Grab That Net and Catch That Beautiful Butterfly!

Jerry Maguire was the Lord of the Living Room, and I am the Lady of Weddings. I joke that I go to weddings all the time, but I’ve only been to two in ’08. No, I am the Lady of Weddings because I’m really a Wedding Slut.

I always meet a guy at a wedding. If I’m going to a wedding single, I’ll either hook up with someone or leave having given out my digits. Or both. Last Saturday, my stepsister got married. I love her to bits, but see her every few years because she lives in Hawaii. I know, I know, I should visit, but tickets are damn expensive.

She and her now husband are both park rangers. They love the earth. And good for them. I love the earth too, but not enough to have a “green” wedding. Green as in good for the environment, but also green because it costs more money. I’d rather have a wedding with a big ass carbon footprint if it means more guests. Weddings are about people, people. So that’s my rant.

Everything was recycled. Everything was organic – even the alcohol. The cake tasted like a Nerf ball it was so spongy and flavorless. The funniest part is they had organic flowers flown in from California. I’m pretty sure all that jet fuel canceled out any good they were doing. My poor stepfather was confused because he thought all flowers were organic.

The wedding was outside in the beautiful Smokey Mountains at the Lily Barn. Evidently when they’re in season, the place is full of lilies. In October, it’s just friggin’ cold. The ceremony was beautiful surrounded by red and gold leaves, but eee gads the reception inside a log pavilion with just one wall was straight up chilly.

I didn’t know what to expect of the guests, but it was an interesting mix of people freezing their asses off in either Hawaiian shirts or Birkenstocks.

Before the wedding, a girl asked if I was at the rehearsal dinner. I said, “No, I couldn’t go because I teach in Atlanta on Friday afternoons so I wouldn’t have been able to get here in time.” Then she asked if I taught yoga. Strange, but I answered, “No, I’m in grad school so I teach at a college.” Her response? “Oh, I thought you looked like a yoga instructor because your body looks so alive.” Thank you? That has to be one of the oddest things anyone’s ever said to me.

My parents were quite productive at the rehearsal dinner, however. Saturday morning, Mom gave me the lowdown on who they determined to be the wedding’s most eligible bachelors. Bachelor #1 lives in Los Angeles and is 25 or 26. Uh uh. Bachelor #2 is originally from London (hot accent, great city) and currently lives in Greece. Seriously? I mean, I’m a big girl and can handle long distance, but I’m pretty sure dating a guy on another continent would have its challenges. Bachelor #3 lives in Hawaii and may or may not have a girlfriend.

“Thanks, Mom, but it sounds like none of these guys are date-able.”

“Well, you never know. They’re cute, and they’re single…well, except for maybe that one…and at least you’ll have somebody to dance with!”

As I sit down for the ceremony, I spot a good looking guy on the back row. He’s not next to a girl so I wonder if he’s one of the bachelors. He has hot mountain scruff and a good smile. I decide to keep an eye on him. I wasn’t planning on doing much dancing, but as cold as it was, I knew I’d need to stay in constant movement so my toes didn’t fall off.

The ceremony ends, and everyone headed up the hill to the reception. After sitting at my table for awhile, I realize I’m shivering and look over at the fireplace. To see my hot mountain man standing over there. I seize the day and walk over to him. Shaking my ass a little, I say, “Hey, move over and stop hogging the fire. I’m cold!” He laughs and says, “Ooo, you’ve got sass. Yes, ma’am!” I love it when a guy likes my sass. I like my sass.

We talk for awhile, and he’s completely hilarious. The guy has absolutely no filter, which is fascinating. And amusing. He also has the thickest, funniest East Tennessee accent that for some inexplicable reason I found adorable. He is, however, wearing flip flops so I have to tease, “Why exactly are you wearing flip flops? You do realize we’re in the mountains in mid-October, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I know. But it was either flip flops or my muddy hiking boots. I thought these were more wedding appropriate.”

I think to myself, It’s too bad he only owns flip flops and hiking boots. This guy can’t be my soulmate because he’d never understand my shoe habit. (Yes, occasionally crazy thoughts like that do run through my head.)

He tells me he’s sitting with people from Hawaii and is teaching them how to talk redneck. Two of them are giving a toast later, and he suggested ways to give their speech a little Tennessee flair. “I told ‘em they should end it with somethin’ like, ‘There’s a shitload of love here, y’all!’ or maybe ‘Hot damn!’ but I’m not sure they’re gonna take my advice. We’ll see, though, so just know if you hear one of those, it was my idea.”

Eventually, it’s time to eat so we head back to our tables. Where I find both my parents totally smashed. The food hasn’t even been served yet. My mother is giggling at everything, and my stepfather shares that he saw the Paris Hilton sex tape and was not impressed. I bury my head in shame and announce that I’ll be the D.D.

Once the dancing starts, I drag my stepfather out there to get our groove on. He and my mom took dancing lessons, and he’s actually pretty good. On our way back to our seats, we walk past Bachelor #1. My drunk stepdad tells the guy, “Now don’t forget, I might be paying you in peanuts, but I want you to dance with my daughter tonight.” #1 smiled at me and said he’d be happy to, and my stepdad looks at me and says, “I’m pimping you out!” Parents should not be allowed to consume alcohol in public.

Later, while I’m talking to the cute mountain man, #1 comes over. It’s uncomfortable because I’m thinking #1 is interested, but I’m not, and in fact am actually interested in the other guy. The two of them starting talking and Mountain Man asks #1 where he’s from. To which he replies, “Hollywood.” It took all I had not to bust out laughing. He then talks about his job and says, “It’s complicated, but basically, I do marketing for movies. I work in film.” Trying too hard, young one. Mountain Man pushes for details because he actually owns a marketing company, but ends up just getting a definition for marketing. My mom saves me by forcing me to jump for the bouquet. A tradition I loathe.

I eventually do dance with #1. It’s a slow song, and he spins me around so fast I actually get dizzy. Though the organic wine may have contributed. I spent the remaining part of the wedding skirting him. My parents have terrible taste. Not only was “Hollywood” hopelessly cheesy, but he lives on the opposite side of the country and is a few years younger. While Mountain Man is 33 and lives two short hours away from me, which with my schedule, is hardly even long distance. Not to mention he was smart, funny, laidback…

At the end of the night, I can tell that Mountain Man is about to ask for my number. And, of course, my parents walk up, telling me it’s time to go. Mom is grinning ear to ear and nodding drunkenly at the guy. While my stepdad interrogates him and stops just shy of inquiring after his intentions. I promptly gave Mom a death glare, and she dragged my stepfather to the car.

We flirt a bit longer while walking slowly to the parking lot. Some guy I haven’t seen in ten years stops us and blabbers for 15 minutes so by the time we get to the lot, my parents are in the car and waiting anxiously by the exit. Subtle, folks. Mountain Man nervously laughs about feeling sixteen and says he’ll call soon. Which he did yay.

* For those of you who missed the reference, the title of this post is from the movie Wedding Crashers. Probably the best wedding movie ever. Crab cakes and football! That's Maryland!