I just got back from a delightful weekend in Savannah, a fact which I mentioned in my most recent post, a post which has now been deleted. In an attempt to write more for NaNoWriMo and what have you, I posted late at night about a fear I have of peeing on airplanes but instead of coming across in a quirky way, I felt my story got sort of gross and sexual in a way I didn’t intend it to and didn’t feel entirely comfortable with (in fact, instead of panicking about dying in the airplane bathroom, I spent the entire flight mentally editing my writing and wishing I could go back in time to improve it.) So I deleted the post and am re-working something better. Editing! Learning! Overwhelming anxiety! Writing is fun. If you already read that one, sorry it was so lame and if you didn’t, well, you better have a realllll good excuse for ignoring me or we are in a fight.
Moving on! I’m putting together a full travelogue for The ‘Vannah (no one calls it that) but wanted to share one little tidbit from the trip. As I’d mentioned before, a big group of my college crew was in town for the wedding of one of our dear friends. It was one of the most heartfelt and intimate weddings I have had the pleasure of attending and – sacré bleu! – there were two grooms. All weddings make me weep, I can barely watch an episode of “Say Yes to the Dress” without sobbing into my afghan, but there was something about this one that really touched me. Just knowing the adversity that my two friends have had and will continue to have to face in a frequently cruel world makes my heart ache and seeing the love and support around them on their big day was miraculous. I defy anyone to witness these two dudes together or any other loving, committed same-sex couple, for that matter, and just try to argue that their love isn’t as deserving of equal rights as a straight couple. Come on, y’all. Love is love!
(Yes, I am aware that this is One Awkward Year not One Get Up On A Soapbox About Gay Marriage Year but I had to say it. I also know for a fact that Barack Obama reads this blog on the daily, so thought I’d put a little bug in his ear.)
Hi Barry! Say hi to Michelle for me.
The moving wedding ceremony was followed by an equally moving reception and after a southern-style buffet dinner (shrimp and grits in my face forever!) we took to the dance floor. The grooms danced their first together and then each shared a dance with their mothers. It was a beautiful, special, perfect night…until some clown had to ruin it all. I won’t name any names, but let’s just say that someone, no worries who, but a person ended up sprawled out on the dance floor with head under one of the groom’s grandmother’s formal ball gown.
Ok, I’ll name a name. It was me.
I think it would be an understatement to say that I don’t embarrass easily. I welcome embarrassment. I run headfirst into humiliation eager for the attention it can bring me but every so often even I, the Queen of Awkward Moments nearly die from sheer mortification (see also: the driveway incident.) This was one of those moments.
The DJ had just slowed it down after an up-beat number or two and put on the Lionel Richie jam “My Endless Love” which we can all agree is one of the Top 5 Most Romantic Songs Of the 80’s, 90’s and Today. It also happens to be the song that my friend’s parents first danced to at their wedding 30 years ago. They took center stage on the dance floor for a few beats before inviting the rest of the guests to join them. My friend Kevin and I took to the floor together but here’s the thing: slow dancing is the worst! I’m not just saying this because no one ever wanted to dance with me in Jr High or High School (basically had to pay my senior prom date) but unless you’re seriously crushin’ on the person you’re dancing with and drunk enough not feel uncomfortable doing what is essentially a stand-up, swaying snuggle in public, slow dancing is the pits. Let’s go full Footloose and outlaw it forever!
To fight the awkwardness, Kev and I busted out our full repartee of hilarious (“hilarious”) moves – we went full-on 8th grade, with hands on shoulders and enough room for the Holy Spirit, we spun, we tangoed, etc. We were already probably ruining the romance and sanctity of this whole sweet moment for our friend’s parents but then we really took it to the next level when we introduced The Dip.
Here is the thing about The Dip. Unless you are professional Dancers with the Stars, both members of the duo need to be VERY explicit about what is happening or else the dipper will dip too soon and the dipee will find herself suspended unsteadily half-way upside down. Eyes will meet for a fateful second before the dippee crashes to the ground, pulling her dipper down with her.
Oh yes, that happened. We were 12 minutes into the reception, WAY too soon for anyone to be laying on the dancefloor and there we were. Luckily, my dress didn’t end up over my head. Unluckily, someone else’s did. Somehow in our tumble, I ended up with my head directly between someone’s legs. I panicked to pull myself off of the floor, only to find my face stuck in a swath of black fabric. A friend of mine later kindly described the scene as “artsy” … here she is in the photo below reenacting the moment over a deep-fried breakfast the next morning. No one got photos of the actual moment, that I know of (!!) but fingers crossed we’re spotted flailing about in the background of the wedding video.
And, oh yes. As I mentioned above, that lucky someone who found me climbing up betwixt her legs was none other than our friend, the groom’s GRANDMOTHER. And don’t think this was one of those “oh, no one saw” situations. Everyone saw. Everyone. I have lived a lifetime of horrors but this one might take the cake. I wanted to throw myself into an active volcano. It usually only takes me 10-20 seconds before I start embracing my embarrassment as potential comedy routines but it took me a solid half hour to get over this one. I’m not sure which is bruised more, my ass or my ego.
My darling dancing partner Kevin (yes, LoCos, that Kevin) was even worse for wear, emotionally. Not a non-stop trainwreck like myself, he’s less accustomed to enormous public displays of humiliation. I was pretty certain he was going to run from the wedding, the state ofGeorgia, theUnited States and never, ever look back. A good friend might let him forget it, but a GREAT FRIEND would write a story about it for the internet, where it will live on for eternity. You’re welcome, bud!
If it makes you feel any better, you’ll now always be…My Endless Love.