ton of pink tulle and a headband w/beads for a bridal disaster headdress for Dagmar to wear out on the town, and hunkered down with alcohol for the afternoon, trading stories and bashing people for fun whilest L. sewed. Later, we picked up L.'s altered (read: hacked and remade better, stronger, faster, tighter,) dress from her good friend C., who went out with us later on. By the time the bachelorette party was on, we were ripped and ready. After picking up the bride, we went downtown to a place called, appropriately enough, 'Drink,' for a retro pastiche night. It was mostly eighties, but there were some '90's remixes and just plain retro neuvo-80's brand new trash thrown in, too. Usually, I feel super-fat when I'm at home, as all the faggots in Grand Rapids are tall skinny blonde Dutch boys with full heads of hair. This time, though, ALL the boys in the room were practically drooling on themselves over me, arm-in-a-sling, no less! It felt good, and I enjoyed the attention, while secretly laughing because none of them had enough badonkadonk for my tastes. It was a wonderful night. I ended up dancing with C. for most of the evening, and talking to a really neat Dominican lady who goes out to practice her English while shaking her groove thang.
It should be mentioned that I met the most remarkable people in the wedding party, and outside of it last weekend, all somehow related to the wedding, even if just in the capacity of tailoring. I already knew L., of course, and had met France, Dagmar's college roommate, once briefly in, like, 2002. She now lives, appropriately enough, in the country unsubtly suggested by her moniker, and speaks both elegantly and fluently in her adopted tongue. France brought her hot boyfriend, Marseilles (so named for his city of residence), who spoke excellent English, despite his protests to the contrary, and is a med-student to boot (Ooh-la-la!). Flora was another bridesmaid, and was the most remarkably self-aware hippie type I've ever met. She's training as an arts-based therapist, and if I weren't dating Orpheus, I'd have made a pass. Really, though, it's a good thing I'm dating O. on many levels, 'cause I don't think Dagmar would've forgiven me for internecine bridal party sex. The party was rounded out by D.'s older sister, HarvardMasters, and A., her sister-in-law. I'd met both before, and it was very neat to reconnect, as well as with the families as a whole.
Friday was decadent. We kickstarted via Mimosas during a free spa-day w/pedicures and manicures. There was even a buffet, and we had our own private room. One of Dagmar's single aunts treats her nieces and nephews' wedding parties with such extravagant unction the day before nuptials, as a gift. I was the only one who got to get my nails simply buffed. All the girls looked like a pink fondant cake had thrown up on their hands and feet, but in a good way. France was constantly, self-consciously hand modeling everything for herself and others, half-drunkenly, all day long. By the time the rehearsal rolled around, we were all in stitches! Figuring that a Catholic ceremony, even one that wasn't full Mass, would be far more regimented than a Methodist wedding, which is the only ceremony I've run through before, I was quite surprised. It wasn't difficult at all. We only went through once, and it was very simple. The minister at my wedding drilled us like some sort of demented sergeant who hated us, his worst-ever crop of recruits. Over and over and over, like monkeys with miniature cymbals, we marched the isles, nervous that we'd fuck up and have to start over. Monsignor, however, seemed pleasantly drunk, and was easy to talk to.
The groom's dinner wasn't fancy, but it was great! A fajita bar at the local senior center, unfortunately alcohol free. There was, however, plenty of coffee. It's not like I was about to discover a new secret of cuisine there, but I wish all my tex-mex tasted that good. We all got neat party presents. The girls got little pink clutch bags that matched their nails, and the guys (including me,) were all given beautiful SIGG bottles so we don't die of leached chemicals from PVC water bottles. My design is called "The Flight," and is an attractive maroon, w/a tan bird, flying away from a tree with stylized leaf-swirls trailing behind it. It's super-pretty!
Later on, the bridal party (and Marseilles, as he had no place else to go), were to have a kind of bridal vigil with Dagmar in the suite she and her man were to share the following night. Turns out, Dagmar was unhappy because very, very tired, and didn't want us partying in the suite. So, we faithful bridespeople drew her a bath, and after she came back from dealing with family for awhile, left her to soak, and did a little walking tour of the Grand River walk, moseying on over to a lovely microbrewery I'd never heard of nearby. We talked, got to know one another better, and in general got our kumbayaya's out so as not to turn our lovely D. into Bridezilla. It worked. She didn't sleep a lot, but that was just nerves in general. She appreciated the alone time, and we got our energy pushed healthily.
The day of the wedding, I had time for a short breakfast with my parents and sister at home. We reconvened at the church, which was a beautiful, spare new catholic church out in the middle of a cornfield. L. helped me don my tux, and gave me the finished pink sling to match my vest and tie. It looked fantastic. People kept commenting on it all night. The wedding was beautiful, and I got to meet so many people who were special to Dagmar and her guy who, I must admit, I kind of have a little man-crush on, due to his perfect dorkiness. They had the weirdest automatic bubble machine at the church, and a wind kicked up as D. walked out the door, so she was swathed in thousands of spheres composed of environmentally friendly (this, proudly stated by the church's wedding coordinator,) surfactants. The reception, which we'd helped to decorate for the night before, was delightful, and the toasts heartfelt. I met another wonderful person, M., who has a three year old daughter, and was kind enough to cut my pork for me when I was having trouble. Despite the broken wing, I boogied with the best of them, and helped to close down the reception.
Afterwards, I made the mistake of going out for drinks with L. and her awesome BF, J. To make a long story short, we went to a really shitty, seedy bar for Karaoke, I didn't get to sing my song, and I lost my camera, along with all the wedding pictures. Relax, I think I can get the camera back… I was transporting a REALLY drunk girl to the bar, asked her to hold it, and stuff kept falling out of her purse onto the floor of the car. I think it made its' way into said bag. There's only one problem, and that is that she lives in Mississippi. So, FedEx ho, I guess. I just have to wait a couple more days for Dagmar to come out of Honeymoon-hiding to get the girl's number, and then I'll be all set.
Sunday morning, I got to spend a little time with my parents before coming home. It was nice. Since getting home, my right arm has improved greatly each day. It's spending more time out of the sling, and I can finally cook on my own again (and, more importantly, chop). Though I love my big knives most, I still find it easiest to use my small santoku. Oh, well. THe Doctor should be calling me next week to set me up with PT. Wish me luck!
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