The first and only wedding I’d been a part of prior to this 365 days of marital mayhem was my cousin Danielle’s wedding in the summer of 2004. Participating in that wedding as a bridesmaid was a breeze; buy a dress, show up, stand at the front of the church, party. The end.
My participation in Marjorie’s (FMH) wedding was a hugely different experience. Prior to the wedding, there was the bridal shower and bachelorette party the weekend of September 10th. My last post dealt with the emotional affect the planning had on me. The actual weekend went a little something like this…
I arrived at the bridal shower a bit later than originally intended. Luckily, most of the guest’s clocks and watches were as imprecise as mine and people were still filing in. The small room looked adorable, adorned in red and purple decorations. I played DJ on the jukebox equipped with pop chart toppers. The food was yummy, the games entertaining and many laughs were had.
With every wedding event I attend comes the inevitable statement of my own future, especially if my mother is present. It goes a little something like: “I don’t think I’ll ever have grandchildren. Lauren may never even get married!” *Insert huge sigh here* No pressure. None at all.
Easy to see why I was relieved when the day moved on; we dwindled down to a smaller group and hit the streets of NYC. But not before having to figure out how in the hell Majorie’s rented bridal chair would fit into Melissa’s car.
After a brief layover at Melissa’s house, we left Brooklyn and made our way toward downtown NYC.
The irony of the situation was evident the minute we emerged from the subway. Our hotel for the evening was the Millennium, located across the street from the World Trade Center. The current date was September 11, 2010. (It was the only date that had worked for everyone involved.) We made our way through hordes of tourists and NYers paying their respects around the site. After checking into our junior suite, we stood by the windows which had an amazing view of both upper NYC and the Trade Center reconstruction. The eerie beauty of it was almost overwhelming and the four of us were stuck between moments of reverence and anticipating the evening’s activities.
We drank horrible homemade Vodka mixes and told stories of our love life pasts. The room was filled with giggles and “GET OUTTA HERE!”s for a couple of hours before we finally decided we’d be hitting a string of SoHo bars and lounges. A quick cab ride got us to R Bar on Bowery. There was a private party underway, but what bouncer would turn down 6 beautiful females? After dancing around to some tunes, throwing back a glass or two, and claiming the place lame, we moved East to Allen Street. There we stopped (and stayed) at People. Various friends joined us throughout the night and with each new group, rounds of shots were bought and drank.
I’ve learned, in my old age, that my body does NOT like shots anymore. Evidence of this lies in the fact that I don’t remember a good portion of the evening…But my stomach did. Let’s just say I was sick three times. The following morning found me dazed and confused, and Marjorie and Melissa fast asleep. I awoke them because I had to get some work done and could not spend any more time at the hotel. I nudged Marjorie’s leg as I swayed off balance. She popped her eyes open ever so softly.
“You have fun?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Good. That’s all that matters.”
And with that I left my friends, spending the next 12 hours in hangover hell but feeling satisfied that it was a night we’d speak about for many years to come.
(Marjorie’s wedding was 10/2. A post on that will arrive later this week.)
