Cheers to Friendly Distractions

I’ve always known that having friends is important. They’re fun to have around when times are good to share in your joy and celebrate with you. But, perhaps even more importantly, they’re imperative to have around when times get rough. Whether they know it or not, sometimes friends are your saving grace. They don’t have even have to do anything special… just their presence can be enough to get you through the bad times and remind you of the good in life. Over the last week, my friends have helped me more than they know.

Things are tough at the W house right now. My marriage to Mr. W is good and our relationship isn’t in danger at all. Honestly, if we weren’t so strong as a couple, it might be… not because of any conflicts between us, but because sometimes when outside issues get to us, we tend to turn on those we love the most. Fortunately, we aren’t doing that. We’re both individually very stressed about a lot of things. I wasn’t kidding when I said this trip would be a “reset” button for our lives. But saying you’re going to do something and actually making it happen are different things. It’s a scary, stressful time for us and while I know we’ll get through it, that doesn’t make it any easier.

Without knowing it, my friends have stepped in over the last week and both distracted me from the issues on my mind and made me laugh and forget my troubles. It started last Wednesday, when Yennifer declared an emergency “mojitos by the pool” day at her apartment complex. I hadn’t seen my best friend since May and “Ann” and all her Bryan Adams-serenading goodness for much longer. Throw in Yennifer’s friend “Margaret” (given an old lady name because the jerk went up to her apartment “for a minute” and passed out for two hours!) and some snacks and you’ve got yourself a party.

As Yennifer listened intently to all my drama, she wordlessly picked up the giant bottle of rum I’d supplied and casually dumped the vast majority of it into her carefully blended mojito mix. Now that’s a friend! We sat by the pool for hours, sharing stories of life on the road and all our various family and friend dramas, eating crackers and hummus and sipping our drinks. I made sure I got some work done beforehand so I was able to fully relax. It was amazing; the highlight being a random little girl telling us in detail about the time her grandma went skydiving and lost her dentures mid-air. Mr. W was thrilled when I arrived home happy, mellowed out, and with ice cream in tow.

Over the weekend, Coeur d’Alene was lucky enough to get a visit from our very own MsSantos and her husband. When she asked if we were available for dinner, we agreed that the best place would be Angelo’s since I’d hyped it up so much. Fortunately, it didn’t disappoint. My Cioppino was delicious and washed down by a fruity pinot grigio. They were even sweet enough to buy us dinner, something very unexpected and so appreciated. After dinner, Mr. W and I took them on a bit of a bar tour. From the cruise-ship-like Shore Lounge to Icon to Mik & Macs, we drank and laughed the night away and had an awesome time. Fortunately Mr. W is on a sobriety kick so we had a safe ride home because the three of us sure weren’t in driving shape. MsSantos and her husband are awesome in ways I can’t even explain. My impending Sunday headache was well worth it. There should be some hilarious Facebook pictures up shortly.

On Sunday, I barely had time to ease my tired body into the shower and gulp down some Tylenol before Yennifer arrived. We drove to the resort where we met her boyfriend for a boat day. Six years living close to one of the most beautiful lakes in the country and we finally make a friend with a boat. We were joined by their friend Rob who is one of the most hilarious off the wall characters I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. We rode around the lake for five hours enjoying the sunshine. Yennifer and her boyfriend were brave enough to go tubing. I was content sunning myself on the boat with some Sun Chips. After an early dinner where we were joined again by the Santos clan for drinks, Mr. W and I headed home and proceeded to sleep for 11 hours.

I’ve been lucky enough to “meet” three wonderful, beautiful ladies through Twitter recently. While we were on the road, I suggested the four of us get together upon my return. Last night, we finally made our girls’ night happen and it was even better than I expected it to be. Our night started at a lounge at the resort. We happened to be sharing the space with, I kid you not, a Gynecologist convention. Given the subject matter at our table, it was very appropriate. Later, we headed back to my place and gathered in my basement bar to try out the stripper pole that gets far too little use. We talked my wonderful friend A into coming over. At midnight, A turned 24 and the celebration continued until almost 3 am. I knew the ladies would be awesome people and I was right. Hearing about the struggles they've all been through, and have overcome, gave me so much hope that I'll be stronger for this weird time in my life, too.

Today I am tired, but smiling. I have to return to “real life” and face all the issues that plague us, but I’m doing so with a smile and a positive attitude. The last week has been full of memories that will last a lifetime, assuming the alcohol consumed allows my brain to recall them. I made some new friends, spent some time with old friends, and I know that my very best friend… the one I just remarried in Vegas… is as grateful as I am for the good times. It’s easier getting back to reality when parts of reality are so wonderful. No matter what the world throws at me, I know just how blessed I really am.

Mr. and Mrs. At Last

Weddings are interesting. In my vast experience with them, they always go something like this: boy and girl get engaged. Everyone is happy. Girl begins to plan dream wedding. Mom and girl butt heads over details. The guest list is made. Boy and girl realize how many crazy family members, awkward friends and personality clashes will attend. Money gets tight. Money gets tighter. The bridal party is chosen. Feelings are hurt (they always are). As the date grows closer, boy and girl both wish they had eloped. But they’re in too deep. Final plans are made. Tasks are assigned. Everyone gets to town. Some are helpful, some are jerks. By the big day, boy and girl wish they were on a plane to a tropical island already.

But then there’s that one moment where not a damn thing matters other than the fact that a couple has agreed to spend the rest of their lives together and are about to take vows to each other before God and family. It’s that moment where everyone stands and turns toward the back of the room and the bride appears, more beautiful than she’s ever looked in her entire life. And you watch the bride walk up the aisle with that nervous smile while the bridal party composes themselves and look on and the groom looks like he’s just won the lottery. In that moment, the drama and the hassle are forgotten. All that matters is what was supposed to matter in the first place. For that moment, everyone is happy and at peace.

I’m never an organized person, but I’m normally a lot more organized than I was for N and J’s wedding. Though I was the Officiant, my job was incredibly simple: perform the ceremony. Read the words. Sign some documents. All I had to do was show up and read. But since Mr. W and I have returned from our journey, we have not been able to get a grip. We made some big decisions and, aside from all the unpacking and laundry, we’ve had a lot to deal with and a lot to do. Still, when Thursday morning rolled around, I mentally forgot every issue and vowed to focus on the big day ahead. I didn’t even have the entire ceremony printed or anything to put it in, but I’d handle it.

I had spent the last seven days ridding my body of every harsh chemical from the trip. No caffeine, no alcohol, no excess sugar, no meat, very little dairy: just fruit, veggies, whole grains and tea. As soon as we got to Yakima, I single-handedly destroyed that when I met up with the Wolf Pack/bridal party and had four or five glasses of wine and some Greek pizza. In the wee hours of Friday morning, as I lay in my parents’ bathroom moaning and vomiting, cursing myself and cursing wine, I told myself to get it together and be there for N if she needed me.

Poor N’s only crime was making the same mistake every bride makes:  thinking her friends and family would put aside their normal irritating personality quirks and just be happy for her already. It’s really not that big of an expectation, but it never happens. People are people and by Friday, poor N was tired of people. “Your wedding will make you realize who your true friends are,” I warned her. Only later that weekend would I find out, in my own life, how true my words were. On Friday night, after the rehearsal dinner, I pounded Tylenol to relieve myself of the headache three liters of water had been unable to cure. Just as I was about to fall asleep, I realized I was about to marry a couple in front of 200 people. I heard birds chirping before I finally fell asleep.

Saturday started with a morning rehearsal. The bridal party and some extended family and friends arrived, ready to assist in preparations. After two flawless run throughs, centerpieces were made and tables were set up. F and I were put in charge of making last-minute ribbon runs as well as tying up some other loose ends. By the time we joined N and her bridesmaids at the salon to get out hair done, the venue was really coming together.

Saturday was a whirlwind of craziness and after pictures had been taken, the bridal party found ourselves with a bit of downtime in the bridal suite. The groomsmen came to keep us company and before long, the Wolf Pack was joking around and hopefully making N feel at ease. Thanks to an excellent wedding coordinator, everything was ready on time and at 6:25 PM, I found myself pacing in my designated spot. Soon I was joined by the groom looking amazing in his tux and ready to “take a wife.” At exactly 6:30 PM, the coordinator gave us our cue and we took our places. The Wolf Pack was classy and perfect as they escorted each other up the aisle. When they were in their places, My Wish by Rascal Flatts was played on the piano and N appeared with her brother and mother. I got goosebumps. Fortunately, I held it together.

“Oh good, she’s here,” J joked quietly.

Of course she is, I thought. And she’ll always be here. That’s why I love her.

As I read the ceremony, I thought about the words. I thought about the trip I had just taken and the roller coaster ride that marriage really is. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that, despite what the ceremony said, there are times when it does feel like work. They’ll learn that on their own and they’ll learn that if it’s right, they’ll never want to give up… even when their spouses act like total jackasses over unrelated incidents, like Mr. W did at their reception. Like I said, people are people and sometimes things don’t get put on hold because of a wedding. The ceremony went quickly and soon we were at the crucial part: the butterfly release. N loves butterflies and we all wanted it to work, but it’s an extremely tricky thing to pull off and we all knew we could be faced with a bunch of dead butterflies. To our delight, the bridal party opened the envelopes and a bunch of beautiful, alive monarchs flew into the sky. We all laughed with relief.

I pronounced J and N husband and wife. They walked up the aisle and I breathed an enormous sigh of relief. There were no tears, the vows went smoothly, and the butterflies were alive. Aside from both the bride and groom showing up, that’s all you can really ask for. Before long, dinner had been eaten, the paperwork had been signed, cake had been cut and the beautiful speeches had been given. The wine was flowing (much less for me, of course, lesson learned) and the Wolf Pack hit the dance floor. Then the limo arrived and Mr. and Mrs. R headed off into the night. They’re currently in Jamaica and if I know them, they’re enjoying being pampered after all the stress.

Weddings are a crazy, expensive circus. But in the end, no matter what skeptics say, they’re worth it. This wedding was almost fifteen years in the making. And now those of us who knew them back then, have seen them through every growing pain and know them well now can say, “At last.”

Chronicles of DC, part 2

At 8:00 PM that night in DC, Mr. W and I found ourselves in the hotel lobby cradling a bottle of red wine and looking through a book of pictures of skylines around the world. We were awaiting P, who was finishing up a dinner at the Irish Embassy. At 8:15, I called P. At 8:30, I called again. Her phone was off.

“The Irish must have kept her late,” I said to Mr. W. “I know what will get her here. Let’s have a drink at the bar. You know as soon as we order, she’ll arrive.” As we sipped our merlot, we chatted with the bartender and what I thought were two girlfriends enjoying drinks. Come to find out, they weren’t just girlfriends but actual girlfriends. Their love story was sweet and beautiful and after sending Mr. W rushing up to the room for something to write with, I had a same sex couple to add to my chronicles. Thrilled, we went upstairs to our room so I could blog and jot down some notes. Then I realized it was 9:40 PM. I had texts from P:

Girl.

Girl. Still at the Irish Embassy. Will need wine. Be there in ten.

At 11:00 PM, P rolled up to the hotel three hours late in a cab with an adorable young man in tow.

“Is he-“ I asked.

“Don’t worry about him, he’s ten years old,” she retorted. “Get in the cab.”

Minutes later, we found ourselves at P’s favorite local bar where we ordered drinks and P went from Business Professional to her blue spandex yoga pants from that morning (had she even gone home that day? I still don’t know). After a shot and a Bud Light, P brought the house down with an amazing rendition of Four Non Blondes’ What’s Going on. We laughed, we drank, we sang Backstreet Boys while Mr. W watched in silent amusement. I finally asked the adorable young man if he worked with P. He did not. They’d just met that night. How awesome is this girl?

Before long, it was almost 1 am. Adorable young man had left for the evening (no doubt terrified after witnessing our shenanigans) and I thought it might be best to get us all some water. The bartender thought some shots might go well with the water. I agreed. To make a long story short, the Patron went down for the three of us, but it only stayed down for two of us. P’s came back up… all over the bar, the limes, and in her purse.  I actually missed the event but turned around in time to see P looking confused and Mr. W staring sadly at his shoes.

After that, the party was over. We danced our way out of the bar, walking down the street to an all night restaurant where P ordered “the biggest mother f**king bucket of fries you have.” While waiting, she told Mr. W to go get “three white sauces, two yellow sauces and a ketchup.” When we had our bucket of fries, P hailed the next cab, not concerned with the fact that there was already a man in it. By the cab driver’s accent, P knew he was Ethiopian and they began to discuss Ethiopian culture and weddings. On the 4^th of July, Mr. W called P the most interesting woman in the world. You can see why. Even drunk, this woman is intelligent and articulate.

The cabbie took us back to the hotel, where P announced she’d eaten most of the bucket of fries and instructed me to order a pizza “with the silver card.” P hopped in the shower and then wrapped up in the awesome gaudy leopard print terry cloth robe, sat on the bed and immediately passed out. Minutes later, the pizza arrived, which Mr. W and I sampled before I crawled into bed and he passed out on the couch. Did I mention that, out of all the hotels we stayed in on our trip, that was the one without an extra blanket in the room? Fail.

At the ungodly hour of 7:30 am, P crawled to the pizza and devoured a slice. At 8:30, we rolled over, looked at each other, and burst out laughing. We looked over at Mr. W all curled up on the tiny couch and laughed harder. As P realized she was wearing nothing but a towel and robe and attempted to assemble an outfit that didn’t smell like vomit, I thought, man, high school would have been so much more fun if we would’ve had alcohol.

We have many stories from the trip… this one remains one of the best.