This post is months, maybe years, in the making, but I’m married. Girl Loves Noodles and I decided that after almost eight years together, it was time to make it official. Before doing the damned thing, I took an informal poll of people who got married after years of dating like us and they almost universally said the same thing: “Being married is no different than not being married.” I wanted to believe that being married under the eyes of the state would change something, but ultimately, other than the fact that I constantly have to leave something like my watch on our bed’s headrest so that I don’t mistakenly walk out of our apartment without my wedding ring, it’s pretty much the same.
Anyways, like this marriage, this post is a long time coming. You asked me to blog about the day of, and while I indeed started to do so on a number of occasions—easily verifiable by all of the discarded documents on my hard-drive titled “webloggedit – wedding edition” or something equally obvious or derivative—I never got around to actually completing anything. This should not necessarily come as a surprise given that I have over two dozen blog entries that were started with supreme excitement at having something to share, but were ultimately discarded as I moved on to the next thing (or I turned back to my novel, which, if the three or four people reading this happen to know of an agent looking for someone who writes in a rather disjointed manner, send them my way). But here I am, about to do my best to recount the wedding day, which may or may not suffer from a tinge of James Frey, only I won’t purposely be embellishing or outright lying, I’ll just be misremembering (which, I hope, in a court of law is a difference with an actual distinction).
The morning of the wedding was somewhat chaotic. As you may or may not recall, we had our rehearsal dinner in the financial district at a place that was equidistant from our hotel and our apartment. Some people said that, in the spirit of tradition and the like, we should sleep in separate beds, one of us taking the hotel room and one of us trekking back to the apartment. That would have been great if we did not have a ton of things to do like finish the flowers (note, pay someone to do it for your upcoming wedding, heck, pay someone to do everything you can stomach paying for because you do not want to have to do anything yourself), write some vows (write these as early as possible because if you don’t, you’ll be like the two of us at 1am, trying to write something while your wife’s maid of honor is yelling at you for procrastinating while she puts together little flags with guests’ names on them that will be used as place cards; there will also be a point in the night when your maid of honor will realize that she has been using chapstick instead of a glue stick to create the flags and you will be too tired while writing vows to say anything other than, “Well, it only has to last a day or so.”), or pack (which is also surprisingly difficult even if having your wedding in your city of residence because you think to yourself, very incorrectly, that you can always just run back to your apartment to pick up anything you missed; pro tip, bring everything) (also, I apologize now, just looking back at the density of the text I wrote, which will be almost certainly full of typos, for my lack of practice when it comes to blogging. No one wants to read something as jerky and non-coherent as I just did, but it is what it is, a cliché that ought to be banned one day for the ubiquity of its use).
OK, so when we finally got to bed, content to know we had at least got some vows down, we thought that when we woke up, at least some of our stress would be alleviated. Wow, were we wrong.
As you and the Korean Jew may recall, and I would not hold it against either of you if you had forgotten, your hair appointments were at an hour when normal people, as in people like me, like to sleep on a Saturday, weddings be damned. So while Girl Loves Noodles was running to Brooklyn, I was asleep. And when I finally woke up? I went to brunch with some friends. When you go and tie the knot, I would be hesitant to allow for your beau to do anything unless everything were ready. Knowing you, that won’t be a problem and you’ll probably be ready to walk down the aisle a month before, but as you know, there were so many things that still needed to be done, so much so that all of the bridal party minus the two males were doing random things for the wedding (and by random, I mean things like getting everything over to the venue, no small feat).
When I finally finished brunch, I hopped on the subway, lugging two large murals of pictures over to Brooklyn Winery—where the person in charge of set-up looked at me like I was a stranger of some sort (shouldn’t they have a photo or something so they know that I’m the second most important person that day next to some girl who likes noodles?)—and then back to the hotel where I was greeted by you and a locked door. When I finally got inside, happy to finally have a chance to myself, I was unceremoniously disturbed by the videographer who wanted to see if she could do some before shots. If there is one thing I would want you to take away from my wedding as yours approaches, it is this—if you have a general plan, stick to it as much as possible. Given that scheduling and just about everything goes out the window, Murphy’s Law and all that jazz, anything that can be controlled and followed ought to be controlled and followed. And if that means letting the groom take a shower and relax for 15 minutes without a videographer in your room, so be it.
Once I was done voicing my dissatisfaction, I was left to my own devices, which really meant trying on a slim fit shirt, deciding that it was a mistake, and then putting on the classic fit (i.e., husky) shirt. No matter how much dieting you do, if you’re a guy who wears clothing meant to be roomier, that’s what you’re going to wear. Can’t squeeze into something not built for you no matter how many miles you put in.
OK, so after finally putting on everything, I made my way down to the hotel café where I spent some time with the most well-spoken person I know, my best and only man. After a few minutes, my people slowly arrived and then things became a blur. You’ll forgive me now that I’m already 1200 words in for the very cursory description I give of a bunch of things, but at least I got something down, which is significantly more than I can say I’ve produced for this wee little blog in the past 6 months or even longer (or at least published given that I have half a dozen incomplete blog entries that I started full of energy and then tossed to the side when I got excited by something else).
When I was finally summoned by our videographer—not before our Korean Jew friend stole a dried flower from the hotel café that was quickly converted to a boutonniere—I was a little nervous about the event finally getting started. It was one thing to plan (or help plan because let’s be honest here, Girl Loves Noodles was in charge of all of that; the one thing that I tried to weigh in on were the table-settings, and she vetoed Magic cards faster than you know), quite another to, ahem, do the damn thing. Our videographer led me out of the hotel, mic’d me up, and then had me wait with my back turned for our First Look. I didn’t think that a First Look was all that important, but I highly recommend them. It’s one thing to see your future significant other as you do every day, quite another when you see him or her dressed to the nines and ready for, ahem, doing the damn thing (sorry, I am in the middle of episode two of The Bachelorette and can’t help myself; if it annoys you, insert “ummm” where I write that phrase and its various derivations and pretend I am speaking to you). When I finally did see her, it was rather shocking. She looked incredible. And maybe you can stop reading here because I think that this is the universal truth of a wedding—we each become our best selves. Not just physically, but in every other manner. We surround ourselves with all of our loved ones, the people who have been with us at our best and worst, who go out of their way to remind us of our best. I’m sure I’m stealing that thought from something, but between all of the Congratulations, the speeches, and the general love in the air from everyone around you, you feel like you and your significant other are better than maybe you actually are.
OK, this is probably about as far as I get on this first installment, and who knows whether I will get to another. That being said, getting married was pretty awesome. I look forward to seeing you join me on the other side of that line.