Shortly after I started dating Luke, he began talking about his friend Rick’s wedding.  Rick was a boisterous member of Luke’s hometown crowd, a generally convivial group who grew up in a tiny town where the primary ways to have fun as teens were apparently drinking, sex, and more drinking.  They were REALLY good at drinking.

Rick was set to marry some girl whose real name I cannot even recall but which may or may not have been Melanie, so that’s what we’ll call her.  Melanie, it was clear from Luke’s conversations with his friends, was generally zero fun and just looking to get knocked up as quickly as possible so she could quit her job, be a mom, and spend Rick’s money.  However, Rick’s wedding promised drinks, reunions with friends, and more drinks, so the guys were excited to go.

I waited with bated breath to see if I would be invited to this shindig – did Luke think of me that way?  We’d only been dating for a few months, but things were fairly serious…however, most of his other hometown friends were MARRIED.  Would I make the cut?

Fortunately for this blog, the answer was yes.  Luke and I booked tickets on Alaska Airlines – we’d head to Minneapolis and then carpool up with some others to the most northern part of Minnesota, where the wedding was to be held.

Alaska Airlines smelled like vomit.  And dead animals.  Who may have vomited as they died.  We boarded the not-quite-long-enough-to-be-called-a-red-eye flight around midnight and held our breath for the four hours it took to arrive in MN.  We then headed to the house of one of Luke’s friends and prepared for the caravan north.

Now, I understand basic geography.  You’ve got the honor of reading the words of the winner of the sixth grade geography bee.  That said, I had no clue how freaking HUGE Minneapolis is.  We were smushed in that car for what felt like 900 hours (but could have been more) and spent most of that time listening to Luke argue with his best friend Trevor’s wife Hortense (why yes, the quality of your pseudonym IS directly related to how much I like you, thanks for asking).  Luke and Hortense hadn’t ever gotten along.  Luke was certain Hortense was a stuck-up bitch so he didn’t like Hortense and Hortense WAS a stuck-up bitch so she didn’t like Luke.

We finally arrived at the idyllic hotel grounds, set against a (surely freezing) beautiful lake.  And the fighting continued.  When we checked into our condo, we realized there were only three bedrooms for the four couples who were staying there.  Hortense’s solution: since Luke and I were the only unmarried couple, we should sleep on the two double beds in the rickety attic while the other couples, who presumably shared a bed every day of their lives, got to sleep on the divine-looking king beds in the downstairs rooms.  Luke and I were pissed about this, but after putting up with Luke’s grouching at Hortense the entire ride up, none of the others were in the mood to take his side.

The rehearsal dinner was a low-key affair – beers and bar food at a nearby restaurant – the night was crazy and late but that was to be expected with Luke’s gang.

The true culture shock came the next day.  The wedding was outdoors and it was gorgeous weather for it.  Luke and the groomsmen were occupied with wedding events, pictures, etc during the day – I met up with Luke briefly before the wedding, then found my seat while he participated in the festivities.

The first sign that this was like no wedding I’d attended (or seen on TV, in the movies, etc) was the amount of God invoked during the ceremony.  Not being particularly religious, this still didn’t bother me, it was merely interesting.  Until the minister brought out the jars of sand.  These were glass bottles holding colorfully-dyed grains of sand, the likes of which I’d only seen at the Colorado State Fair while visiting my grandparents.  I had absolutely no clue what these could be for – had Rick actually won Melanie in a carnival game?  The minister then explained that two of the jars of sand represented Rick and Melanie, and the third represented Jesus Christ.  The almost-married couple and the minister poured all of the sand into the same jar, representing that now Rick, Melanie, and the son of God were forever linked – it would be impossible to separate those grains of sand from one another again (you know, despite the fact that they were dyed different colors and if you had a lot of time on your hands you could probably figure it out).  The sentiment here was lovely; I just couldn’t stop internally giggling at the idea of Rick and Melanie’s mantel holding a jar of fluorescent sand CONTAINING JESUS in a place of honor for the rest of their lives.

No matter – on to the party!  We arrived at the cocktail hour where I was confused at the guests’ glee to see Rick’s dad at the keg happily pouring beer after beer for those in line.  My confusion was soon explained when I walked up to the bar and ordered a glass of champagne.  No champagne, I was told, only wine and cocktails.  Okay, then, I’ll have a glass of white.  The bartender opened the spigot of a varietal of boxed wine I hadn’t seen the likes of since college and poured me a meager glass.  “Five dollars,” he said, as he handed it over.  The look on my face would have broken a mirror.  “Oh – sorry – was there a different type of wine on the open bar?”  The bartender smiled at my ignorance.  “Only the keg is hosted – everything else is cash.”  I flushed red and scrambled to produce wrinkled bills from my purse.

Grasping my plastic glass of alcohol, I scurried over to Luke.  “THIS IS A CASH BAR,” I whispered.  He looked at me like I’d told him his favorite hipster band had gone Top 40.  “Of course it is.  Why do you think we were so excited about the hosted keg?”  Right.

Sidebar: I realize how utterly snobby and entitled this story makes me sound, but to be fair, how many of you have attended a wedding (not to mention a wedding you spent hundreds of dollars on airfare, car rental/gas, and board in the shape of a shitty attic bedroom) where the drinks were not free?  I rest my case.  Of course I am in no way qualified to give anyone advice on what to do and not to do at their wedding, but it would seem that giving the guests a few free cocktails for their trouble isn’t too much to ask.  I STAYED IN A FREAKING ATTIC, PEOPLE.

Back in the flashback, I sucked it up, raised my glass, and thanked the Lord (if he wasn’t already suffocated in that jar of sand) that at least these drinks were sold at mid-western prices.

The rest of the wedding was uneventful – drinking, paying for said drinking, dancing, speeches, you know the drill.

I believe Rick and Melanie are still married, with at least one munchkin they’ll have to host a keg for in 20-odd years.

Trevor and Hortense got a divorce last year.  I hope she’s stuck in an attic bedroom as a newly-singleton and he’s off carousing with women who deserve him way more than she did.