Tuesday we drove down to the Outer Banks, Corolla to be exact, for a wedding. R, who is Andrew’s best friend, met and fell in love with H in Washington DC while she was here from Sweden for school. Eventually, H had to move back to Sweden and things looked a little rough for a while, but eventually, R figured out he couldn’t live without her, even if it meant moving across an ocean to be with her so secretly flew across that pond and all the way to Sweden to pop the question all sneaky like and – not surprisingly – she said yes.
R moved to Sweden in December and they’ve been planning a wedding from far far away ever since. They rented a house in Corolla, one with a big enough back yard to accommodate a reception for 40, and planned to get married on the beach.
Since my husband was one of the two groomsman and since I’d rather drink in the early afternoon than spend time stuck being super girly, I took on the role of what the groom called “The Leader of the Men.” Personally, I wanted to be called “The Man Motivator,” but for some reason I couldn’t get anyone to call me that.
Basically, I yelled a lot. I spent the morning helping the guys anchor the flowery pool candle holder thingies. It was no easy feat, but we figured it out and in the end, it looked great.
I also put together the aisle on the beach, which look absolutely amazing. I’m not just saying that because I did it. It really did look amazing and the bride told me, about 4 different times, that she loved it and that it looked exactly the way she wanted it to.
Mostly though, my job as Leader of the Men, required yelling. I yelled when the guys weren’t getting ready quickly enough. Getting three guys to get in the shower in a timely manner is harder than you think it is. I yelled when they were getting distracted by shiny things and children and guests. I yelled at the groom when he was being harassed by guests that wanted to ask him questions ten minutes before the ceremony. And it was worth it. I got the guys down to the beach in time to relax for a minute and in time for the guests to start arriving. It was perfect.
After the beautiful beach wedding, we walked back to the house for the reception. By this point, my hair was an absolute disaster. (Note to self: don’t wear your long hair down on the beach. It will look like shit after five minutes. ) Dinner was delicious. People were happy. The toasts made the bride (and everyone else) cry like little babies.
I call this one “Mmmmmmm….wine!”
I looked absolutely smashing in a fun strapless little red number that made me feel like my boobies were gonna pop out at any moment. Luckily they didn’t.
That’s me with the best man – my husband is eyeing the situation from behind me over there. He probably thought my boobies were going to pop out too.
Later that night some Drunkie McDrunkerson decided we should all get in the hot tub. So we did. Because why not? At that point all the old folks had gone to bed and it was just a small crowd of 10-15 crazies left. At one point, I got thrown in the pool. As did everyone else. Because apparently, that’s what you do at receptions when there’s a pool. I didn’t drown though, which actually surprised me.
We stayed up until 5 in the morning. I honestly did not know I could stay up that late. Seriously, who knew?
The next day we looked in the hot tub. It was nasty. NAST-AY! We’re not quite sure what happened in there after we went to bed and honestly, we’re pretty satisfied not knowing.
Also, this kid spent way too much time with the beers. I’m pretty sure he licked every single bottle just to make sure it was still cold.