Till Death Do Us Part...

Friday, 5:45 p.m.: We are at the church. I am all dolled up in my wedding dress, jewelry and heels. My nails are done, my hair is done, my makeup is done. And I'm sweating my fucking ass off as though I'm being slow-roasted over an open flame with an apple in my mouth. D looks amazing. His tux is HOT. We grow impatient as we wait, and wait, and wait. Guests arrive. People come in to where we're waiting to take pics and give us hugs and kisses, to ohhh and ahhh at how "cute" we look, and the entire time I'm hoping I don't have pit stains on my dress from sweating so freaking much. I feel like I'm going to pass out.

FINALLY. The music starts and the priest leads us to walk down the aisle. I want to laugh. I want to DIE LAUGHING. D and I are both stiff as boards, we really have no idea what we're supposed to do. We're going with the flow. We're flying by the seat of our about-to-be-married pants. After a free-style sermon from the priest, which went on and on and on but was quite touching, and an awkward exchange of the vows, D kissed the bride and we skipped back down the aisle. I was high. High from the fact that I'd JUST GOTTEN MARRIED and because I no longer had to worry about getting sweat on my dress. It was party time, baby!

We hauled ass to the Tribute, where drinks and antipasto awaited. The setup was beautiful: a huge lit candelabrum in the fireplace, Sinatra playing in the background and laughter in the air. After an hour dinner was served, and though I don't remember all the different foods, I do remember that they all tasted amazing and that I kept wondering how my mother could afford all of this, how lucky I was to be able to throw such an awesome party to celebrate D and I getting hitched. Dinner, more drinks, pictures out the ass, cake cutting, cake eating, more drinks, a champagne toast...

Fast forward to later that night, after our families had left and only our friends remained. We invited them all back to our suite, which was decorated with candles and chocolate covered strawberries, the most romantic thing I've ever seen in my life. I could not wait for D and I to be alone. I was having fun with my drunk-as-fuck friends, but being the only completely sober one in the group was getting old FAST.

Just as I was thinking it was time for the guests to drive home drunk, D puked over the outside balcony of our suite. He stumbled back inside, took off his shirt, and lay on the king size bed, puke on his shoe and pants, the stink of mixed alcohol and stomach acid filling the room. As our friends FINALLY left, and I locked the door behind them, I turned to find D on the bathroom floor and started BAWLING my eyes out. Our night was ruined! No romance, no feeding each other cake and strawberries and champagne, no fucking like wild donkey's as man and wife... instead, there was cleaning up puke, putting cold cloths on my new husband's forehead, holding trashcans for him to vomit into over and over... and eventually there was going to bed ALONE. AWAKE. TEARY EYED. ANGRY.

In the morning, D had the most insane hangover I've ever seen. He was hurting, and part of me was glad. He felt bad physically, and also emotionally for letting me down the night before, as he should have. I forgave him. I moved on. I expect to be whisked away one weekend in the near future to make up for it.

All in all, I would not change a thing about our wedding ceremony or our reception. I'd do the wedding *night* over in a second, but nothing is ever perfect.