So the wedding I went to was my grandparents' neighbor's daughter. She babysat me a couple times when I was like 5, and sometimes I went jet skiing with her younger brothers who are like 25 now. So clearly, I already have a strong emotional connection to this new couple's love and happiness. However, I do have a strong and beautiful connection to the idea of an open bar. If you are going to be all annoyingly in love and make me write about finding "the one" in a Hallmark card, I'm going to walk around carrying three drinks and my shoes off all night. The people that threw the wedding were super wealthy, so clearly I was prepared for free things. There was giant white, air-conditioned tents set up looking at the lake, a make you're own ice cream sundae bar, gorgeous lanterns and decorations, a live band plus a DJ, and three separate bars. Game on wedding, game on.
After 3 pre-dinner cocktails, I have to sit down and listen to speeches about how in love these two people are and I have to watch them dance in, all cute and happy and junk. This reminds me that I am about as single and pathetic as Jennifer Aniston right now, and then I remember that even she has some random dude who is like banker or something. I decide champagne is a good idea. At dinner, I have to listen to a 30 minute long speech from my Grandma Cyndi (who is roughly 2 bottles of Veuve Clicquot deep at this point) about how I need to find a man from the Chicagoland area and marry him immediately. When I let her in on the fact that I want to get a job and be a human, she laughs in my face and tells me to stop biting my nails. She ends the conversation by telling me if I have kids and move to California like her friend Sarah's daughter, "she won't love those ridiculous children" . She then told me "some Sicilian bitch" two tables over wasn't being friendly enough to her, so she needed to get more champagne. I decide I need two more cosmos.
I cruised the wedding with my cool Aunt Heidi, just straight crushing it and judging the bride's weird high school friends who showed up dressed like hookers. I then ran into the bride's brothers, my jet skiing buddies from back the day. They are both so hammered they can barely stand, and had just finished humping the dance floor during the band's rendition of the Lionel Ritchie classic "All Night Long." One of the drunk brothers decided he was magically Michael Fassbender and started hitting on me in front of my uncle (I respect his enthusiasm). A highlight was when smoothly dropped the line that his family got my high school graduation announcement, and he jacked off to my senior pictures for a month. I finally know what it's like to feel like the prettiest girl at the dance. This is clearly the Prince Charming I've been waiting for.
After this encounter , I head back to the bar where I have developed a cute little friendship with my favorite bartender. He kept making me fun new concoctions, which seemed like creative combinations of Grey Goose and roofie. After taking tequila shots with the parents of the groom, I hit the dance floor. I found a five year old child who was literally killing it all night. She was getting low to every song, all while rocking cranberry juice in hand. I tried to steal her at the end of the evening because I'm convinced she's my daughter. At this point, I was grabbing random drinks off tables and ballroom dancing with my uncle.
^ Me and my partner in crime, her favorite moves included the high kick, the ass slap, and the sexy hair whip.
I head to the bathrooms and resist to urge the vomit, it's still undecided whether it was from alcohol or all the stupid love stuff being thrown in my face. I head back out to the floor, and I see the bride and groom acting all adorable. Drunk Emma decides she's above all this nonsense, visibly rolls her eyes at them, and heads to the ice cream bar to pour Bailey's all over her sundae.
Long story short, I ended the night dancing to Luke Bryant, barefoot with all the bridesmaids and the toddler who loved to party. My uncle eventually threw me over his shoulder and into the car.
The moral of the story is don't invite me to important, high class events and also offer open bar. Also, don't offer open bar and then surround me with a love so sickening I want to drink myself to death. Also, don't close the open bar before I leave, because I will get mad and grab a bottle of Grey Goose off the bar to drink/ use as a microphone when Katy Perry comes on.
No comments:
Post a Comment