Eat before drinking. Eat before drinking. Eat before drinking.
I’m not quite sure how many times I have to remind myself. But to prevent what happened to me this weekend, I’ll repeat this over and over again if I have to. I’m not quite sure why I keep making the same mistake.
On Friday, I was too busy at work to eat lunch. So, when happy hour came, I drank on an empty stomach. And boy did I drink. I was plastered by 7:30 and came home to pass out at 8 pm. I passed out for a little while and then woke up to get sick. I ended up being sick for the rest of the night. It was just like my single days…except this time, I had a loving guy waiting to hug me every time I came back from praying to the porcelain gods. How he could still hug me despite the smell of vomit I had to be emitting is beyond my comprehension.
Friday night’s stomach escapades set the tone for Saturday’s wedding in Yorktown. Jesse’s old college roomie was getting married on the beach there and I was not in the mood for a long drive or the drinking that is usually involved at wedding receptions. The wedding went off without a hitch (it was literally a group of people gathered on the beach for a quickie ceremony). The reception started immediately after, where the alcohol flowed as freely as the York River. Naturally, I abstained. The mere smell of alcohol effectively brought back really bad memories of the previous night. The toasts were done with margaritas instead of champagne, which I would’ve loved to have participated in. I did feel obligated to sip, but couldn’t manage another one after the first toast.
Everything was fine for the most part. During the wedding, I finalized my lists of wants for my wedding. I am completely aware that it is absolutely absurd to be planning my wedding when I can’t even get my boyfriend to want to marry me (let alone propose). It’s like buying a house-full of furniture before even consulting a real estate agent to buy a house. But I can’t help but plan my own wedding considering how many weddings I’ve been to since I started seeing Jesse. I feel like I learn a little bit after each one (which would make me an expert at weddings by the time I get married). So, this is how I would do it…
- I would turn the rehearsal dinner into a rehearsal happy hour and invite everyone.
- I would not wear heels. I would wear flip flops or ballet flats (if they are still in style by the time I get married).
- At least one of my gays would be in the bridal party.
- My mom would walk me down the aisle.
- The father/daughter dance would be with my mom.
- If I marry Jesse, the first dance would be to Santana/Dave Matthews’ “Love of my Life” (how sad that I just used the word ‘if’. It used to be ‘when’.)
- I would serve only beer and wine.
- I would serve Mexican food and there would be a build-your-own-taco station.
- And I would definitely have a piñata there (full of lube, condoms, and assorted sex shop novelties—not dildos and vibrators though since my niece will be there). Hey, if anyone is going to be hooking up with someone they met at my wedding, I want them to be safe. I suppose we could have a piñata filled with candies for the little ones.
After the wedding, I parted ways with the group. Jesse’s friends wanted to drink some more at a local bar. All I wanted to do was cry. I walked back to the hotel room and let it all out in private (at this point, Jesse had no idea I was up set or that I was near tears during the reception). I admonished myself for having my stupid little list of things I want in a wedding. I chided myself for letting Jesse’s friend get to me. And I scolded myself for not appreciating and enjoying what I have now with Jesse, instead of constantly wanting more.
But I still cried nonetheless.