Allison and Dustin’s Wedding

A month later, Allison and Dustin’s wedding is starting to feel like a bit of a blur.

(Obvious metaphor is obvious).

The photos definitely help in jogging my memory, but I find myself wishing that I had written about the day sooner, rather than waiting to get the photos from Dustin. Or that I had at least, you know, written a couple of things down the day after. I can tell you this much. Allison and Dustin’s wedding was a culmination of a lot of hard work, it was a total labor of love and I can’t remember a day where I’ve had so much fun. Please hold your comments about how my memory is already going. Trust me, I thought of most of those jokes already – and then promptly forgot them all.

(All photos by the official photographer, Scott Langley).

I’ve been to quite a few weddings over the years and one thing I’ve learned is this: no matter how much effort someone may or may not have put into the selection, I couldn’t tell you what the napkin colors were at any of them. The same goes for the exact kind of flowers they had, how the bride styled her hair and what kind of shoes the groomsmen wore. What I do remember is this: if I was treated well. I remember if I talked to the bride and groom. I remember if the food was palatable. I remember if they made us wait forever and a day for dinner.

Allison and Dustin’s wedding was memorable for all of the right reasons. They treated their guests with respect and kindness. They were genuinely happy to have people there to share their day with them. They talked (and danced!) with everyone there. The decor was simple but beautiful. The food was delicious and plentiful and the wait was completely reasonable. I should know – I went through the buffet three times. Eating disorder? No, I made a plate for Allison, then a plate for my Grandfather and then I decided that I should probably eat something as well.

Of course, if the big picture items are what stick out to people, it’s the little details that can make a wedding truly special. At least for those of us who are lucky enough to be behind the scenes. Take, for example, my Great-Aunt’s pearls.

(I think I have a career as a forearm model)

My Great-Aunt Kay passed away not terribly long ago. Her pearls were a cherished possession. All of the girls in her college class were required to wear them and she could only afford a necklace made out of fakes. As you can probably imagine, this didn’t exactly make her feel like a member of the inner circle. Her husband later bought this necklace for her and she loved it as a reminder of just how far she had come. When our Aunt Deborah found out that Allison was getting married, she offered to loan Kay’s pearls to her to wear. This was a loving gesture, especially considering it meant that Deborah had to wait a year until after the wedding to have them restrung to fit her properly. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t really matter what you wear around your neck on your wedding day. But it sure does feel meaningful to wear a cherished family heirloom, a tangible symbol of familial love and support.

Ok, I’m starting to get all smooshy. On to the wedding pr0n!

The groomsmen looked quite dapper in their suits and chuck taylors.

Our Step-Uncle and I sang That’s How Strong My Love Is (the Otis Redding version, not the version by Alicia Keyes) for the processional and Here Comes the Sun for the recessional. We practiced long and hard for the processional and then found out at the rehearsal dinner that, due to some unforeseen circumstances, we’d be performing the recessional as well. We spent more time trying to think of a song to play than we did practicing. In fact, I think we sang Here Comes the Sun maybe twice before the actual wedding. Not only did I manage to remember all of the words (there’s hope for me yet!), it ended up being a lovely moment. By the time that the bridal party had finished recessing, we were only about halfway through. We hadn’t discussed this possibility, so we just kept playing. It was a little awkward at first, but then everybody there joined in and we all sang together. It was very sweet.

Why sing Here Comes the Sun? The smarmy answer is that it was the only appropriate song that we both knew. The better answer is that it just seemed appropriate for a wedding that we had been afraid would get cancelled by Hurricane Earl. I only got so choked up I could barely sing about 11 or 12 times during the course of the song.

Requisite silly picture of the bridal party.

Requisite silly picture of the bride and bridesmaids. As you can see by the look on her face, my sister doesn’t seem so enamored with our idea of picking her up like this. Good instincts! We totally dropped her about 7 seconds later. All’s well that ends well, no bruises, broken bones or grass stains on that pretty, white dress. Also, please note my boobs. They look quite amazing. And plentiful.

It’s official, my sister is a goofball. Although this isn’t exactly news. I’m pretty sure it’s printed right there on her birth certificate.

It’s pictures like this one that make me just so glad that we have the same photographer for our wedding next year. We also have the same location, wedding planner, DJ and probably the same rental company. I could be accused of going all Single White Female on my Sister’s ass. But, clearly, neither of us is single anymore.

One of these three sisters is slightly concerned that she’s about to burst out of her dress Incredible Hulk-style. I’ll give you a hint: it’s me.

Simple doesn’t have to mean plain. Simple doesn’t have to mean boring. My sister’s wedding was elegant without being ostentatious. It was truly lovely.

I made this chalkboard for people to use in the photobooth. And then I informed everyone, in chalk form, that they should be witty.

Mrs. Goofball? Please meet Mr. Goofball. These two are so perfect for each other, it’s ridiculous.

In case you were wondering? We get it from our Dad (and our Mom! there’s no escaping genetics!). He and Allison danced to NRBQ’s Daddy-O. Best. Father/Daughter Dance. EVAR.

They lined up all the single ladies for the bouquet toss. My sister turned around, wound up… and promptly threw it well over everyone’s head (knocked down some glasses in the process!). I’m pretty sure this dude wasn’t supposed to catch it.

She tried again, same result.

The next time? I had a plan. Someone had to catch the bouquet or we were going to be there all night and they weren’t going to let us get back to the dancing. Despite my non-single-lady status, I was going for the pick-six. And I made it happen. I dashed in from the side and pulled off the interception. This is why we watch game film, ladies! Just call me Hope Ninkovich. My Dad suggested that I try out for the Patriots’ secondary. He thinks they could use me. BTW, this just might be the least flattering photo taken of me ever. I include it just because my interception was that awesome.

I had high hopes that the photo booth props would make their way onto the dance floor. And I made it my mission to ensure that my sister wore each and every one of them.

This photo was taken mere moments before this gentleman caved into peer pressure and unbuttoned his shirt. Yes, in case you couldn’t guess, it was that kind of wedding. By the end of the night, the officiant was lying on his back and kicking up his heels to the tune of Rock Lobster. All of the Californians were asking if it was an East Coast dance. The rest of us didn’t really know where to start.

Scary realization of the day? Unless one of our friends decides to throw a quickie wedding, the next wedding that we go to will probably be our own. I just hope that it’s half as fun as this one was!