Steph Not Stephanie

One of my best friends got married this weekend, and it was fabulous. We’ve been prepping and planning and having lead-up celebrations for almost a year, and the big day did not disappoint. Of course, what wedding weekend would be complete without a few too many drinks the night before (obviously I’m talking about me and not the bride and groom)? Luckily my body has decided to accept its fate so when I do get hangovers, they never last more than an hour or so (plus the bride’s mom came prepared with painkillers). Slightly related: I am available for solo Spice Girls dance parties for all your pre-wedding/anniversary/bar mitzvah entertainment needs.

This was one of the first weddings I’ve been to in a while that I wasn’t standing up in (my alleged wit was put to use later as MC), and I got ready with the bridal party, so it gave me a chance to focus on the groom’s reaction while everyone else was watching the bride. It was a good thing I had lessons from the makeup artist on how to cry without ruining all her hard work (she did the Adele cat eye for me, a look she has done on actual Adele, nbd), because there were so many feels.  The ceremony was beautiful, and the newlyweds practically glowed with joy. I’ll try not to get too mushy on you.

At the cocktail hour, I tried to find the sweet spot between just enough booze to talk to a room full of people and not too much that I’d do or say something inappropriate (or start an encore of the previous night’s Spice Girls performance):

My co-MC and I managed to make it through the evening, keeping everyone entertained and only slightly embarrassed. Before the first dance got underway, one of the bridesmaids performed a contemporary dance she choreographed; to call it breathtaking would be a huge understatement. She danced to this, and I don’t know if I’ve ever been moved by a performance like that. It was as if she and her partner put all my pesky feels (and everyone else’s, judging from all the tears) into motion. It was perfection.

We danced until the wee hours, ate too many cupcakes, and rocked out to the greatest exit song of all time (alternate lyrics sung screamed by yours truly: don’t Steph believing). The party continued at the hotel for a bit, aided by my awesome co-host who saved the day with booze and a jar full of cupcakes (two things all after parties should have). When the party died down, my hotel roommate/friend/life twin and I had a very drunk, very honest discussion about weddings and love. Neither of us are big on marriage, but there’s something about them that tugs at the heartstrings.

Here’s the thing: I love weddings, but I do not want one. It’s like how I feel about pugs: they’re awesome and I get all squee-y over them, but at the end of the day, I like them better when they are someone else’s. It does make me a bit wistful though, watching my friends celebrate their love and life together with everyone who loves them. Even just the relationship, the partnership that they have, it’s a bit painful to admit that I want that. In the end, that’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Not that I don’t love regaling you with bad date stories and such, but seeing happy couples (or worse, happy couples with pugs) brings out the what-if in me. What if I never find that? What if I have and I missed my chance? What if I do and I have to navigate a whole new scary world? It’s enough to drive a girl to drink. On that note, I’m off to find a patio and beer (preferably one playing Spice Girls).