The wedding weekend just past was a rousing success.
Friday night groom and groomsmen conciliatory shenanigans - intended as a sendoff for erstwhile singlehood - involved bad hats, a wee spot of liquor and a home karaoke machine. I found out that I kick some serious ass when it comes to Eminem's Real Slim Shady. All the other Slim Shadys are just imitating. (I was accused of having pent-up angst. It's the best kind, really.)
The Saturday morning and afternoon leading up to The Event consisted largely of napping and last minute scrambling. It being my first time in a wedding party outside my own, the ceremony and subsequent events are largely anti-climactic for non-grooms. Stand. Look handsome. Smile. Photos. Interminable receiving line. Sit. Eat. Listen. Dance like nobody's watching. Consequence-Free Fun.
The outdoor ceremony threatened rain, but didn't. The receiving line was, indeed, very long and I occupied myself by threatening to flirt with many of the women who passed by; I made good on some. My darling wife stayed at the reception longer than I was anticipating and we both had to abandon the truck and cabbed it home (separately). I was one of a small group that was followed out of the reception by the security guard who locked the doors behind us at 2 AM. We shut the place down.
And, if memory serves, I may have been the one to organise a shirtless (albeit vest- and tie-clad) groomsmen-only dance floor homage to the bride a la Right Said Fred's I'm Too Sexy. For which Amy (amid a couple dozen other horrified onlookers) scored pics and some video footage.
I'll see what I feel up to posting here tomorrow in terms of pictures and/or video. Neither I nor most of the men I know associated with the wedding can ever run for political office for fear of the ramifications of some of that material leaking.