![]() We did not anticipate the supreme awesomeness of the band. Which proves that you don't have to be together every second to have a fabulous time at your wedding.Īt first we were nervous that the venue was going to be stuffy, but we figured that our friends and family would lower the tone enough to compensate. P: OH MY GOD! Were you even AT the party? What were you doing?! P: But did you hear when they played "Move It" ( one of our favorite songs, I'm ashamed to admit)? P: Oh my God! Did you miss them all? Where on earth were you? P: Yes! What do you mean? There were three dances! Everyone clasped hands and joined in, side stepping in concentric circles to the bazooki. ![]() My cousins brought Greek music and we did a few dances to honor the Old Country. It was beautiful watching my parents together. The band was less than stoked to be playing "Fascination" but they strapped on one and dealt, playing a very pared down version with the sax. My mother called me anticipating a fight and said, "YOUR FATHER IS EIGHTY-FOUR AND HE WANTS A WALTZ." Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay. My dad requested a polka and I flat-out refused. My parents, on the other hand, danced a WALTZ. I continued to dance in an uninhibited way that makes people long desperately for inhibition. ![]() Fauxhawk hid for the rest of the evening while he recovered his dignity. Suffice it to say that we were pretty psyched when it was over. ![]() It was like watching a Stevie Wonder impersonator drag a corpse around the dance floor. Fauxhawk lives in mortal fear of dancing and I am a complete spaz, so I had to talk him through a series of awkward white person moves while everyone gathered around us. We barely had time to choose a song, much less practice our dance. I'm glad my boss was there to hear about my HI-LARIOUS hijinks because I couldn't have him going around thinking that I'm awesome or anything. My brother told humiliating stories of my youth, which followed humiliating stories recounted by my other brother at the rehearsal dinner. My dad wrote an epithalamium - a poem dedicated to the bride - and everyone erupted into thunderous applause, even though he misplaced the last stanza in his nervousness. Somehow I never feel like eating cakes with lots of bells and whistles - excessive frosting grosses me out. We asked Saipua to add spring flowers to decorate what was a very simple, pristine design. We ate lamb chops and cut the cake, which was vanilla with lemon curd and raspberries (the easiest and most joyful decision we made as a couple, thanks to Soutine, a wonderful little Upper West Side bakery very close to where I grew up). Maybe I'll show you some of my other wedding "designs" when I've recovered from the trauma of attempting DIY projects while working 10-12 hour days. By "design" I mean shouting at Illustrator and crying because I am not a designer and had no idea what I was doing. It was a perfect setting to showcase Saipua's glorious flowers. Dinner was in the library, which felt very homey as I grew up surrounded by books. We had our reception at an arts and letters club in midtown Manhattan, housed in a beautiful old Stanford White building. Plus, this is the last time you'll ever see me with my hair brushed, so let's all savor this special moment together. But because I am slightly anal-retentive and can't be satisfied until I've tied up loose ends, I'm going to DO THIS POST EVEN IF IT KILLS ME (the joy! Can you hear the joy?). It's taken me a while to get around to this last part of the jibber-jabber - I guess I'm a bit sick of myself and quite possibly sick of the whole entire wedding (wonderful though it was).
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