Tuesday, 30. June 2009
Well, it’s July.
Which makes me nervous. I am excited about the wedding, marriage and seeing all of our friends. I am scared that the food will be cold or that I will drop my ring in the sand while fending off tears of joy.
Everybody tells you that at least one thing will go wrong on your wedding day. For the most part, I think I am OK with that. I haven’t exactly arranged for a super fancy affair. So, for example, if something goes wrong with the cake, I will live. Mainly because the cake cost less than what I pay to have my hair done every other month.
Sick, I know.
I truly am most nervous about people having fun.
Thankfully, Amy Longeteig is my matron of honor. I might have just spelled her name wrong, but this isn’t a fact-checking blog so…(I did check her Facebook when addressing her invitation. I’m not that lame).
Anyway, as we get closer to the wedding day, and I think about all of the people coming to spend the day with us, I get super excited.
Not a single one of my bridesmaids lives in LA. Only one of them lives in California.
I rarely see them.
And they are my favorite people.
I emailed Amy today to remind her that she will have to give a toast. I almost started crying thinking about what she will say.
There are memories.
I met her husband first. Then I quickly realized who was the cooler of the two. Her, of course.
She was a New England transplant and she was not afraid to speak her mind to the more laid back people of the west coast, and, in particular, Eugene, Oregon.
Who the fuck orders a Cosmopolitan (it was 1999 people, they were cool back then) at a DIVE bar and then returns it because it tastes like shit?
Probably because the bartender farted on it due to the fact that she ordered a Cosmo at a bar that has Pabst on tap and peanuts on the floor.
I was always in awe of how she stood up for herself. I am a pansy in every shape of the word and if my food comes to me cold I will smile and say that it tastes great so as to not piss off the waiter.
Circa 2004, I was a girl who would let a guy treat me like shit and figure it was my fault.
Amy was the friend who would call him, give him a piece of her mind and then hide my cell phone until the next morning so that the vicious cycle of text-fighting would end and we could all sleep.
Her house was open to me morning, noon and night. Like the time I decided to walk 3 miles home from a party, but realized half way there that it was a horrible idea.
Luckily, the Longeteig house was nearby so I strolled up at 3 a.m. Sure enough the front door was unlocked and I quietly curled up on their couch while their guard-dog, Stella, gave me puppy kisses and asked if I wanted to steal the TV.
I woke up and left in the morning before they ever knew I was there.
There were the camping trips.
Killer Longeteig barbeque’s.
Sunday’s at Jerry’s for Sex in the City, Six Feet Under and yummy drinks.
There was her wedding in Maine.
That ever-memorable moment at a wedding when Amy said, “Who the fuck cares about college football?!”, not realizing that Oregon football coach Mike Bellotti was at the table next to her. He smiled.
That one time Those 10 times that she has fallen down after a night out and been seriously injured.
Realizing that the stray cat she adopted and named Lucy was actually a boy, forcing her to rename him to Lou C.
Her late-night grilled cheese sandwiches.
The list goes on for years.
And so, when I think about having fun at the wedding, I remember that there will be people like Amy there to make sure fun happens.
That’s her number one duty as MOH.
Bring the laughs.