Seriously, how many wedding-related stories do I now have that could be prefaced by that phrase? (That was a rhetorical question, I don’t need comments from my smart-ass college friends attempting an actual answer.)
Two of my friends got married this weekend at a quaint and rustic island in the Puget Sound. Me, Hubby and a large group of good friends stayed at a great “resort” right on the beach, my husband and I stayed in a yurt - yes, a yurt- and the sun made a short appearance that was just long enough to give us all mild sunburns. It was shaping up to be a good weekend.
Before I go much further, I guess I should explain that Hubby and I have been very much in need of some time away. He’s been traveling and working constantly for the last few months and I have been crazy trying to juggle the multiple projects in my life as well. Add in the fact that we are having a typical “Juneuary” here in Seattle with barely a sunbeam to spare, and you’ve got a pretty desperate need to relax and have fun in the sun.
And, thus far, it was quite promising that this would be just what we needed. We were stoked.
The ceremony was beautiful. Beautiful bride, beautiful music, beautiful vows, beautiful setting… really just lovely. Since I am such a sucker for a good wedding, I shed a few tender tears and reminisced with Hubby about our own wedding while joking with friends and looking great in my new dress.
Then it was off to the reception. And that’s where it began.
Dinner consisted of Mexican fare from a taco truck that the bride and groom had rented and a piece of cake. I had already had some of Hubby’s vodka/cranberry cocktail and a glass of red wine before the wedding. I was trying to be a good girl so I also had a bottle of water. However, when a friend stopped me and offered Jameson on the rocks (my fave), I couldn’t say no, even though my instincts were telling me that this could be a bad idea. One heavy pour later, I went back to the reception where they had- surprise!- champagne. So, like any good wedding guest, I toasted the newly anointed couple.
Next came the margaritas which I don’t really even remember getting, but apparently drank. And then… duh,duh,DUH… the hot tub.
Now, I knew getting into this weekend that I would need to curtail my drinking if I was going to get in the hot tub. Unfortunately, by that point, I had lost track of how many drinks I had already consumed and felt “sober” enough (which should have been my first clue that I certainly was NOT), and so in I jumped. I honestly have no idea how long I was in there because I can’t remember the last part of the evening except that I remember hitting the dance floor in my bikini. Hey, at least I left the hot tub before people started stripping down – that would have just been the icing on my cake of embarrassment.
I woke the next morning with ONE OF THE WORST HANGOVERS I HAVE EVER HAD. Just getting from the yurt to the bathrooms was a serious effort. Of course, I had no one to blame but myself, which made me feel even worse. Hubby packed us up while I stayed in bed, hating life and all things bright and sunny, and then moved me to the car where I promptly passed out in the front seat. He then said all of the necessary goodbye’s for us both and drove me the 90 minutes home so that I could move to the couch where I remained for the rest of the day, living on Ensure and Saltines.
Even though I pretty much wanted to die for most of the day, there are some very good things that came out of this experience:
1. This is the first of five weddings that I am scheduled to attend between now and October. Two of them require me to fly on an airplane the day after the wedding. Had this same situation happened at either of those two events, there is NO WAY that I could’ve made the trek from the wedding location to the airport and then flown back to Seattle. NO WAY. I consider this experience as a gift from the Universe to help me remember that free booze does not mean an open invitation to drink like a 21 year old. My liver does not function at that capacity anymore.
2. This was a great test for my husband to see how well he can handle taking care of me when I am “indisposed” (as we Southern women say). Hubby was a champ! He never complained, did whatever he could to make me more comfortable, and didn’t leave my side unless he was at the store buying me Saltines. A+, buddy. Now, just wait ‘til I’m pregnant and you can have A LOT more practice.
3. I’m sure this will make for yet another endearingly funny story that my friends can tell over and over again at my expense. I mean, seriously, it’s not a successful wedding unless somebody get’s schnockered out of their mind. You’re welcome.
As I said, one down, four more to go. I’ll let you know what happens.
Two of my friends got married this weekend at a quaint and rustic island in the Puget Sound. Me, Hubby and a large group of good friends stayed at a great “resort” right on the beach, my husband and I stayed in a yurt - yes, a yurt- and the sun made a short appearance that was just long enough to give us all mild sunburns. It was shaping up to be a good weekend.
Before I go much further, I guess I should explain that Hubby and I have been very much in need of some time away. He’s been traveling and working constantly for the last few months and I have been crazy trying to juggle the multiple projects in my life as well. Add in the fact that we are having a typical “Juneuary” here in Seattle with barely a sunbeam to spare, and you’ve got a pretty desperate need to relax and have fun in the sun.
And, thus far, it was quite promising that this would be just what we needed. We were stoked.
The ceremony was beautiful. Beautiful bride, beautiful music, beautiful vows, beautiful setting… really just lovely. Since I am such a sucker for a good wedding, I shed a few tender tears and reminisced with Hubby about our own wedding while joking with friends and looking great in my new dress.
Then it was off to the reception. And that’s where it began.
Dinner consisted of Mexican fare from a taco truck that the bride and groom had rented and a piece of cake. I had already had some of Hubby’s vodka/cranberry cocktail and a glass of red wine before the wedding. I was trying to be a good girl so I also had a bottle of water. However, when a friend stopped me and offered Jameson on the rocks (my fave), I couldn’t say no, even though my instincts were telling me that this could be a bad idea. One heavy pour later, I went back to the reception where they had- surprise!- champagne. So, like any good wedding guest, I toasted the newly anointed couple.
Next came the margaritas which I don’t really even remember getting, but apparently drank. And then… duh,duh,DUH… the hot tub.
Now, I knew getting into this weekend that I would need to curtail my drinking if I was going to get in the hot tub. Unfortunately, by that point, I had lost track of how many drinks I had already consumed and felt “sober” enough (which should have been my first clue that I certainly was NOT), and so in I jumped. I honestly have no idea how long I was in there because I can’t remember the last part of the evening except that I remember hitting the dance floor in my bikini. Hey, at least I left the hot tub before people started stripping down – that would have just been the icing on my cake of embarrassment.
I woke the next morning with ONE OF THE WORST HANGOVERS I HAVE EVER HAD. Just getting from the yurt to the bathrooms was a serious effort. Of course, I had no one to blame but myself, which made me feel even worse. Hubby packed us up while I stayed in bed, hating life and all things bright and sunny, and then moved me to the car where I promptly passed out in the front seat. He then said all of the necessary goodbye’s for us both and drove me the 90 minutes home so that I could move to the couch where I remained for the rest of the day, living on Ensure and Saltines.
Even though I pretty much wanted to die for most of the day, there are some very good things that came out of this experience:
1. This is the first of five weddings that I am scheduled to attend between now and October. Two of them require me to fly on an airplane the day after the wedding. Had this same situation happened at either of those two events, there is NO WAY that I could’ve made the trek from the wedding location to the airport and then flown back to Seattle. NO WAY. I consider this experience as a gift from the Universe to help me remember that free booze does not mean an open invitation to drink like a 21 year old. My liver does not function at that capacity anymore.
2. This was a great test for my husband to see how well he can handle taking care of me when I am “indisposed” (as we Southern women say). Hubby was a champ! He never complained, did whatever he could to make me more comfortable, and didn’t leave my side unless he was at the store buying me Saltines. A+, buddy. Now, just wait ‘til I’m pregnant and you can have A LOT more practice.
3. I’m sure this will make for yet another endearingly funny story that my friends can tell over and over again at my expense. I mean, seriously, it’s not a successful wedding unless somebody get’s schnockered out of their mind. You’re welcome.
As I said, one down, four more to go. I’ll let you know what happens.
Posts
