Bridesmaidzillas

Strap in, peeps, this is a long one. But it's gossip-licious about people you don't know! Photos TK if I find any that are actually in focus.

So this past weekend, my dear friend M got married. I was fortunate enough to be one of her bridesmaids (or shall I say "attendants," as "bridesmatron" would really be more accurate, but that word is kind of ugly). Little did I know that my duties would include corralling all the other bridemaids (except for the Matron of Honor, who is the bride's sister, and needed no instruction from me, needless to say).

But first, some details: Bride and Groom had been dating for 6 years, so the joy at this long-awaited celebration was pretty profound. It was a big, beautiful, spectacular Italian wedding. Amazingly, I'd never been to one of those, but it wasn't too dissimilar to the average spectacular Irish wedding, so I felt right at home. The ceremony was lovely, with lots of personal touches, such as the bride's niece playing Let There Be Peace on Earth on the piano by the altar, and various nephews acting as ushers and ringbearers (thank god the rings were safely in the best man's jacket, is all I'm saying).

The reception was a few hours after the Mass (that extra time was spent taking photos; falling on my mother with thanks after she brought us shawls, because it was freezing in New Jersey on Saturday; waiting for more pictures to be taken; repinning my hair; and finally, drinking champagne and eating Wheat Thins on a trolley car while driving to an outdoor park to have more photos taken), and took place at the Trump Marina. I was hoping to catch a glimpse of The Donald, but he was not amongst the hoi polloi, all of whom were smoking and drinking with abandon. The reception was also lovely, and only slightly marred by the fact that the trip to the ladies' room took one alongside a Hooters' which always seemed to have a large group of young men in the booth nearest the large windows that looked out onto the main drag of the casino. If I weren't already married, I feel sure I could have had a date or ten that night.

So let's get to the Bratty Bridesmaids:

C and B came with C's parents, after B flew in from Texas to Connecticut, where C lives. The two drove to Philly to meet C's parents with the notion that all would travel and room together (parents in one suite, girls in another). Unfortunately, the parents refused at the last minute, and when I met everyone at the nail salon, B had made arrangements at a Comfort Inn 40 minutes away, and had no transport. I ended up having her stay with me at my folks' house. Thanks, C's parents! You totally suck!

Fast forward to the Rehearsal Dinner, where bridesmaid T tells me that I should put on 10 lbs. or so if I want to get pregnant. Several times. Without being asked for her opinion. Sigh. Once we got home (Booby had joined us at this point), T calls me to talk smack on the other bridesmaids. "Aren't you talking to this person at 8 a.m. tomorrow?" Booby asked. "Get off the phone already." I couldn't fault his logic.

The ceremony itself went off without a hitch, except that the wedding party was asked to approach the altar whether they were receiving communion or not. The non-Catholics were not feeling that at all. B later told me that C was saying things like, "That's not my God," and looking everywhere in the pews for a Bible (I have no clue why, but as she's Jewish, I am pretty sure she wasn't looking for the Good News of Jesus Christ. Not that I am, either, and I'm nominally Catholic). Being in the front row afforded me the perfect seat to observe everyone taking Communion, even the non-Catholics, who seemed to think it was some kind of special candy being given out to those who had mastered the sit-stand-kneel marathon that is a wedding Mass.

At the reception, B endeared herself to no one by demanding that the bride's brother-in-law fetch her "diamonds my daddy gave me" (actually heart-shaped diamond necklace, not the velvet bag of family jewels one might expect from such wording) AND her special pituitary gland medication (and anti-deprerssants)<--no, really! from his car, which was valet-parked. Brother-in-law was feeling no pain, bride's sister told B to hold on a minute as she herded 3 children and drunk husband, B pitched fit. Will someone tell me why you would ever leave diamonds and regimented drugs in someone else's car at a wedding?

Meanwhile, there was one Single Male guest, with whom the bride had tried to fix up almost the entire female contingent of the wedding party at one time or another. The most recent victim, T, had been on 2 dates with him, declined to sleep with him, and never heard from him again. But her interest reared up once she saw him dancing with a woman from his table, whom she immediately declared to be both fatter and uglier than herself. She also insisted that I find out from the bride who this brazen hussy was (I demurred). Instead we went to "visit" my husband (while reconnoitering), who was seated at the same table. Later, I chatted with the brazen hussy herself (amazingly, I refrained from calling her a Whore of Babylon), where I discovered she was a sweet-natured cousin of the bride with no interest in the single man (I conspiratorially told her I thought he was a bit of a player, and she nodded knowingly. No flies on her).

Not to be outdone, C's mother, who has never been drunk, expressed concern at her daughter's having imbibed several rounds of shots (in C's defense, she was a happy drunk). C ignored her and cozied up to best man's 20 year old son (did I mention C was feeling spinsterish since she was 31 and unmarried?). She soon ditched him to change into street clothes and take up with Single Player Guy, causing an embolism in T's emotional cortex. C's mother appeared and gave C a stern talking-to about spinsters and alcohol abuse, or somesuch, and then C and Single Guy disappeared, never to be seen again that evening (C claims that they went to play roulette and "nothing happened." But when they left, they appeared to be in search of an empty broom closet, if you know what I mean).

To top it all off? C was pissed at us for not being around when she finally got done "playing roulette," so she made up a lame excuse about having to leave early and not take B to the airport. So Booby and I made sure B got on a flight to Texas with a mere 10 minutes to spare. Let's just say that I learned a lot about talking people into letting me butt in line that day. I'm still amazed she made it onto the plane.

And I can't wait to dish all this gossip with my newlywed friend upon her return from Honeymoonsville, since I tried so hard to shield her from it on Saturday.