Two days to
Right, so many things, huh? The wedding. Thanksgiving. Swag. Swag? Yeah, swag.
First things first, yes? The Other Mare's wedding. Oh, how it was wonderful! I've never happy-cried so much in one day, poppets. She sparkled! She sparkled and glowed, and I took one look at her and it was like someone had turned on a faucet. Honestly, I went from complete composure to ruined mascara in 3.2 seconds. I cried at her house while she was taking pictures with family. I cried when she walked down the aisle with my uncle. I sobbed throughout the vows. That evening, tears welled up during the first dance, and spilled over during the speeches. I cried, ladies and gentlemen, with absolutely no regard for the fact that I'm not an attractive girl when I'm immersed in emotional precipitation. But oh... she was so beautiful! I couldn't help myself, really.
Her dress was of a heavy, creamy silk, simple and royal at the same time. TOM's in the fashion biz, so she took advantage of the designer at her disposal. Honestly, poppets? It was fit for a queen - the dress, not the designer. (Although I met her too. Lovely girl.)
Jimmy's family originally hails from Equador, so the reception was a lovely mix of Latin salsas and meringues along with Italian tarantellas. They even had a mariachi band going from table to table during dinner, which was fabulous and is it wrong that I want a pair of those pants with the heavy silver thingydos all down the side? Anyway, you just know that everything went up in volume when they him my table, because my father and my uncle had to make requests and sing along and generally make a spectacle of themselves. (Can you believe it's still wondered where I got it from?)
Oooh oooh, and poppets! I caught the bouquet! I caught TOM's bridal bouquet, which was just wonderful because (A) more than half of my great childhood and teenage memories include her, (B) Iíve never caught a bridal bouquet before and (C) if superstition isn't superstition, then I may have a chance at not dying alone after all! Whee! Dance of joy!
Oh, and now for the important part... (Shameless Vanity Alert) Poppets, I looked hot! No, seriously! Jimmy said I should be sitting on the other side of the hall, where his family was all seated, because my dress had that Latin feel to it. Even Mare said I was "shmokin'!" And HEL-lo! Who am I to argue with a bride on her wedding day? And my hair! Oh, my hair! Darlings, I went to the salon between the mass and the banquet hall, and asked Sam to give me a head full of fun Meg Ryan type curls. (Sam is my updo guy. Victor is my regular every six weeks hair maintenance guy, but I go to Sam for those nights where looking like a movie star is important. Mind you, I'm so desperate for a hair cut before JournalCon, I'm actually going to Robbie tomorrow night because Victor's unavailable. Humph. Very upset. I'm putting my head in the hands of a stranger the night before meeting 135 strangers. But I'm not nervous. Nooo, not me. I may cry, but I'm not nervous.) Anyway, Sam disagreed with the curls and said the length of my hair wouldn't allow for it, thus making me look like some kind of 65-year old Italian auntie, the kind that does her grocery shopping with rollers and a kerchief on her head. Instead, he did some magic with a curling iron and 32 bobby pins, and poof! Up went my hair, and it looked like it had suddenly grown three inches. How cool is that? I'll tell you how cool it is... my coif completely eclipsed the borders of adorable. Ok? OK? Right. (Listen, I look like gutter drudge on most days. I deserve a day to look excellent and a week to celebrate it!) I still didn't look as good as the bride - or the maid of honour - but I'll let that go. This time.
Right, so yeah. The wedding was fabulous, with the bride and the groom and the mariachi and the costume changes that went with my pretty hair. 'Nuff said.
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I was going to tell you about my swag, wasn't I? Yeah, I think that's going to have to wait 'til tomorrow. Hell, it weighs 19 pounds! It may as well get it's own entry, right?
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