Rememberances from a Wedding

The obligatory Facebook honeymoon album posting started a Fourth of July caliber fireworks chain reaction in my brain, from fond (and not so fond) memories of the weekend to lessons learned from that weekend as well as the rise and fall(?) of American exceptionalism.

First, the lessons learned.

• Do not put 3 men, 2 of whom are 6 footers, and who collectively weigh over 700 pounds, in the backseat of any Jeep, especially when a 5’2″ woman is occupying one of the precious front seats.
• Do not allow yourself to be checked into a room whose number has any mathematical significance, especially when attending a wedding that could double as a con.  I should have known that sleep and sanity would both be in precious short supply in Room 314.  Unfortunately the hotel did not have 11th or 12th floors, although I guess I could have sent the gate crashers to Room 233.  “No really, the party in the Pi Room is not as good as the party in the Fibonacci Room.”
• Do not publicize said room to users of the microblogging site Twitter.  They will create a hashtag for the event in the hopes of making it a trending topic, and you will see firsthand the waves of social media dissemination.  “Knock knock.  We heard there was a party going on.” *Sigh* Come in, beer’s in the fridge.”  “Knock knock. Hey, where’d everyone else go? Where’s the beer?” Repeat ad nauseum every 30 minutes until about 3 a.m.  No, just flip the little switch to engage the door lock so the door doesn’t close.  That way, I don’t have to get up to let the next group in.
• If you are crashing in someone’s room, make sure they will be arriving at the wedding the same day as you, not the next.  Luckily, there were enough beds to go around.
• Should you be invited to the wedding and have to face your most recent ex, grow the fuck up and don’t cause a scene by insisting that you have buffer tables between you and your ex.  Great way to split up a group of friends and foment dissension where there previously was none.

Apparently, our room gained quite a bit of notoriety with the housekeeping staff after they discovered the detritus of our initial night’s partying.  They would make a special noise when entering the room, so as to alert anyone passed out or in the midst of any other indiscretion.  I received word from one of the other party guests that an announcement went out over the radios that “the wedding party has left the building” as soon as our room checked out.

The learning process didn’t stop at the wedding party.  Here are a few lessons the bride & groom learned (or should have learned, and should proselytize to all their friends considering a trip down the isle):

• When your wedding is an hour outside the closest major city (and airport), you might want to say so on the invitation.  Much hilarity ensued when guests had to drive 50 miles in the endlessly exurban hell that is Detroit to fetch their friends.  I think Dante would have created a new circle of hell had he lived to witness the city in its glory.
• Never, ever plan your wedding in an outdoor garden next to a golf course.  Of course, the wedding planner and facility manager are going to tell you that a golf ball NEVER crashed into the garden during a wedding.  And the chances of it happening twice in a ceremony that was less than half an hour?  Less than non-existent!
• While I did love the honeymoon photo album, including the adorable towel monkeys your room attendant made, don’t you find it odd that virtually none of the crew members pictured are American?  What kind of statement does that make on our reliance on foreign labor to prop up our unsustainable lifestyle?
• The Anniversary Dance is a stupid fucking tradition, especially given the fact that it’s a “new” tradition.  How can a tradition be “new”?  I don’t like weddings, or married people in general, and I can’t find words to describe how much I hate wedding DJs, but I quietly prayed for a meteor shower during the Anniversary Dance (particularly when it was down to a few couples).  I was hoping for Daniel Day Lewis brandishing a bowling pin to brain someone at that moment.