Stephanie’s Wedding

So, I’m finally back on track and set to time travel to fucking October and talk about Stephanie’s wedding, although I don’t have much to say.

I was late, as I am for everything, and this woman that other guests later referred to as “the wedding Nazi” held everyone back from sitting because the mothers were lighting candles or something. Paul and I sat with Leah. Oh, and this was the first time I’d ever seen him in a suit, so I loved that shit.

The ceremony was very nice and relatively short–not the behemoth mass you get when both parties are Catholic, AKA the wedding I am doomed to have and be bored by. That’s right. I expect to be bored during my own wedding ceremony.

Anyway, the whole bunch of us killed time between the ceremony and reception by hanging out in some bar the St. Vincent students knew, which was admittedly a nice dive. I had some sort of blue drink that was delicious. Typically, blue drinks are electric lemonades. That’s not what this is, but I don’t care.

Nolan was in. It was a little awkward. We didn’t speak but made awkward eye contact a few times.

Everyone bailed when Aunt Gina texted about the coctail hour, which I kind of wanted to go to in the first place. So here’s a preview of my New Year’s resolutions I’ll probably get around to talking about near my birthday in June–I’m done doing something or going somewhere because everyone else is. Not that I regret going to the bar because I don’t and did have fun and had good chats with Leah, but I would’ve rather had hors d’oeuvres and cocktails.

Speaking of talks with Leah, she was in the midst of basically a text-message breakup with this guy she’d been seeing whose ex came back into the picture. Paul and I read the texts, we all talked, and we all came to the same conclusion–he was keeping his options open in case the ex shot him down. And that’s how I became one go-to girl (temporarily) with relationships for the night and next few days/weeks.

While everyone headed off to cocktail hour, Paul and I went to check in to our hotel room. Hell if I was attending an friend’s wedding an hour away from my apartment and then driving home, especially when they shuttled people between the hotel and reception. Besides, hotels are fun! And this one was nice. It had a big, comfy bed and free breakfast and you know that’s 90% of how I judge my hotel experiences.

By the time we were checked in and got the shuttle, we missed hors d’oeuvres. A tragedy, indeed. But everything else was great–the food, music, dancing, everything. Fun times were had by all. Erio did some glorious dancing photobombs during “Gangnam Style,” I partied with friends, and Paul and I got some good slow dances in. He’s so damn tall that I actually put my high heels back on for those. But he’s a terrible dancer otherwise. He has no rhythm. His rhythm is so lacking that when we went to a Beatles symphony tribute around the same time, he was clapping off beat and it annoyed me so much, I had to make him stop. Fortunately, he can be taught–he just needed to count out the beats. Later attempts to help him with his dancing have led to some slight progress. We have another wedding coming up in two weeks, so my goal then is to have him watch how other guys dance–especially with a partner because I think he’ll do better that way–and then mimic it. But I digress.

Now, Emily had since broken up with Joel and brought a new boyfriend with her. He looked really, really familiar, and I was going crazy all night long trying to figure out why. Late that night or maybe even the next day, it hit me–he once befriended me on Facebook and hit on me on occasion, but I was told by mutual friends he wasn’t the kind of guy one should date. When I realized that’s who he was, it was a huge “HOLY SHIT” moment.

The reception was over by 9, at which point many of the groomsmen headed to a bar across from the hotel. Sarah wanted to go, too, and wanted company, but I was the only one willing to go. Paul would’ve but got a bad headache. I kind of wanted to stay out and keep having a nice time, but I also didn’t want to leave her in a bar by herself, especially due to lots of people lusting after each other. I wanted to serve as a voice of reason and I guess babysitter of sorts. In fact, as Sarah kept drinking, one of them said to me sarcastically, “I bet you’re having fun tonight.” I actually didn’t mind to much. Sarah drunk always entertains me, even though I was exhausted and the night started to drag. I think I’d woken up strangely early for a Saturday–around 7 or 8–and didn’t leave the bar till something like 1:30.

When we did leave, I escorted Sarah back to the room she was sharing with the Craigs who were staying, and after some chat in the hall, I went back down to mine. Paul was asleep and looked very sweet and peaceful, and I remember wanting to take a picture but crept around the room putting my jammies on first. When I crawled  into bed, he woke up and still had a headache. And then he got nauseous and decided to take a shower, thinking it would help. It didn’t. I use this night to sway him against showering while nauseous, in fact.

I woke up about an hour later to hear him throwing up terribly in the bathroom. I checked on him, got him water, and went back to bed. So, most girlfriends would probably panic and dote, but what was I supposed to do? I know from experience that the only reason someone should be near you while vomiting profusely is to bring you water or hold your hair. I took him water and he has no hair to hold. My work was done. Staying would’ve been rough for both of us, so I went back to bed. He came back eventually.

He blamed alcohol, I blamed the fact that he smacked his head off of a bell, and my dad blamed possible food allergies when the same thing happened again a month or so later when we went to dinner with Terra and her mom (minus the shower and not-so-doting girlfriend–we were at our separate residences).

We ate that free hotel breakfast, which was pretty impressive, with Sarah and Marion the next morning. Not willing to just go home, Paul and I decided to adventure around Greensburg and Latrobe, so we checked out the art museum I never made it to in college and had a nice time admiring art. He reaches his limit with modern. I ogle.

Then we went back home for sushi and called it a day/successful weekend.


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