Sunday, November 14, 2010

The Groomsman Chronicles, TopGun Ed., pt.3: The Big Day

After a couple of days of never-ending car rides and very little sleep, I was finally able to catch up on my rest a bit, despite the six slices of pizza I'd had at the rehearsal dinner the night before conspiring against me in the form of a 4 AM heartburn attack.  Following our complimentary continental breakfast, Cap'n Shack-Fu and his honey decided to do a quick run out to nearby Mesa Verde to do some touristy stuff before heading to the church that afternoon, but I declined to join them because (a) I hadn't really brought appropriate clothing for trail walking (b) I figured the couple could use a little alone time with each other that didn't revolve around being cooped up in a car, and (c) I hadn't practiced or worked on my speech at all the previous day and I wanted to get it finalized.  During the few hours I was alone, I made some pretty significant edits and re-writes to tighten it up to right at 6 minutes running time.* By the time the others returned from their touristy activities I had settled on my final draft and tried to put it out of my mind until time for the reception.

After a quick bite to eat, we got ready and headed to the church for the series of pre-wedding photos.  Although we were a few minutes past the time we had been told to get there, we still wound up beating both the bride and groom.  When TopGun got there, he showed us that there had been a mix-up with Li'l Champ's tux -- apparently, they got the measurements of his shirt and jacket reveresed, so the shirtsleeves were so long they had to be shoved up into the jacket, which itself had to be left unbuttoned just so Li'l Champ could breathe. 

Quite the dashing pair, no?

We also discovered that TopGun's uncle did not have a silk pocket square like the rest of us, so we scrapped that from our ensemble, which actually worked out well for me, since Shack-Fu came up with the idea of using my pocket square as a makeshift retrieval device for the wedding rings.

Yes, that's right:  they entrusted me with the rings.  No, I don't know what they were smoking either.**

Anyway, once we had our wardrobes straightened out, it was picture time, both serious

Father of the Bride called the groomsman "Three Horseman of the Apocalypse" -- I am obviously not Famine.

and not so serious

TopGun: Ladies Man Extraordinaire
Move over, Charlie's Angels, there's a new team in town

"Hey, did I mention I'm down to 152 lbs now? I did?  Just wanted to make sure you all knew that."

And then the bride was sent upstairs to wait out of sight, where I'm sure she was nervously fretting about the upcoming nuptials, pacing back and forth, chewing on her nails . . .

Then again, maybe not . . .

And before you knew it, it was time for the ceremony itself.  Despite a couple of technical glitches at the beginning (sounds system problems during slide show, door almost swinging shut on bride), once the bride and her father started walking down the aisle

everything went wonderfully, from the vows

to the lighting of the Unity candle

So, uh, you come here often?

to the big kiss

to the introduction of the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. TopGun

the important stuff went off without a hitch.***

After that it was time for all the post-wedding pics with the bride and groom together

Gotta love Li'l Champ's jaunty GQ solution to his shrunken jacket

followed by the signing of the marriage license

She wasn't smiling as much a few seconds later when TopGun pretended to rip it up . . .

which the Maid of Honor and I witnessed (and heartily endorsed)

After which it was reception time. After everyone had had a chance to eat I delivered the infamous toast, the cake was cut, and then the DJ started up the music for the happy couple's first dance.
TopGun just looks overjoyed to be dancing in front of a crowd . . .

 . . .but at least he has something pretty to look at to take his mind off it.
After that there was the father/daughter dance, followed by a few dollar dances, where people could dance with either the bride or groom by paying them a dollar. They tried to get Li'l Champ out to dance with the bride and his grandma, but he balked, using the "I'm shy!" defense. As I went onto the dance floor myself, I paused to inform him that I was going to make it my duty to make sure he danced at least once before the night was through.  A few minutes later, I saw him out on the dance floor

When he came back to the table afterward, he complained to his dad "Todd made me dance with my new cousin!" like it was the most painful experience of his young life . . . after that he was on the dance floor non-stop until time for him to leave.

I didn't do much dancing on the whole, mostly because the bulk of the songs played were country, and mostly because the couple of fast songs I did dance to almost killed me -- stupid altitude!**** But before I collapsed from a coughing fit -- CONGA LINE!

If Shack-Fu's at a reception, there will be a Conga Line.  Bank on it.
Eventually, it was time for the newlyweds to head off to their honeymoon suite, so they were sent through a gauntlet of well-wishers wielding air horns

Is it just me, or is Shack-Fu's expression just a tad manic here?

After sending the happy couple on their way with only a smidgen of hearing loss, we helped clean up and then headed back to the hotel to try to catch a few hours of sleep before getting up waaaaaaaaay too early to head back home the next morning -- after I got my constant body-wracking coughs under control that is.

Stupid altitude.

*Well, 6 minutes while practicing -- no telling how long the actual speech lasted, as I was probably going a mile a minute then.
**When the bride handed her engagement ring over, she admonished me "Don't lose it!" then quickly said "Just kidding."  My reply? "Oh, so I can lose it then?  Phew, that's a relief!"  I then got a preview of her death-glare.
***Except, y'know, technically they did get "hitch"ed . .
****Yes, it was all the altitude's fault, and had nothing to do with the fact I haven't worked out in months . . . yeah, that's the ticket . . .