My Best Friend's Wedding --Hitched without a Hitch

It's impossible for me to say, think, or rhyme with the words 'my best friend's wedding' without my brain invariably cuing scenes from the Julia Roberts movie that otherwise influenced me to turn my life into a disaster when I was in 9th grade. Unlike the film, however, my best friend's wedding did not involve a forged e-mail, a sordid love triangle, Cameron Diaz, an ice-sculpture, or theft of a bread truck (although, we did come awful close to hijacking a luggage cart...ah, memories). The wedding was, however, for lack of a better word perfect. The grass was green, the sky was blue, the dress was white, and wine was red. Yes, for a brief and shining moment in Charlottesville, VA, God smiled and made a perfect day for my best friend and her now-husband, who, by the way is so perfect for her it makes Norman Rockwell paintings seem like a misrepresentation of ideal American life.

Because the bride in question is my best friend, I was thrilled beyond words and often moved to tears that things were so perfect on her wedding day (admittedly, if it was someone I didn't like, I would be less thrilled, ... of course, then I would feel guilty about having bad thoughts, pray about it, feel bad for still having some misgivings and then sod the whole thing over a bloody mary).

I also acknowledged on this beautiful, do-we-have-to-go-home occasion a few other things. The first is that my wedding will by no means be this classy, elaborate, or beautiful. And, second, everything north of Georgia makes Alabama suck. Come on, Mobile, get your head in the game!

Moving along (hopefully sooner than later), did anyone other than me realize that being in the wedding party is totally not like attending the wedding? Oh. My. Lawd. Seriously, though a total blast and I would not replace being in my bestie's (is that how you spell that possessively?) for the world, my "week o' vacation" was not a vacation in its entirety. Here's how...

Tuesday:
Leave Mobile and drive to Atlanta after work. (obvious, driving)

Wednesday:
Leave Atlanta and drive to Charlottesville. (obvious, driving)

Thursday:
Bachelorette party.

All right, before you attack me with torches, let's hold the phone, Mabel. The bachelorette party itself --a vineyard tour in Virginia wine country and a stay at a lux resort-style hotel (also the location of the reception) was fun. Making sure things went off without a hitch --exhausting.

Early Thursday morning, I awoke, readied myself, and packed a back for the night knowing that Friday night, we would be sleeping in the bridal suite to ready ourselves for Saturday's wedding. Cool. Not giving much away, I told the bride to pack lots of things --a bathing suit, something fancy, something casual, something comfortable, and, not to err on the side of caution, toiletries. The bride is confused. Perfecto!

We arrive at the Boar's Head 30 minutes early (so I jumped the gun a little...) to wait for the other girls and Don, our wine-tour guide. (There was a hot air balloon ride in front of the hotel when we arrived...I soooo should have kept the bride in psychological limbo thinking that was for us, but I didn't...like throwing darts a foot away and still missing.) We check our bags, and I situate the bride-to-be on a bench and go tell the concierge that a man will come in looking for us for a wine tour...we are outside.

As I walk out, I notice a bloke walking inside, and I kind of think...I wonder if that's Don, but I don't say anything. I walk back and sit next to Becca. The bloke walks up a few minutes later. "I'm guessing," dramatic pause, "y'all are here for a wine tour." (My mental avatar commits suicide.) Nooooooooo! The bride pipes up, though cheerfully, "You weren't supposed to tell!" No, Don, you weren't. I should have wrapped the bride in a bubble. The other girls, G and S arrive, and we're on our merry way.

The wine tour was fun. The bride was pleased that we opted for wineries that focused more on white wines than red wines --she doesn't like reds: the histamines in them give her a headache. (Speaking of headaches, I had aspirin with me...my goal for the day was to make sure she didn't get a headache for her bridal luncheon and rehearsal the following day. **Spoiler Alert!** Mission Accomplished.)

Back at the Boar's Head, we enjoyed a lovely view of the parking lot (who's stealing my rims!?) while relaxing before deciding to go to an Asian tapas bar near UVA (I think...I just used the GPS the whole time...woman's voice still penetrates my dreams...::shudder::).

Afterward, we enjoyed an evening of karaoke* (*except when I sang).

Friday
Bridal Luncheon, Rehearsal, Rehearsal Dinner:

The following day was a delicious bridal luncheon (I'm so trying to teach myself how to make curried chicken salad as we speak...in theory), the rehearsal, and the rehearsal dinner, which involved a speech.

I do not like speaking in front of people. Albeit, I'm a total ham (always have been), I'm still shy when my brain is working (easily rectified problem). Since I found out my bestie was engaged, I'd been mentally planning "the perfect speech." Should I memorize a poem? Recount one of our most ridiculous memories for laughs? Hmmm...

Suddenly, Friday night, I'm at this restaurant (with horrible bloody marys but good everything else) and I realize, five months ago when I started planning the bachelorette, I stopped planning my speech. Oh. Lawd.

What to say!? What to say!? I mentally flip through the diary she and I completed as kids...there's the inside joke about the nice young man with the gun ... the sheepheads of Leonardo Di Caprio (when the concept of cloning was first realized) ... singing Ace of Base at the top of our lungs in her dad's car (sorry, Charlie) ... playing Indian poker at Perdido, ... that time she said my glasses made my butt look big at Lens Crafters ... every memory, I realized would (1) take wayyyyyy too long for a sane/logical sounding explanation, and (2) would convince everyone that we should both be institutionalized without delay.

I love to make a room laugh, really, really do, and usually, it's through freak accident (see the love scene I wrote for screenwriting for details), but I went sentimental. Everyone said it went well, but who would tell me in my state otherwise? (Note: If you know and/or feel otherwise, please do not tell me. I prefer to live the lie.) :)

Saturday:
Uniting the happy couple in Holy Mattress Money...I mean, Matrimony

Saturday was THE BIG DAY. We all got our hair done (me thanks to the bride's mom and her generosity for giving me an appointment) and then went for lunch and then it was time to get ready. Everytime I looked at my best friend, the urge to cry crept upon me. I now know exactly how a leaky faucet feels. (On the plus, I burned ~560 calories just by clenching my teeth to hold back the waterworks.)

The wedding was held in the small but beautiful chapel on UVA's campus. The musical trio was elegant, our black dresses, classy, the vows, some of the most eloquent words spoken by lovers; it was wonderful. (Even our tears of joy were appropriate.)

The reception was festive, well-timed, and elegant on the sprawling lawns of the Boar's Head, which overlooked the lake. The music, old jazzy tunes sung by Etta James, Diana Krall, and Louis Armstrong set a perfect stage for the bride and groom's first dance to "What a Wonderful World." Noticing the atmosphere set by the mood, I nudged The Mister...this was the same style of music we wanted and that we would most likely want to set the stage for our first dance. G agreed (she was next to The Mister) that a wedding like our friend's was a great place to pick up tips: "Yes, this is something I would want."

It's three days after the wedding, and my mind is still gormlessly wrapped up in last week's affairs. Simultaneously, they're tied into my own thoughts about my own wedding plans. Comparing is not an option.

My goal is to take what she did, take it down a big notch, and still keep it simple and classy. Hmmm....