Joanna’s wedding was lovely. Very nice, very low-key, and a fun reception. I will say: I was impressed with the swiftness of the ceremony. I have been to at least five weddings of various friends and family where the vows alone were longer than the entire ceremony was here. An excellent strategy for preventing weeping brides (and grooms, and parents of the bride, etc).
Got to buy the father of the bride a shot of good scotch at the after-party. Got to drink enough beer to make me not want to drink another beer for at least another few weeks.
Got to see some folks I haven’t seen in a long time, several of whom are now significantly taller since the last time I saw them, they were twelve. Got to do a lot of catching up with D.C. folk I hadn’t seen in forever, since I haven’t actually, you know, been to my evil hometown in forever.
Joanna’s house is outstanding. She and Matt bought a run-down Victorian about 30 miles outside of Albany a couple years ago, and with the help of Matt’s contractor dad, did their very own Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. They showed us the before pictures when we visited Saturday, and it looks like a totally different house.
I still can’t get over how weird it is that she’s married and owns a house now. Joanna and I have been friends since the fifth grade, when we were both 10 years old. We have known each other for seventeen years. It’s so strange to realize people you grew up with are now…grown-ups.
Although I will admit, the fact that the newlyweds, the best man, myself, and Rachel (another friend from High School I roomed and split a rental car with for the weekend) spent Monday afternoon at a School Bus Demolition Derby probably did not help in my efforts to convince myself that we are all adults now.
It was, however, the completely fucking awesomest post-wedding activity I have ever encountered. Dude, a school bus got flipped on its side a minute into it! How can you NOT love such an event?
Particularly since the winner of the derby was a politician running for local office. I tried to find out what local office he was running for, but he has the same name as a (female) porn star, and she’s all that comes up when you Google his name.
All in all, a rather entertaining weekend, capped off by a trip through the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport, completely drowning in Republican-conventioneer-targeted advertising, and approximately the size of the state of Rhode Island. I wish those of you covering the Convention luck in figuring out where in the fuck your gate is when you’re trying to leave.