When I received my invitation to my best friend’s sister’s wedding, I almost passed it up. Looming midterms notwithstanding, the prospect of going to a wedding knowing NO ONE was a little scary; well not NO ONE, but seeing that the only two people that I know that were going to be in this wedding were the bride and the maid of honor, I say that’s pretty close.
In the end, since I was already heading down to SoCal anyway, for the CSHP conference in Anaheim, I said, what the hell, there was no way I’m missing this shindig. Two words that clinched it for me: open bar; who cares if I have two midterms on Wednesday? I figured getting liquored up with the rest of the guests will facilitate the conversation and make for an interesting night.
I would say from its surroundings, Turnip Rose in Costa Mesa didn’t seem wedding-y and it was easy to miss, since it was surrounded by a medical office and a surgical center, and across from a strip mall. But nonetheless, it was a gorgeous place to have an outdoor wedding. The facility had elements of Spanish Colonial Revival architecture, from the stucco walls, Roman arcades and terra cotta tiles to gorgeous fountains in the courtyard. The weather cooperated (as is usually is the case in Southern California), and basked the newlyweds and their guests with the warmth only San Francisco (and the city supplants like myself) can only dream about.
Being the fashionably late person that I am, I rolled up into the wedding 15 minutes into it. I must’ve missed the dramatic portion of the ceremony because when I got there, everyone had a teary eye. The vows that the bride and groom exchanged were heartfelt without being overly sappy. My friend’s dad (the father of the bride) provided comedic effects with his “list”. Even the minister chimed in with his jokes. It was kind of weird to see a priest/minister crack jokes, because at least at the weddings that I’ve been to (and they’re all Filipino weddings), the priest is always serious, so that was a little refreshing.
As the ceremony ended, they allowed for an hour or so of socializing, with tantalizing hors d’oeuvres like goat cheese wonton, chicken skewers and sliders. I quickly made my way to the bar area, and made friends with the bartender, “Nick” who apparently has been working for Turnip Rose since 1994, as his name tag suggested. Three drinks later, he told me that his name is really not Nick, but Kevin, and he would’ve been 12 and working illegally if he did start work in ’94.
After my third Long Beach in a half-hour, I decided to leave Nick to see what else is out there. As I was ordering Mai Tais, (I switched since I planned on being sober enough to drive home), I met Presita, Katie’s Paris study abroad friend from Bahrain. When I saw her drinking her Rum and Ginger Ale with no ice, I know that we would get along and we immediately bonded over the sliders. She became my source for insider gossip and my fellow people-watcher.
Oh, for sure, this wedding had all the clichés. Presita told me that Person X has slept with the best man the other night and Person X slept with Person Y the following night; you could cut the sexual tension with a cake knife! There was definitely the drunken aunt, the embarrassing moment for the father of the bride, the overly imposing emcee, and the cool kids in the back drinking at the bar. Thank goodness there was no Macarena, but there was definitely the Conga line and line dancing. Oh, joy!
And then I met Laura. In one word I would say: Wow. I didn’t know that someone that beautiful could be so down-to-earth. To boot, she’s a smart, sassy, and an interesting human being. We had a great time in the dance floor and eating the kahlua-infused white chocolate-covered strawberries.
This is part one of the series in which I go alone to events normally associated with couples. Next week, I will try my chops at eating alone in a restaurant.
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