Okay, so although I first said no, because he asked before we'd ever actually met... after we'd spent a week together, I was swayed and asked, "Do you still want a date to that wedding?" Now, really... I gotta tell you, for me to go to a wedding, first of all, full of people I don't know, second of all, AND in a town I've been avoiding for 7 years, well... I must truly like this guy. This is true.
I even got a very fancy beaded outfit for the affair, had a manicure and a pedicure for the first time in my life, did battle with the toiletries police at the airport, and sat on the tarmac in that fancy beaded outfit on a plane full of screaming babies for 2 hours with no air conditioning (the previous summer long-fought battle with my own a/c was training for this moment, apparently). Being that the plane was delayed for so long and I'd been on it for 3.5 hours, my nerves were shot when I got to Orlando... I did get there, about 2 hours later than I was supposed to get there, which cut things really close to the wedding.
Because I was late, and D had gone to the airport already to pick me up when I told him what was happening with the delays, he decided to secure a shuttle pass for me to get to the hotel, because he needed to be there for the mysterious whatever they do before a wedding ceremony.
I arrived at the shuttle depot by about 3:30, where I was told to wait on a bench in the blazing Orlando sun... still in that beautiful black beaded thing. I sat there for 20 minutes before my driver arrived -- a man who moved so slowly and spoke like his tongue was tied in a fancy giftbox bow. He looked at my destination and spouted something that sounded like, "Which Hyatt?" When I said, "It says on the ticket... Grand Cypress." He just rolled his eyes and said again, "Wishighah? Washighah? I saya wha's fah?"
"Are you asking 'what for'?" I asked, and he nodded like I was a retard. So I told him. "For a wedding."
Then he spewed out, "Don't make me barf," in that special language of his, but for all I know, he could have said, "Do you like my scarf?" I figured it was the first one though, by the way he threw his head backwards and then forwards, mimicking a barfing action. Plus, it was hotter than the face of the sun and he wasn't wearing a scarf.
Did I mention he was slow? It took him 15 minutes to load 10 people's pieces of luggage into the van, before he took off at 4:05. The drive took FOREVER and seemed like it would never end. The wedding was starting at 4:30 and I was watching the clock and ever red light that fucker hit... 4:10... 4:15... 4:27... please drop me off first!!!
He did, thank god.
I raced into the hotel with my luggage in tow (not the hotel that we were staying at though) and had to check it with the bellhops... and luckily, the ceremony was running late. Apparently the photographer was waiting on the sun, which had decided to finally hide behind clouds once my black-beaded ass was finally out from under it.
So there I was... alone... at a complete stranger's wedding. Dean was up in the bride's room with the other bridesmaids... yes, remember, this is MY boyfriend we're talking about... so he's not a groomsman, he's a bridesmaid. This was an endless source of amusement for other members of the wedding party... everyone but Dean, of course.
One of the actual groomsmen escorted me to my seat and asked which side... "Bride, I suppose... but I don't know either of them, so if you need filler, I'll take either side."
"How do you know the bride then?" he asked, totally perplexed.
"I don't. I'm the date of one of the bridesmaids."
At that point he stopped in his tracks and just looked at me like, "Ah ha."
"It's not as weird as that. My date is the GUY bridesmaid... you know, D."
The groomsman finally resumed our walk and didn't really talk to me much after that, except to say that he thought D was just filling out the brides' side, since there were like 7 groomsmen and only 2 bridesmaids. That was odd too... aren't those things usually balanced?
Anyway, it was a beautiful and swelteringly hot ceremony. The Hyatt Grand Cypress really is grand... a Shangri-la compared to the nightmare that D had experienced the day before. In his relief of seeing the difference, he made sure to send me another cell phone photo when he arrived at his destination:
When I was finally able to catch up with him, it was during the pre-reception drink-up session, where I was finally able to get a hug for my horrible day and learn how D was feeling.
"Like a member of the mafia," he said. The pinstriped penguin suit didn't help.
The reception was filled with lots of dancing, of course, and assloads of bad music... like every song used in The Wedding Crashers was used without the slightest hint of kitsch factor or irony. Truly amazing to behold, I tell ya.
I was trying to get cute shots of the happy couple and this adorable baby girl who was swaying back and forth to the music... when suddenly a hand came out of nowhere and a voice said, "Put the camera down. Put the camera down. You're dancing with me."
Next thing I knew, D was sweeping me away to the crowded dance floor for the slow dance portion of the night. While we were on the floor, the husband of one of the other bridesmaids decided to snap a picture of us with my abandoned camera.
Notice those orange streaks? That's not my crappy camera... those are passion's flames. Tsssssssss! Listen to that sizzle! Either that, or it shows that weddings are actually pure hell for two dating divorcees.
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