* - That is to say, "Footnyet." Lest it be forgotten that this entire weekend was about "Beck's wedding," though given the number of chefs in the proverbial kitchen, even the fact that it was actually in fact Beck's wedding often eluded elucidation.
Friday
We jumped in the cars. After a mad game of roshambo, it was decided that my dad and mom would ride in their rental car, and Beck and I would ride in ours. Unfortunately, the dogs jumped in the last round, and it was decided that the Wrigster would become the Roadster:
Oddly enough, Sparkle did not call shotgun, but preferred the back seat. Notice her here, chilling in the back seat and in the second shot, lounging about in some kind of sunbeam-themed thong underwear.
We did eventually coax Wrigley into the backseat, leading to this general smorgasbord of insanity (must be clicked for full effect):
Lest you think this entire adventure is solely about the antics of our dogs - though admittedly, our pictures often are - here is the view shared between the humans for the majority of the trip (meaning the part that wasn't slowed down by the micro-sized bladders of certain travelers) (I mean, my dad may have an excuse: BPH is a BPitch after all, but Mom? What's the deal, Thimble-ina?):
That's Beck and Nate leading the way, and I took the 2nd shot during a brief tagalong with my dad where we discussed the subtleties of Fantasy Baseball. More on that later. (Note also that the dirty grey car did not follow us the entire way) (I think).
So we rolled in around 5 or so to meet the iPMM atop the Summit; iPJ had been banned from the house with a five minute major penalty for excessive cleaning. He eventually made a grand entrance, Wegman's bag in tow to emphasize his status as one of Wegman's Top 100 Shoppers. "Scotch" Searl is not to be denied. He eventually exited again to pick up Stinky Meghan from the airport (her house had been waterless that morning, and I'm surprised her plane was not grounded for suspicious odors). She showered, thank Hashem, and we headed to Grinnell's.
Awesome dinner. Place is sweet, and golf-decorated taboot. We ate half a cow among the seven of us and ignored all kinds of dubious ethical implications. We then met with the proprietor (who simultaneously manages to be from Texas, have a wicked Rochesterian accent and looks by all accounts like a Don - easily the sharpest dressed / coiffed man this side of the Giraffetown Pimp, I tell ya) of the establishment and settled details for the rehearsal dinner. Rehearsal Dinner! CHECK! One thing down, several to go.
We (the Beck and I) limped back to the house, pretty tired from the travel / dinner / general stress of being around the All Chief Council with Nary a Scout to be Found (Wedding Sub Committee). I should apologize in advance for all the fun-making of said Chiefs I plan to do in the next few posts, especially since said Chiefs comprise a rather large percentage of my readership. Sigh. But just trust that it's all in good fun, on the one hand, but on the other, it really is fairly exhausting to watch the ALL WEDDING ALL THE TIME channel. We're not exactly the grab the mic, center of attention types, and being under the microscope for such extended periods of time is pretty trying. And really, despite the bonds-of-matrimoniocentric universe being ballyhooed in the latest Stephen Hawking Pop Science Annals, there are other topics of conversation (maybe, MAYBE evolution or something like it could find its way into the iPCasa). That said, we are eternally grateful for the dinner/party/ceremony/party/brunch being thrown in our honor, and we are even more eternally grateful that our respective parents get along so well. The stress that we have experienced and will experience is nothing compared to that which other couples undergo, and we appreciate that a tremendous amount. Thank you much, iParents and Nyet-raisers.
And as sincerely as I mean that, you should also see the underlying wink and consider it a disclaimer. Because man was there some craziness involved in the air this weekend. If nothing else, you could have taken the over on an over/under bet of 2000 times of the word "wedding" being said during the course of the weekend and not sweat once. Egads man. There was an extended, hour long conversation on the relative merits of one night's barbecued ribs v. another. The question "who is staying at the Sweet Briar" was asked at least a dozen times. Beck's hairdo was more scrutinized than a post-war withdraw plan. What kind of world is this?
All in fun, parentals. Kinda. :). This seems like a good time to bow out to take a break and take the dogs "O-U-T." To bring us back to the narrative, Beck and I were exhausted Friday night and hit the sack quite early. I think our level of exhaustion is aptly represented by this final photo, which is more or less a display of how the W (of mass) D spends easily 2/3rds of her time:
So we rolled in around 5 or so to meet the iPMM atop the Summit; iPJ had been banned from the house with a five minute major penalty for excessive cleaning. He eventually made a grand entrance, Wegman's bag in tow to emphasize his status as one of Wegman's Top 100 Shoppers. "Scotch" Searl is not to be denied. He eventually exited again to pick up Stinky Meghan from the airport (her house had been waterless that morning, and I'm surprised her plane was not grounded for suspicious odors). She showered, thank Hashem, and we headed to Grinnell's.
Awesome dinner. Place is sweet, and golf-decorated taboot. We ate half a cow among the seven of us and ignored all kinds of dubious ethical implications. We then met with the proprietor (who simultaneously manages to be from Texas, have a wicked Rochesterian accent and looks by all accounts like a Don - easily the sharpest dressed / coiffed man this side of the Giraffetown Pimp, I tell ya) of the establishment and settled details for the rehearsal dinner. Rehearsal Dinner! CHECK! One thing down, several to go.
We (the Beck and I) limped back to the house, pretty tired from the travel / dinner / general stress of being around the All Chief Council with Nary a Scout to be Found (Wedding Sub Committee). I should apologize in advance for all the fun-making of said Chiefs I plan to do in the next few posts, especially since said Chiefs comprise a rather large percentage of my readership. Sigh. But just trust that it's all in good fun, on the one hand, but on the other, it really is fairly exhausting to watch the ALL WEDDING ALL THE TIME channel. We're not exactly the grab the mic, center of attention types, and being under the microscope for such extended periods of time is pretty trying. And really, despite the bonds-of-matrimoniocentric universe being ballyhooed in the latest Stephen Hawking Pop Science Annals, there are other topics of conversation (maybe, MAYBE evolution or something like it could find its way into the iPCasa). That said, we are eternally grateful for the dinner/party/ceremony/party/brunch being thrown in our honor, and we are even more eternally grateful that our respective parents get along so well. The stress that we have experienced and will experience is nothing compared to that which other couples undergo, and we appreciate that a tremendous amount. Thank you much, iParents and Nyet-raisers.
And as sincerely as I mean that, you should also see the underlying wink and consider it a disclaimer. Because man was there some craziness involved in the air this weekend. If nothing else, you could have taken the over on an over/under bet of 2000 times of the word "wedding" being said during the course of the weekend and not sweat once. Egads man. There was an extended, hour long conversation on the relative merits of one night's barbecued ribs v. another. The question "who is staying at the Sweet Briar" was asked at least a dozen times. Beck's hairdo was more scrutinized than a post-war withdraw plan. What kind of world is this?
All in fun, parentals. Kinda. :). This seems like a good time to bow out to take a break and take the dogs "O-U-T." To bring us back to the narrative, Beck and I were exhausted Friday night and hit the sack quite early. I think our level of exhaustion is aptly represented by this final photo, which is more or less a display of how the W (of mass) D spends easily 2/3rds of her time:
No comments:
Post a Comment