The wedding. Oh, God the wedding. And the Bath House. And the drinking. And the mother in laws and their snake charming churches.* Also I'M HOME ALONE WITHOUT A BABY OR A HUSBAND AND I'M GOING TO BED AT 9:00.
On Friday night, after the rehearsal dinner, I met my sister in the lobby of her hotel to have some drinks and watch the bride to be's friends act like lunatics. When it's an old man trio, normal people don't get up and stage and shake their booty - but these ladies did. Then my sister was hit on by an 80+ year old man who pinched her side, growled and made a kissing noise at her, and then trotted out on to the dance floor with another woman. He tried to feel up one of the other ladies and she kept having to remove his hand from the side of her boob. You can't blame a man for trying...
Someone in the hotel thought it would be romantic to light a candle, but failed to think about where the flame would be flickering and caught a lamp shade on fire at 2:30 am and the whole hotel had to be evacuated. TP and Mr. Cheeks and I weren't staying there, but from what I hear it was a fun night.
The bath house in Hot Springs was totally wonderful. But my attendant wouldn't let me bring my book back to the bath with me, which in hindsight, was probably a good idea, but at the time struck fear in my heart. Because there are only about 3 things on my "a good time" list that are above reading in the bathtub. A bathtub that was colossal. One that was big enough for me to lean back in and my feet to barely touch the other end. With my 36 inches of legs, that's a rarity. The whirlpool effect is done with a large motor mounted on the side of the tub that looks like a trolling motor for a boat. And then someone scrubs you down, you go in a sauna (for only 50.7 seconds because it's too hot and there are also uncovered boobs in there, which I am afraid of), and then they wrap you with hot towels. Then it's time for your massage. A word to the wise, when the masseuse says lay on your back, she means your other back, like where your butt is. I think I had water in my ears or something. That doesn't explain why I'm so retarded couldn't get my locker open and had to get help. It wasn't even a combination, it was a key. That's just sad. And when did massages start including your butt? I know it a muscle and all but I don't think it does very much, except grow, and that doesn't hurt.
I went shoe shopping with my sister and after seeing her toenails, we had to go to the nail place for pedicures. When the Vietnamese woman looks at your feet and says, "Oooooo, long." you know it's time for a pedicure. Haley has the longest toes I have ever seen on any person. Since I convinced her that she didn't need to wear hose, she said she had to get something to hold in her gut. That's a gut on a woman who wear size six jeans. Then we saw our preacher in the lingerie section. Whatever it was that she bought, she should have gotten a medium because she swore it cut off all circulation in her legs and made her have four butts.
The wedding went off without a hitch, unless you count a wreck in front of the horsetrack on opening race weekend that the bride's parents were caught in, a hitch. The ceremony started at 7 instead of 6:30, so it wasn't too bad. My food consumption at the reception consisted of five cucumbers, a carrot stick, and a piece of cake. From what I heard, the rest of the food was delicious, I just never got any. Everyone had eaten it all by the time I could get to the table. Bitches. But it made me a cheap date, so there's always a plus side.
Then Kendall, my 5 year old nephew, proceeded to breakdance and do the sprinkler for everyone, one of the bride's friends rapped Baby Got Back, complete with the appropiate dance moves, and I laughed a lot. I also saw some people form my home town and their children, who are nearly grown, that I used to baby sit from the time they were born. That'll make you feel old.
All of my uncles got drunk, one of them even told the owners of the hotel that they were cut off from the bar, another climbed in the bushes to get a roll of film, my dad's girlfriend threw-up in the hall, the bride's group of friends got in trouble for popping balloons because the manager thought it was gunfire, and TP and I finally went back to his mother's at 1 am. I don't think the Arlington people knew what they were signing up for when they said yes to a bunch of redneck Hardin's in the place. I even danced some with Haley, and maybe once with TP, and once with my Dad, who also got drunk. People, I don't think you realize the once in a lifetime event that was my father with a popped collar, swinging around his tuxedo tie.
Where was Mr. Cheeks during all this? He slept through the ceremony, which was a good thing, since Kaden, my other nephew, ate all his puffs. He visited the reception for a little while and then we took him back to TP's mother's house.
When we got to the airport and checked in for my return flight, they asked if I wanted to upgrade to first class between Dallas and Birmingham, and my debit card couldn't get though the reader fast enough. Ninety dollars later, and a cramped ride on a regional jet beside a too talkative solider (who did share his complimentary cashews with me), I was drinking champagne in a super large seat with the only empty seat on the plane beside me.
After paying the dog sitter the equivalent of our water and gas bill, I took another bath, and was asleep by 9:30. My hairdryer, husband and son are in Arkansas, and I'm home alone. It's too quiet. And I really need to dry my hair.
