Walking Disaster

I am in two minds about writing this post — for one thing, I’m about to come across as super awful and judgmental…on the other hand, when I told my brother about it he told me I have to write it. So buckle up and prepare yourself for a story involving a urine-smelling venue, a near fight with the bitchy photographer and the equally bitchy bride, a rehearsal that didn’t involve rehearsing, and the world’s largest collection of gnats. If this isn’t for you, turn away now…but as a legal disclaimer, this literally all happened. Last week. Another disclaimer, my friend became a Trump supporter upon meeting her now husband, so I no longer care to be nice. If you recall, I had the same disclaimer for my bachelorette escape and yes, this could be considered part two.

Let’s start with the fact that the venue was a five-hour drive away, and wasn’t located near any airports which left us no choice but to make a drive that can only be described as regrettable. When we arrived and were rushed to the venue, after being falsely told we were late, my only other friend and I were told by our refreshingly honest Uber driver that the venue was considered “a special slice of hell,” and he spent the half hour drive questioning why they chose it for a wedding. We didn’t know why, and still don’t. The rehearsal dinner ended up starting an hour after we got there (so we weren’t late) and involved rehearsing nothing but the order to stand in. No arches or equipment was set up because as it turns out, that’s what we were there for. I have no problem with being free labor during the weekend, that is what you sign up for as a bridesmaid…but don’t have me dress up for a rehearsal dinner if I’m going to be dressing an old turkey barn and getting bitched at for suggesting citronella candles and fly lamps. Apparently, the bride doesn’t like the smell, and if people don’t like the flies they can leave… When I ask about the possibility of rehearsing anything else, I’m told that the coordinator is in charge, just go where you’re told. So I started drinking.

The only other person I knew was my friend, another bridesmaid who is a vegetarian. While she was told that there wouldn’t be vegetarian mains, there would be plenty of slides to substitute. However, the rehearsal dinner’s only non-meat options were tortilla chips and rice. Seeing the writing on the wall, she asks the couple if those will be the only options the next day as well, and instead of being apologetic, they were both oddly proud of having no vegetarian food. I had talked to the bride prior to the wedding week about how she does need some other options if the food will be buffet style and the number of guests will number over 200. My argument consisted of pointing out that sometimes people aren’t even vegetarian but might want something other than meat. Maybe they’re trying something new, maybe they’re not feeling well, and maybe they want a fucking choice. I was in disbelief that I had to explain the idea of “being considerate” to this person, but here we are. When asked about the possibility of pasta salad or roasted veggies, or something that, god forbid, wasn’t rice, the groom proudly proclaimed, “we’re not friends with any vegetarians!” To which I cut in, “clearly you are, cause [redacted] is in the wedding party,” and she responded with, “one of the first things [bride] and I ever bonded over was constantly being the only vegetarian in the group…I didn’t even know she had stopped.” When she pointed that out, the groom lovingly replied, “you’re lucky we’re offering chicken along with this tri-tip.” to which the bridesmaid countered, “no I’m not! Chicken is still meat!” So she started drinking.

The next day, after my friend had enough breakfast to hold her over for an entire day of no eating, the wedding day happened. I have never dealt with such a bridezilla in my life, and I have been to at least 15 weddings. She was yelling at people for not being on schedule (even though the schedule started forty minutes earlier than we were told), criticizing hair and makeup, playing the same Paris Hilton single over and over all day, and not even allowing booze while getting ready. I won’t criticize her dress because I have a policy of not doing that, but the screamed obscenities were not necessary. Also unnecessary was yelling at the rest of us because one of the bridesmaids bought a corset dress that was too small, and we spent a good part of an hour zipping her up. Because there was no real rehearsal, the driver didn’t know where to go once we got to the venue, we were told to go to a building to find our bouquets, but no one knew where or which building, it was the middle of a major heatwave, and the flies had bred, multiplied and taken over the charcuterie board along with all food in sight. Luckily, after starting nearly an hour late, the wedding happened. Neither of the vows mentioned love and I could feel sweat dripping down my arms and legs the whole time. After getting shit from the photographer who didn’t think I knew how to sit properly just because I had avoided sitting in the barn grass for most of the day (I was right, my legs became immediately itchy and red), I was at my limit. I wanted to start drinking.

And here comes my biggest grievance: I couldn’t drink because the only options were shots and signature cocktails, also known as the bride’s favorite drink, a Dirty Shirley, or Cactus Cooler with whiskey…the groom’s favorite. I don’t know why I was surprised. The groom is someone who calls his wife “broken” for being on her period and is too embarrassed to buy her tampons. Maybe I thought he would be one of those guy’s who’s signature cocktail is a BudLite. No Tecate here, that’s un-American, not like that great American brand…Budweiser. These so-called “bartenders” did not bring any other drinks, and I couldn’t even get a Red Bull to stay up and drive home that night. The food that caused such a stir nearly made me sick, my friend could still only eat rice, and there was something called a money dance? The bride was making fun of all the people who she called fake cowboys since she “could tell when boots haven’t touched dirt,” and it took everything in me not to point out that her husband was wearing a cowboy hat and boots but works in the auto industry…so his haven’t either! I don’t even think I have time to mention the random pair of doors in the middle of a field because I think that might bring a curse on me, and not in a fun way. Once I found out that we weren’t even allowed to leave until 9:30 because we were trapped until a shuttle arrived, I did my level best to enjoy myself and the newlywed couple. Unfortunately, they made that impossible since they played only censored songs, so my friend and I stayed sober, were the first ones back to the hotel, and left at 4:30 the next morning.

To make sure anyone reading doesn’t get mad at me, for being bitchy and judgmental, I would never hold this against a newlywed couple if this was a cost issue. However, I’ve seen what both families have spent their considerable wealth on, and neither of them came from this podunk hellscape so yes, I’m holding all of this against them. This is also someone I’ve been growing apart from for years and I wasn’t allowed to not be a bridesmaid. Yes, these are excuses, no I don’t care.