Married Man!

Today marks my one week anniversary of being wed to lovely Risajoy and I feel it's time to muse over our special evening. Since marrying her was the easy part, I'm sure this post will center more on the party itself (which was rad, as one friend put it).

The night before was our rehearsal dinner which was marked mostly by socializing and imbibing. Something vaguely resembling rehearsal was conducted with the tabletop as a plan view of Marco's and forks; mainly, "the girls will come down from here and you pick them up and bring 'em up front." As the night went on we managed to meet up with some more out of town guests at two local bars. Needless to say, it was awesome to spend time with people that we don't see often enough, whether they were in from out of town or from across town.

I woke up Saturday morning in my brother's hotel room; we decided that I wouldn't stay at home the night before so that the first time I'd see Risa on our wedding day would be as she came down the aisle. Traditional, I know but it was well worth it. The remainder of Saturday was spent running last minute errands: picking up the cake, the PA system, wires from Radio Shack to hook up the ipod, etc...

By the time the fellas and I arrived at Marco's Supper Club, some guests had already arrived. The pastor was there as was the father of the bride and my family. I rushed around getting the sound right as people came and waited for my bride to arrive. I was cool though; talking to everyone, shaking hands, introducing people to one another. The appetizers were out as were the cocktails. Marco's staff was amazingly proficient and welcoming as was the proprietor himself (read: he and his restaurant are awesome; you really should go there). Then the phone call came!! They were close. Both the pastor and I had an immediate need to use the restroom to calm our nerves; he said, "ladies first" so I scurried off and left my masculinity with him.

Back at the front I cued up Al Green's "Let's Get Married" as the bridal party made their entrances. In retrospect, I think they ran because as soon as I looked up they had all arrived. I faded out the song with my thumb and switched over to M. Ward's "Fool Says" for my gal. Her father brought her down, past the bar, and all of the guests were on their feet! She looked incredible and I know I had the biggest smile possible painted across my face. Jeremy proceeded with his awesome sermon as Risa tried to pull me closer. Had I relented, the guests would have lost sight of the MC and since he was wearing the nicest suit, I couldn't let that happen. At one point, I allegedly stood up on my toes and leaned it toward her because I was so excited. I believe it because I've never been so happy in my life.

The ceremony ended a little awkwardly because it wasn't planned; I think I said, "let's party", which we did. We turned the tunes back on, signed the license and proceeded with the eveninig. The toasts were excellent, the cake was incredible, and the rest of the evening was awesome.

It's really funny, to me at least, that my nerves were cool the majority of the night. I did get excited when I knew she had arrived but thatt was just because I couldn't wait to see her. A friend of Lynnie's, the dance-machine, Jackie Brown, told me that she had never seen two people that meshed like Risa and I do. She told me was ecstatic for us and a little jealous too. Her comments are cemented in my brain and they just reinforce what I've been thinking all along.

I'm one lucky guy. (Go ahead, call me sappy now.)

Apparently, I’m an over-reactive, bigoted, redneck

I’ve always taken pride in my tolerance but it is currently being tested by my instincts. Let me explain: almost two weeks ago my girlfriend, one of her friends, and I were rear-ended, at stoplight, by an immigrant woman who was TAKING OFF HER SHOES while driving. She works in a kitchen, at a casino, and I’m sure she had just put in a long day. Her feet probably hurt. I can empathize: my lower back hurts at times from sitting on my wallet in my ergonomic chair, in my climate controlled office, thirty-two floors above street level, overlooking Elliott Bay, so I understand. However, my back felt fine the evening of the accident because we had just spent the day in Bellingham, shopping for artisan earrings, before stopping off at a party on the way back into town.

She was driving a 2002 Kia Spectra; we were in our five-month old Toyota Prius. I think this is the part that infuriates me so; we are spending our kind of hard-earned money on a vehicle that is better for the environment and now the rear bumper has been scratched by a lesser automobile. Speaking of quality, her insurance was of an inferior sort as well. After hassling the no-name company for two weeks, I came to find out that she had cancelled her policy and was driving around without coverage. So of course, I hate her. Upon discovering this, I immediately took the elevator down to street level, whipped out my cell phone to call her and vent. She was not at work and they would not tell me when she was coming in next. Is that because they are hiring illegal workers? Did that really just cross my mind? It did. Come to think of it, right after the accident occurred, the first thing I said, or maybe it was more of a yell, was, “Do you have insurance?” I wonder if I would have said that had it been some meathead in a Hummer and a three-piece suit...

So now I have an internal conflict as well as an external one on my hands. Nothing new, I guess, but usually I’m not questioning the validity of one of my supposed values. My dad summed it up by saying that is how it goes: you follow the rules and the morons of the world run around screwing everything up. Maybe that’s it, maybe she’s just stupid and my real problem is with stupid people, regardless of race. Or broke. Don’t those two things usually go hand in hand? Stop it! You are from Texas but you have assimilated to progressive Northwestern ideals.
Luckily, we have uninsured motorist protection on our platinum-grade insurance. The woman who hit us did offer to pay for the damage in cash so maybe we will accept it, maybe not. I sure as hell won’t accept pesos though. Just kidding. Isn’t that what they call Black Humor?

Speaking of, there were these three black kids on the bus last night making so much noise…