Like most nightmares, the memories of this one quickly escaped from my skull as I regained consciousness. But I do know we were getting married in San Francisco (we’re not), and there was incredible drama at the airport in terms of missed flights, missed connections, missed luggage, etc. Pretty standard.
Then, my buddy Jake asked me if I had asked Deborah’s brothers permission to marry her. Oh shit, I thought. I can't believe I didn't clear this whole thing with her brothers, because clearly that's what you're supposed to do.
So when her brother Jon picked me up at the airport (unclear why Deborah wasn’t also in the car since we were, after all, going to get married), I decided to ask the big question: I love your sis, she’s dope, how would you feel about me marrying her, awkward-awkward-awkward, etc.
Maybe it was a weird question, maybe asking permission the day before a wedding is an empty gesture, or maybe he hates me. Either way, Jon said this:
“Do whatever the hell you want, man.”
That, as you can imagine, made the rest of the car ride silent and uncomfortable.
Cut to moments before the wedding, and I’m bawling my eyes out because of (choose your own: lack of brotherly approval? social anxiety? onions that I had cut up for the caterer to save a few bucks on staffing costs?). This wedding weekend was going terribly, and I was all busted up about it.
But it would soon get worse. For some reason, the chairman of the Republican National Committee scored an invitation to our wedding, and during the ketubah signing I interrogated him about Bush’s plans for Iran.
“We’re attacking on Thursday,” he said. “Guaranteed we’re bombing them before the end of the week.”
And then I really started crying.
Worst. Wedding. Ever…I’ve. Got. Issues.
8/14/07
381 Days To Our Wedding: Let The Nightmares Begin!
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6 comments:
Maybe not so much with the Daily Show for awhile?
And we think your issues stem from the last time you hit the city that unfathomably loves Barry Bonds.
Relax. Deb rules and you're pretty OK, too.
Iran will shortly be a nuclear power, courtesy of Russia and the spinelessness of Europe and the Democrats. Ahmadinejad and his buddy the 12th Imam will be writing the playlist for a lot more than your wedding.
If Ahmadinejad writes the playlist for our wedding, does that mean no Horah?
I dreamt (is that a word?) that although the ceremony was over I had no wedding band and no one could tell me why- and I could NOT remember the ceremony at all. And then my Dad said he wanted to sue the Rabbi. Of course, I'm at 53 days until my wedding.....
I dreamt that Ahmadinejad was the band leader and he played an everlasting horah while Tony Blair and El Baradei circled each other on the dancefloor, gyrating wildly and ululating even as Condi Rice, alone at the cold buffet, glared menacingly across the room.
Forget the nightmares.
She's all yours, bro-to-be.
And I love you.
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