Recently, I had the honor of being a bridesmaid in my BFF Kate’s wedding to her longtime main squeeze, Jason. Besides an awkward moment where the Mother-of-the-Bride looked down at me while I was adjusting Kate’s train and said, “Always a bridesmaid, never a bride!” (way to send shivers down the spine of a 25 year-old/ first-time bridesmaid, MoB!), I had a beyond fabulous time wearing a vintage 1970s crochet dress, tearing up while watching my homegirl get hitched, and ghetto dancing to music that shouldn’t have been ghetto danced to. In fact, it was while I was shaking my ass in the general direction of the crotch of some poor soul/wedding attendee that I had this epiphany: “Weddings: hella expensive and stressful for the people who have to plan them, but a broke-ass’s dream come true.”
This statement is not to detract from the true, sentimental meaning of a wedding—of course nothing could top seeing my friend look gorgeous on her special day, and celebrating the fact that she found “The One” in a diamond of a man who is equal parts chilled-out gamer, and fashion-conscious dandy (a true Renaissance man, that Jason!). But for all of the happy-crying I did when Kate’s dad was toasting his baby girl, I did almost as much happy-crying when I thought about the glories of the open bar.
That’s right, after months of eating nothing but charity burritos donated to my stomach by the generous philanthropists at my local taco truck, I—an obligatory follower of the cheapo Burrito, Ice Cream, and Hummus Diet (a.k.a. the BICH Diet)—drooled at the delicious catered food and 12 (!!!) different wedding cakes at Kate’s matrimonial soiree. Not only did the food taste like heaven, I got to pour high-quality Napa Valley wine down my throat that was seriously on a different plane from the TJ’s wine and gayborhood happy hour margaritas that I usually imbibe. It was an over-indulgent evening that I much appreciated, all the more because I am ridiculously poor. For one night only, I ate and drank like a member of Kate’s royal court (probably the court jester), and not the broke-ass BICH that I usually am.
Basically, wedding receptions are kind of like this alternate universe where broke-asses get to pretend that we’re fancy. Besides the fine dining, weddings are one of the few places where Average Joes like us get to see all of our friends dressed up. These days, I consider it an accomplishment if I don’t crawl back into bed immediately after taking a shower, pass out, and wake up three hours later with weirdly-dried hair that looks like it belongs atop Nick Nolte’s head at the time of his mugshot. To see all of our friends out of their tattered holey-butt jeans and stretched out cardigans purchased at Forever 21 in 2008 is super fun—and, guess what? People look damn good when they shower and wear shit that’s dry clean only. Which brings me to my next point…
Wedding receptions are a place to let our hormones rage like a 13 year-old girl stealing a copy of Cosmo from the drugstore. Seriously, if you’re itching for some action and want to exert the least amount of effort possible, just go to a wedding. There’s a general feeling of flirtatiousness in the air—after all, we are witnessing two fools declare their undying love for each other! This leads to couples in attendance feeling a little cuddlier, and singles feeling… well, kinda like horn-dogs. Pair those spicy feelings with a free meal, too many drinks, and a dance marathon where we can both showcase our finest Running Mans and our romantic slow-dancing skills, and we don’t have to spend megabucks wining and dining the objects of our desire to get laid. So, after knocking back a few glasses of vino and making eyes at that QT across the room, have the nerve to ask for that phone number, initiate that disgustingly face-sucking drunken make-out sesh, go big and break into the venue pool for a little midnight “swim.” Or just rub your butt on him or her, which is pretty much my MO. Trapped in the throes of lust and tipsiness, you might feel embarrassed afterward, but fear not—everyone loves a good wedding hookup story.
So, Kate and Jason, thank you for letting me be a part of your magical day. Thank you for going through all of that time, stress, and moolah to host an unstoppable party to celebrate your love with your friends and family. Thank you for being a power couple along the lines of “Billy Elliot: The Musical” and “Music by Elton John.” Your wedding may have been unforgettable for you two, but it was also unforgettable for all of your broke-ass buddies, as well. My only wish is that the dance floor butt-rubbing never had to end. Congrats, babies!
Photo credit: Salem Design