3 p.m. and I was still hovered over the toilet bowl, barely able to stand, with a pounding headache and absolutely no desire to go to a wedding. I called my Aunt and told her I probably couldn’t make it to the ceremony, whereupon she immediately got mad at me and I cried a little.
Well I did what any self-respecting alcoholic would do: I popped some Advil and pulled myself together. I made it to the ceremony with just five minutes to spare, and my relatives beamed at me happily. Whew.
Unfortunately, I’m terribly emotional when I’m hungover, and I wept like a baby through the entire ceremony, especially with any mention of my Aunt Jen. The vows took place outside under a giant tent, which made me sigh and become dreamy. Then I caught sight of the groomsmen, which made me slightly excited. I was just one big jumble of pent up sexual energy on the edge of a nervous breakdown.
When dinner rolled around, ShortSexMachine and I popped open a bottle of wine. Would anyone else like any? No? We drank two bottles. Two bottles of wine, when hours before I wanted to drown myself in toilet water.
I loved the wedding; there was a great combination of guests. The rowdy, brawlin’ Newfies on one side, and the Groom’s wacky family on the other side. Unfortunately, mainland Canada does not know how to party like East Coast Canada, and the bar closed at 1:30 a.m., just when I had drank away the last of my hangover. The speeches didn’t even get over until 10:30 for fucksakes.
Anyway, I still had a blast with my relatives…I feel tremendously guilty that I didn’t spend much time with them, especially after one of my Aunts shoved $40 down my shirt. Just when we were leaving, I met two incredible guys. One was tall, thick and broad…just how I like ‘em. And charming. We chatted for a bit and then a friend of the bride introduced me to another guy, with slightly crazy hair but with a self-confident attitude that I immediately liked. So there I was sipping wine and juggling a conversation between two incredibly worthy men, and I had to leave in five minutes. Such is my life. I’m not Catholic anyway, which was what the crazy-haired guy was seeking.
So a bunch of us crammed ourselves into a mini-van and headed back to Aunt Martini’s room for an after-party, which didn’t last long because I was passing out and everyone else was just lame. But my final conclusion about the whole evening was this: I need to move to Ottawa, I need to be around my family, and I need to get married.