Fire and Ice
John and I went to a costume wedding this weekend. Though most of the people I told thought it was very strange and assumed the couple would regret it, the event was a blast. I don't think there will be any regrets, and people will talk about this for a long time. The couple will be able to talk about how fun their wedding was, and it won't just be the usual delusions of the married.
I was surprised at how many people really got into dressing up. I figured there would be a lot of people who came without costumes and would be served costumes at the door. There were only a few elderly people who weren't dressed up. Most of the guests, old and young alike, were fully into the spirit. Even the wedding party was in costume. The only ones who were in traditional wedding attire were the bride and groom, though they respectively donned angel wings and devil horns after the ceremony. They were married by the former lead singer of the band who is not a minister or official of any sort. It seems a Quaker marriage license allows a couple to be married by anyone they choose as long as they have the appropriate witnesses. So Crazy Chris as my children refer to him, married the happy couple amidst lots of laughter.
Like so many weddings, the day was not without conflict. There is always someone who doesn't care whose day it is and has to cause trouble. In a darkly amusing way, this wedding's problem was caused by a clown. It wasn't the King of Beers or any of the hippies or the crazy Mexicans. No, it had to be the damn clown. I think there was one clown in the whole place, and he just happened to be the one with the selfishness to bring misery upon the bride.
Like many people, I hate clowns. I'm not exactly afraid of them. I just don't like them. At all. I have friends in Nebraska who are clowns, and I never told them I despise clowns so greatly. It's not easy to have clown friends, especially when they send you Christmas cards with pictures of themselves in full clown regalia. To me, that's just creepy. I was always conveniently busy when they had public events I could attend, because I never wanted to see them as clowns. I like them. They are my friends. I have built a mental boundary to keep separate my friends and the clowns. I won't let the vision be ruined through clown-ness.
Clowns are not the only things that give me that creepy feeling. I also dislike dummies (the kind ventriloquists use), mannequins, marionettes and those freaky puppets like on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. Fortunately, none of those move on their own, except in horror movies, which is probably where I got the notion that these things are all so very wrong. Though I have to say, Lady Elaine (click on her to hear her in all her creepy glory) gave me the heebie-jeebies even when I was a kid and yet to be exposed to horror. But I digress.
To my disappointment, there was no kicking of clown ass. Everyone but the clown had manners enough to know not to cause a ruckus at someone's wedding. After a few bridal tears, things settled down. I'm not sure what happened to the clown, but I didn't see him again. Maybe someone else did live out her clown pummeling fantasy.
Of course, I was fully into the spirit of this wedding, since it gave me an excuse to wear my blue wig. But what could you be with a blue wig, you might ask? Cold. I was cold, ice, Blue, frigid. Since John and I are opposites in real life, he was hot, fire, Cherry (more on that later), flaming. We had several names, hot and cold being obvious as well as fire and ice. I was far too thrilled to tell people I was frigid. Nobody really believed that one, and I seemed to be the only one amused. The Blue and Cherry names are titles from songs the band plays, both mostly written by John himself. Since most of the band members were there, they got a kick out of that one. The groom told me we would have won the best couple costume prize had they not lost their prizes. Oh well.
I was more pleased that I got to be someone I'm not. I think that's why Halloween is so popular. It's an opportunity to pretend; maybe live out a fantasy of what might have been. I got to explore a side of myself I don't usually show, and no one thought I was a freak. 
Halloween makes everyone a freak, so being a freak is ok, even normal. Other times, I wouldn't feel comfortable wearing blue lipstick, silver and blue powder (It was actually eye shadow, not powder, and it took forever to put it all over myself.), and glitter. I was living an icy princess fantasy without having odd looks to bruise my delicate ego. In fact, people thought I was pretty cool, and not just because I was blue. I don't get to be cool very often.
The entirely uncool portion of the evening crept up on me on the ride home. The wedding was relatively early for something of this nature, and we were headed home before 9 PM. That wasn't too early for me to be drunk though. When the beer ran out, John gave me a cup of straight tequila. Like an idiot, I drank it. Combined with the previous two shots of tequila and three or four beers, I was almost unable to walk into the house when we got home. I just can't seem to find the happy medium of drunkenness. I either don't feel a thing, or I get plowed. I'm a complete amateur, and no matter how many times I vow I'm never going to get fall-down drunk again, I do it. I just lose my wits once I reach that happy drunk stage.
I composed myself enough to get in the house, say hello to the sitter and make a beeline to the bathroom. How I got out of those ironclad pantyhose to use said bathroom is beyond me, but I did. I only wish I had the ability to throw-up at will, and I might have felt better much sooner than 3:40 AM when I woke up. But until that time, John helped me into the bedroom and put me on the bed, which was a mistake of grand proportions. I slid right off the bed before it threw me to the ground with its violent spinning and stole the dog's pillow to keep from having to bear the uncomfortable and cold hardwood floor. I passed out there for near three hours until I could lie in bed without feeling like I was watching Blair Witch Project again. I did wake up at 3:40 and got a gargantuan glass of water, which I think saved me a wicked hangover and headache.
What a way to end what was a triumphant evening. I went from being the coolest girl at the party to passing out on a dog pillow on the floor. So much for that fantasy. Just so you know, if you're a parent or a parent wannabe, I am a prime example of what happens when you shelter your child too much. You'll end up with a 32-year old loser who doesn't know how to count her drinks.
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One Year Ago Today:
