High Kicks, Hot Dogs, and Beach Weddings. Part 3

Saturday morning I awoke to glorious sunshine beaming through the curtains of my room, and I meandered downstairs to start a pot of coffee. I poured myself a cup, threw on my shades, and kicked back in an Adirondack chair on the deck under a cerulean sky. Shortly after, I was joined by Joe and Mariah, and we rehashed the evening over a few cups of thick coffee before packing our beach bags and heading over to a little bagel shop for breakfast.

We scarfed down some breakfast, stopped to get ice and waters, and headed over to meet up with the gang on the beach. Although I don’t drink alcohol anymore, I still drink alcoholically. I was told you could actually drown yourself drinking water, because I still always have to have a drink in my hand, and still drink with a seemingly unquenchable thirst. Old habits die hard, you can bet your sweet ass on it.

By 10am, we joined Aaron, Robin, their daughters Ryan and Bryn, Tim, Samantha, Jake, and Aunt Cheryl on the beach. Cheryl was there for approximately 8 seconds, because as the mother of the bride on the big day, she apparently had shit to handle. Rachel and Chris (bride & groom) had rented a monster of a house where they were having the wedding and reception that evening. Rebekah was already at the house with her sister Rach, doing all of the pre-wedding girlie stuff, i.e. mimosas and blow outs (hair not bowels, but maybe a little of both…nerves and all.) Most of the crew had limited time on the beach with us, as they all had to head over there and prepare for the 5:30 ceremony.

Joe and Mariah took the kayak out into the ocean for an hour or so, while Jake and I worked on our George Hamilton’s and again positioned ourselves in a direct line with the sun. Robin had to leave to get her hair did, so we shot the shit with Aaron, Tim and Samantha, playing the impromptu game of “remember the time…” followed by laughs, always. I was messing around with the girls, and noticed Bryn was admiring my high side pony (I’m bringing it back, bitches.)

the high side pony. that's right.

the high side pony. that’s right.

I found a pair of my sons aviators in my beach bag and hooked her up for our photo shoot.

she rocked that pony.

she rocked that pony.

I noticed my brother was looking entirely too relaxed and content, so I decided to give him a high side pony as well. He’s a good sport, only because he’s gotten used to this shit over his 38 years on earth.

"Come on Joe! You know you want a high side pony!"

“Come on Joe! You know you want a high side pony!”

"Tracy please get the fuck off of my hair and don't put this shit on facebook."

“Tracy please get the fuck off of my hair and don’t put this shit on facebook.”

See, he's a good sport, only because he knew I wouldn't give up until I got the photo. But he rocked the pony.

See, he’s a good sport, only because he knew I wouldn’t give up until I got the photo. But he rocked the pony.

I beat the side pony action into the ground, because there’s nothing I do better than beating a dead horse. Shortly after Aaron and the girls left to join the wedding party, and Jake and I continued our highly detailed and sensitive conversation. I cannot tell you what it was about, because I don’t know who the fuck reads this blog. Some things must remain sacred.

Jake pushed his beach time to the last possible moment until he had to go join the others and get ready. Insert sad robot out of batteries pose. Mariah and I discussed the details of her upcoming wedding, to my brother, her boyfriend of NINE YEARS. They are also having a beach wedding the end of September, which is awesome, because not only is she already the most amazing common law sister-in-law in the world, and not only did she let me pick my own bridesmaids dress, and not only will they make the most beautiful little babies, but I will get another few blog entries out of it. Winner winner chicken dinner.

We had to catch the shuttle to the wedding at 4:30, so around 2:30 Mariah and I packed up our shit and headed back to our house, while Joe volunteered to drive people over to Chris & Rachel’s, because it’s on the 4 wheel drive only beach, and he has 4 wheel drive, and he’s nicer than I am.

I showered up, blew out the hair, and slid into my black cocktail dress. I love a black dress like Angelina Jolie loves a double mastectomy. I looked like a respectable woman for a change, so I took a selfie to text to Jake.

Me: “Best selfie all day”

Jake: “Nailed it.”

new dating profile pic. because i look like this every day. in my head.

“Now you can go anywhere you want baby.”    ~ Mask

We drove over to the place where we were catching the shuttle with everyone at 4:30. They had rented huge 4 wheel drive school busses, and when we got on, Billy Idol was playing through a concert size stack of amps. I was 3 Monster energy drinks in, and mama was ready to get her swerve on. I was incredibly grateful that I had not spent a tremendous amount of effort on my hair, because the ride was a smidge breezy.

slight breeze.

slight breeze.

Once we all arrived, we set up on the beach for the worlds fastest ceremony. I think the entire thing was like 4 minutes, maybe less. My other cousin, Aaron, also went and got himself ordained online and preformed the ceremony. I’ll tell a picture story now:

The key players. Aunt Cheryl and her spawn. Left to right: Aaron, Tim (Jesus) Cheryl, Rachel (Barbie) Rebekah, Jake

The key players. Aunt Cheryl and her spawn. Left to right: Aaron, Tim (Jesus) Cheryl, Rachel (Barbie) Rebekah, Jake

Officiant Aaron, marrying Barbie and Ken.

Officiant Aaron, marrying Barbie and Ken.

After the hot minute ceremony, Aaron announced them, and what came out was this, “I now present, Misstopher….uh, Mrs and Mr Christopher Goan!” Of course our whole side of the wedding party went batshit crazy with laughter and applause. Poor Aaron will never live that down. No less than 7,843 times that night did someone come up to him and say “I now present…Misssssstophhhherrrrrrrr!”

They really are a hot ass couple. photo by Anthony Johnstone

They really are a hot ass couple.
photo by Anthony Johnstone

After that, we all headed up to the house for the cocktail hour. Everything was set up on an enormous deck, and there was a glass cover over the pool which was my playground/the dance floor. It’s funny when you stand in the long bar line and then order a club soda with lemon. Everyone always assumes you’re pregnant, or an alcoholic. Half of the time they’re right. I’ve found that my not drinking makes drinking people feel horribly uncomfortable, when you would think it would be the other way around. I rock my club soda and lemon all night, and no one knows the difference, except the bartender who winks at me every time I get one. Tool.

We’re all chatting and noshing as the sun is setting, it is picture perfect, except for the fact that it’s becoming fucking freezing and none of the ladies, and I use that term loosely, have brought jackets. So then it’s a bunch of freezing men and women running around in cocktail dresses and oversized mens blazers. Seein’s how I don’t currently have a man person in my life, some nice wife always elbows her husband and he offers up his jacket. I was grateful, even though it was beige not black, because it was cold as shit.

Jake reappeared from the photo shoot on the beach, the real kind not the kind he has every 5 minutes with himself on his iPhone. We were reunited and the robot sprang back to life with fresh, fully charged batteries, ready to paaaarrrrrtaaaayyyy!

10 replies

  1. I love the photo story, and just in general you’re funny as shit and I like that about you. Also, the side pony does rock, and if anyone can bring that shit back, it’s you. Buh-lieve it.

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