I’m not getting hitched, but I was at a wedding this past weekend.
Thanksgiving weekend was a fucking gong show this year – or so it seems. Friday morning April and I did our first class at Shapes (a weights-only class that subsequently left me practically immobilized for the following three days), and then I had my left foot tattooed. It was glorious to finally get those crocuses done – after all of the waiting and ridiculousness that has accompanied my attempt to have them done – and when I showed my foot to Ammie (my “Ode to Ammie” as I called it), I’m pretty sure she liked it. I believe the response was “Holy Moses,” which I’m going to interpret as “That’s awesome.”
Saturday was Amanda’s sister’s wedding. Amanda’s family is Italian, and the groom’s is Filipino, so I was expecting a long ceremony (especially given Meghan’s claim that “this is a Filipino wedding, we’re going to be here for hours”). The ceremony started a bit late, but wasn’t particularly long, and was actually quite nice. The church was pretty, and everyone looked lovely – the wedding party consisted of what seemed like upwards of 150 people (there were three maids of honour and three best men, the rest of the bridal party sat during the ceremony).
After much cabbing around and getting ready and stressing about whether capri-length tights were inappropriate (I decided that yes, they were, and went instead with VERY uncomfortable and awkwardly-fitting hose), Meg and I made it to the reception at the Fort Garry, Winnipeg’s resident Classy Hotel. The room was very lavish and shiny, and the meal was mostly good (the main course was sausage-filled pork – no way to get around the Meat-Filled-Meat on that one…but I filled up on the sides and probably ended up better off than if I had eaten a main course). The speeches weren’t terribly long, and the music was good. Also, and more importantly, the bar was open. Oh baby was it ever open.
Meghan and I did some white-dancing, drank a bunch of beer and double ceasars, and went out for a few cigarettes, and ended up leaving around 12:30am (so wild and crazy!). Most everyone had cleared out, and we had an opportunity to get a lift home, so we took it. My foot was a swollen mess, so I was happen to take my ceasar-soaked ass home and peel my boot away from my ‘club foot’.
One of the Filipino traditions that took place that night was the Pantsing of the Groom. In my mind, a nice way to level the playing field after the garter tradition (that I find very unappealing given its history), the Pantsing happens when the groom throws the garter to the men. As soon as he releases it, the men rush him and try to rip his pants off. Both comical and entertaining! The groom obviously knew this was coming (Meghan explained to me what was about to happen, and told me about the grooms’ tactics in dealing with this tradition at other weddings she’s been to, including wearing a locked chain for a belt, and wearing a wetsuit under the tux), so he tried to convince whomever was holding his and the bride’s newborn son to let him hold the baby while he did the garter-toss (as then nobody would rush him). That didn’t fly with all the guys, so instead as soon as he tossed the garter he leapt over both of the bridal party tables and ran out of the room. It was hilarity. Eventually the groomsmen carried him in, shirtless. Comedy gold.
It was a good night.
Thanksgiving? That’s another post altogether.
