The friends I went to college with in Ohio are normal late twentysomethings, just like me. Except, you know, engaged and condo-owning. In my visit to Chicago this past weekend for Glenda's bachelorette party, I was the only one sans-sparkle. Within the next two months, they will all be wed. Invitations (she BETTER not be bringing a guest!, or: just fucking RSVP Dad!), seating arrangements, florists, photographers and gowns were the weekend's hot topics. I had zero to contribute (save, "Ladies, not to stress! This is only your first marriage."), but found the whole thing fascinating. Planning the nuts and bolts of a wedding is a highly chaotic and emotional process. Essentially it's as if you were on your period everyday of the year. Luckily, Glenda is a great friend who is marrying a great guy: Fernando Monterey. And a name like Glenda Monterey is the stuff made of spiced cinnamon beets and telenovelas.
On a side note, Glenda reminded me of two occasions in college when I was weird: 1) In my sorority state, I had a crush on a fraternity douche bag and we had arranged a study date at the library. I took two hours to do my hair and make-up, but wore sweatpants to look casual. Before I left, I chugged a Mike's Hard Lemonade to calm my nerves. Studying at this study date seemed out of the question. 2nd) A boy asked me out. I didn't seem very interested, as I agreed to meet him at the Bell Tower dining hall instead of going on a proper date. On top of that, I forced Glenda to come with me. Could I have been more of an asshole? Yes. I got a breadbowl for lunch. I ate half of it, and at the table, put the other half around my neck like a floatation device. I had all but erased these precious memories, so thank you.
