It’s Miller Time! (or, Ian and I Attend the Wedding of the Year)

The week after Christmas, Ian and I traveled to St. Petersburg, Fla., for our good friend Chris (Miller)’s wedding. We’d been looking forward to the event since Miller told us he got engaged, as he is a great friend of both Ian and mine and we knew all kinds of shenanigans would go on nice, appropriate fun would be had. Riiiiiight.

Chris is probably the one friend that Ian and I have that is truly mutual. Even though Ian knew him first (in high school), I met him while I was working at CVS and he was home from UT for the summers and working there, too. We instantly hit it off as friends (never as anything more, in case his new wife is reading this and doesn’t know that we never bumped uglies. Or anything else. I already suspect she doesn’t like me because I am a girl and a. cuss a lot, b. play video games and c. pretty much act like a guy). Anyway, whenever we get together, Ian, Chris and I are like peas in a pod. (A drunk, video-game playing pod, most of the time.) Seriously, I never laugh more than when I’m hanging out with those two guys.

Soooo, we were eagerly anticipating this wedding for several reasons, including: a. Ian was in it, b. Miller’s awesome parents were putting us up in a nice-ass hotel for three nights, c. it was in Florida and d. freaking Miller was getting married!! We just knew good times were in store.

Anyway, so we stuffed my little Civic as full of luggage, wedding outfits and presents as we could get it, threw our friend Scott in the back seat and piled more shit on top of him, and headed down the road for St. Pete (where, by the way, Ian lived for a year—2003—with Chris when he first started law school. Chris is now a state prosecuter in Daytona Beach. We don’t hold that against him.)

After an overnight stop in Valdosta, Ga., we rolled on into St. Pete, dropped Scott off at his not-so-luxury hotel (but one that would serve him nicely when he got so drunk he went to VomitTown, which apparently was located in his room’s bathtub) and headed over to check ourselves in to the Renaissance Vinoy Resort. Freaking sweet.

Thursday night we went out (and afterward Scott went to VomitTown), and then Friday was the rehearsal dinner.

Now, let me just tell you. I already knew this was going to be a fancy-pants event since the bride’s parents are both doctors (one medical, one academic) and Miller’s parents are pretty well-to-do themselves. So I was well prepared with a nice cocktail dress, a holster of small-talk and some rockin’ kneeboots.

What did make for an entertaining evening was the medley of characters seated at our table: Ian and myself; a Vandy-grad/elementary ed teacher bridesmaid originally from Connecticut and her fiance; a colleague/fellow lawyer from Miller’s office; and Miller’s sister and her husband, who I believe is a farmer but was also one of the funniest people at that whole freaking wedding. Maybe it was the fact that he was letting his redneck flag fly in the middle of a bunch of stuffshirts, but GOD DAMN he had Ian and I cracking up the whole time. Also cracking us up was Connecticut/Vandy girl who had to get her fiance to explain to her what a crackpipe, numchucks and a butterfly knife were. Don’t ask how all that came up in conversation. I also remember Miller’s sister’s husband discussing the numerous guns he owns, as well as tobacco farming and a story of how he came to love Pink Floyd in college. That guy was a breath of fresh air that weekend.

Saturday morning I woke up with a rash covering most of my body (compliments of the hotel sheets, I surmise), but most of the redness had gone down (except on my pale-ass legs, of course) by the time we had to leave to go to the church, so it was all good. I was rockin’ another black dress and cute shoes, and I had my Digital Rebel XTi with me to document the event. (Well, that was the plan. But when you serve top-shelf booze for free, things have the tendency to go a little off course.)

The ceremony was gorgeous, with a string quartet, a piano player and a soloist. It was held at a Methodist church with what seemed like almost a full whatever-you-call-it (not mass, but whatever you call non-Catholic church time), and communion was served, too. Like good heathens, Ian and I politely declined, though I have photographic evidence of our athiest friend Alex taking the square of bread. Something about free food…

The reception was lavish—awesome hors d’oeuvres and even better food—and the cake freaking rocked. Oh, and did I mention the booze? Yeah, Ian went to VomitTown later that night. (And I danced a little jig when we made it back home because I never went! I thought I might be going a time or two, but I managed to jump off the VomitTown Express just in time.)

And to top it all off, Ian even danced with me a couple of times. Once because it was our four-year anniversary and I requested a song for us (The Beatles’ “When I’m 64,” which, by the way, is fucking IMPOSSIBLE to dance to and we looked like idiots until Miller’s dad and sister joined us on the dance floor), and then he asked me for the last dance of the night. All together now: Awwww.

Anyway, the next day we took off and headed back home, though we stopped in Macon, Ga., to watch the Titans game. Also, a public service announcement: If you are ever in Macon, Ga., and are looking for some good food, GO TO GIUSEPPE’S PIZZA. Actually, if you are in a 100-mile radius of Macon go there. It’s on Tom Hill Road. You won’t regret it.

The wedding was great, as we knew it would be—beautifully and tastefully done, and I’m happy and hopeful for the bride and groom. (As long as the bride was just joking about that no video games in her house comment. Because seriously, WTF? No video games?) And while we didn’t get to spend as much time with Chris as we normally do when we visit, we’ll let it slide since he was getting married and all. Some people apparently like to make a big to-do about all that.

Oh, yeah: Pictures from the trip.

~ by Megan on January 3, 2008.