Where do I start? I feel like SO much has happened in the last four days. Believe it or not, I've lived in California for over four years and have never been to the San Diego area. I LOVED it. It reminded me of my beloved Dallas and Fort Worth. Well, except for the trees. And the hills. Oh...and the gigantic body of water.
The wedding was in a little beach community north of San Diego...called Carlsbad. I was the first one to arrive at the hotel and had the unpleasant but necessary task of choosing the right room for my parents. It was my job to do since their plane would not be arriving for another few hours. And as annoying as I must have seemed to the perky 23-year-old behind the front desk, it was either me or my two, even more particular (when it comes to hotel rooms and restaurant seating, at least), parents. After looking at room #3, I could see the perky's smile go from automatic...to forced. Me thinks Chica didn't know what I saved her from.
The next three days were a blur of family, food, fun, and food. Oh, and did I mention there was food? Thursday night was Mexican with the fam. Friday night was the rehearsal dinner at a very foo-foo "barn." Complete with ribs, cornbread and designer horses in mahogany lined stalls who, by the way, didn't even smell like horses. Obviously aware of their high falutin' surroundings and the amount of money the groom's family must have dished out for the Texas-themed fabulousness, they must have huddled pre-game and decided to hold the stink. Because the only detectable odor came from the organic hay.
And then came the wedding. Of my 6'3"-gorgeous-professional-beach-volleyball-playing niece. Related to me by love but not blood...and who obviously inherited an athletic gene I missed while I was busy looking for the electrical outlet for my hair dryer in Heaven. The wedding lasted 20 minutes. The party? It lasted for seven hours after that. I thought it was a good sign when I was the first to arrive at the tent and, despite the $100,000 price tag, the guests were being served drinks in Mason jars. Very Texas thing to do. But my hopes were quickly shattered when a)I found out we were scheduled to eat three hours later and I was expected to mingle with 250 strangers while downing Mason jars full of water for what seemed like an eternity and b)there wasn't dancing after the meal. No...there was dancing before, during and after the meal. Already cranky because I was STARVING and being the only sober one there while everyone else had had several margaritas and/or glasses of vino, I was HORRIFIED when the groomsmen and bridesmaids broke it d-o-w-n on their entrances...and then the DJ beckoned for everyone to get up and boogie at the seats. Between bites. Take a bite of chicken. Get up and shake your tail feather at the table. Cajun rice. Stand up and holla'! Corn casserole. Do the hustle. Not since Thanksgiving with Joan Crawford has the digestive process of a meal been so effed up.
PS...I didn't dare go near the bride...the woman who drags me to the dance floor on every nuptial occasion. There are two days when you just can't say no to someone...their birthday...and their wedding day. Unless they want you to be the driver on a 7-11 stick up, and then it's ok to say no. In any event, I broke outta there after the main course and before they could cut the cake...and hightailed it back to the hotel, leaving my jitterbugging parents to fend for themselves. By 9:00, I was holed up in a hotel room with my 3-year-old nephew watching Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.