Now Is The Time People Will Start Asking My Grandmother, "When Do You Think Jessie Is Going to Get Married?"

Isn't that question sort of inevitable? My grandmother's first grandchild up and got married last Sunday, in a spectacular whirl of beautiful flowers, gardens, chandeliers, and food. I can only imagine the thought has at least crossed her mind that, based on age and maturity, I should be the next to go, since I am, in fact, the next oldest grandchild.

But Amanda's party should have satiated her for awhile. It was a good time.

It was sunny when we left the house for the forty minute drive to the wedding and reception site. Sunny, sunny, oh so sunny. Then, as we neared the manor where it was being held, the sky split open and lightning gashed in the distance. The wind whipped. The sky rumbled. Still, the coordinators pressed on. "Outside!" they said. "We're going to make it!"

They made it. They certainly made it, but at times it was difficult to hear the vows and the anything, seeing as a clap of thunder would drown out any loving words being uttered. That was okay, though. Instead of meditating on the sacred words I couldn't hear, I busied myself by thinking how cute the flowers and bridesmaids dresses were. I also spent a considerable amount of time admiring the back of Amanda's wedding dress.

Let it be known that I am a fan of any wedding that allows for its guests to have a cocktail and appetizer hour. I tunneled my way through all sorts of stuffed mushroom caps and vodka-based drinks. Also, we spent a great deal of time taking all sorts of happy family photos. Above is my father with his two sisters. Aunt Lisa (hi, Aunt Lisa!), the mother of the beautiful bride, is on the left. Aunt Lori is on the right.

Here we are, The Sassy Cousins. In front is my cousin Jeff, then to the right of him is his sister Kaity. My brother and I are kind of hanging out in the back. Tell me Jeff doesn't look like he just had a shitty day at the office, only to come and find that the kids have the flu and the cat has vomited in his slippers. He unknotted his tie, poured himself a bourbon, and said, "Fuck this, I'm going into the den to watch Columbo."

We may or may not have scammed many, many drinks for the two under-21s.

I can't tell you how refreshing it was to see a bride who didn't care that her man got her with cake. That went on for several minutes, too. He'd swipe her nose, she'd swipe his, then it would start all over again. It was almost cute enough to make my reconsider my stance on that sweet tradition (i.e.-if my future husband even tries it, he's going to get a knee to the groin). Almost.

There's the cake before it was destroyed. Amanda's color scheme was really very pretty. Leave it to the artists.

Here are the Smith Boys waiting to be given the go-ahead to head on up to the buffet. We had prime seats. Right in front of the head table. That meant we got to eat immediately. Being related to the bride gives you all sorts of small pleasures.

The night was filled with many disturbing revelations. My brother, for instance, actually looked good. It was the first time I ever thought, Hmmm, he's starting to look like a human boy. Someone who washes. Someone who combs his hair. Someone who might, someday, somewhere, find a woman to love him. An hour after I had that disgusting thought he cornered me and Kaity, then whispered, "Listen, I've had a lot to drink, so I am going to tell you something. I've slept with six girls."

Oh, where I to have access to a spoon I would have gouged both my eyes out and then collapsed in a heap on the dance floor. Not only is that number higher than my number, but it also means that there are SIX GIRLS in the world that had impaired enough judgment to think it was a good idea to get naked in front of my brother. MY BROTHER!

But here's something else entirely. My father spent the night perfecting some pretty sweet dance moves. This one involved sitting in a chair, wiggling and rotating his hands.

More dance moves from Dad.

The family weirdness of the night was the Hmmm Face. It was everywhere. It was especially prevalent during the slow songs, when I had nothing better to do because I was man-less. A girl has got to do something while she is waiting for the Electric Slide to play.

See? I got to demonstrate with the pops. This picture took place minutes before I was given sweet release and heard the first tinkling notes of the Electric Slide, minutes before I boogie-boogie-boogied into the middle of the floor and commenced sliding next to one of the DJs who came down to follow along, minutes before the DJ flipped on his mic and, with my help, taunted Adam for standing on the edge of the dance floor and glaring at me every time I shrieked, "It's easy! EASY! Come on! I'll teach you! DON'T BE LAME!"

Then I decided the Electric Slide will be played twice at my wedding. Once at the beginning and once at the end. Deal with it.

Later, my Aunt Lisa would yell at me when I was not on the floor doing the Macarena. So I went out and did it. And while I was going hand-hand-flip-flip-shoulder-shoulder-head-head-etc., I was thinking about the Cousin's Ex and how he and his friends used to rule the floor come Macarena and ES time. I was thinking about their swishy hip movements and the way they chose to spin during the normal grapevine section. Then I was thinking, My God, my cousin and I were both in love with a gay man. It is not the first time I've thought that.

But we both figured that out for ourselves. We both worked our way through him, then more unsuccessful, fruitless, and ridiculous relationships. We came out the other end--her just a little more successfully than me, I guess. After all, she spent the night dancing with her new husband, and I spent the night listening to my brother talk about the Hooters waitresses he's hanging out with, and watching the bride's fifteen year old brother take a girl out to the promenade to try to snuggle, make out with, and cop a feel (sorry, Aunt Lisa) from a girl who looked older than I was. She was fourteen years old.

It was a fine, fine night.