28 february 2000 | back | archive | forward

[notes taken during (one of) my best friend's wedding.]

7:02 pm, friday.
i'm having a nylon crisis. i'm standing in the aisle at Target staring at the wall of nylons, and i can't find my size or color. they have ivory, off white, nude, almost there, barely there, but no taupe. they have A, CD, Q, but no B. i'm considering buying queen-sized pair and then realize that baggy nylons might not be attractive. i am kneeling on the floor flipping through each box, thinking, hoping maybe there's one in the very back, but no such luck. a shopper glares at me. i quickly stand up and dust off my knees. i end up buying two pairs: one in nude and one in almost there, and hope that one of them doesn't look like i sat too long at a tanning salon.

8ish pm
at my apartment i discover i have an extra pair of taupe nylons left over from katy's wedding in july.

note: return two ugly pairs, for $12.

don't forget to:
paint nails
shave legs & armpits
pluck eyebrows

still need (can get from mom):
pearl earrings
little purse

10:15 pm
arrive at parents' house. melissa, the bride-to-be, calls. she says she's not nervous but talks a mile a minute about nothing and everything all at the same time. i can't help but laugh.

11 pm
steal alarm clock from guestroom. plug it in. turn it on. brown eyed girl blares. dance in bedroom wildly, knowing my parents are not home and no one will walk in on me.

brush teeth. put on PJs. slip into bed. hope i wake up on time.

5:45 am
alarm. hit snooze. crawl back into bed.

6 am
reluctantly, get up. brush teeth. throw on clothes.

6:15 am
arrive at salon. she puts what feels like whole can of hairspray in my hair. i put on make-up, everything but lipstick, because i can't figure out what color to wear.

"can't we just wear chapstick?" i ask, half-kidding.

4 glazed donut holes.

forget to drink:
coffee, which i am craving all morning, and water, a bottle of which i leave unopened in the salon.

start to panic, because we're running late. get to bride's house, dress up hurriedly, rush outside, hope we don't forget anything. we maneuver ourselves into the limo. i realize not only are limos not terribly comfortable, but there's this aura of chester molester about the place that makes me nauseated.

"i have to pee," says the bride. she's not kidding.

we get to the church and are immediately led to the side courtyard. i scuff my shoes on the concrete, remembering the wedding coordinator say two nights before that the tile floor is very slippery. i am prone to falls.

too many photos taken of us:
pretending we're sexy, pretending we're having a good time, pretending we're not annoyed with the photographer who looks and acts so much like janeane garafalo it's uncanny.

i walk down aisle. smile a lot. hold her flowers. fix her train. and then, of course, at one point, i almost slip, but somehow maintain my balance. i pretend nobody notices, although i'm sure everyone is holding their breath in those two seconds, begging the angels and saints not to let me fall and make a scene.

later i am told i was very poised, and i know she's just saying that to make me feel better.

when melissa and binh exchange their vows, they both are on the verge of tears.

note: i want to marry a boy who will cry at our wedding.

after the ceremony, i am stuffed into somebody else's car and taken to the reception. i am starved.

the reception is a blur. i lose track of time. also, my watch doesn't work; i'm just wearing it to hide my watch tan.

i give a toast. the best man blows everyone away with his eloquence and sentimentality that by the time he hands me the microphone my train of thought is completely derailed. i ramble on about high school and our friendship and my wishes for a happy life, nothing original, noting clever; i'm not even sure it was coherent. and then i pause. and they're all looking at me. and i say, "um. cheers?" they laugh and clank glasses, and i am relieved.

soggy salad with honey mustard dressing; chicken with some creamy sauce; a squash and carrot vegetable medley; two red potatoes; a whole wheat roll; a slice of cake, of course (they serve me the angel's food with raspberry filling, but i taste chocolate and it's clearly better).

i dodge the bouquet, as usual, and miss it, thank god.

we dance. i do the conga line, i do the YMCA, and i dance to "my girl" with my father. when "brown-eyed girl" comes on, i squeal and drag him back out to the dance floor. he is my dance partner. i have no date.

note: do not play the chicken dance song at wedding.

the reception is lovely. the restaurant is atop a hill, with an amazing view of the city below. outside, the sun is shining. inside, the bride and groom are shining. the centerpieces are pink roses with baby's breath in a round fishbowl vase. my mom takes one home.

the party is over by 4. my body is convinced it's past midnight. i get home at 6, take a hot shower, slip into comfy clothes and then sit in the corner, staring at the white page of a notebook to reflect on the day.

i write:
times i nearly cried: 3
photographs taken: 37
bobby pins removed from hair: 40
roses in my bouquet, hanging upside down on my wall: 8

11 days until sxsw, and counting.

remind me how i lucky i am, again. i keep forgetting.

a dark coffeehouse on melrose called stir crazy that serves a mean vanilla latte.

"i want a TV embrace." -- ben lee, "cigarettes will kill you."

i smell springtime.

say hi:
easy as 1-2-3 with my guestbook and e-mail.