Jenny's Mega Blog from Daren's Wedding!

Well here is an excerpt from Jenny’s site which i find absolutely hilarious.

So funny when Trini’s leave home… we have to make sure everyone know we are Trini!!

http://www.power-mad.com/blog/2005/09/wedding-megablog-megablog-is-cool-term.html

Quoting here — I think I am just going to copy and paste blogs all the way and all..hehhe… so much more interesting than writing my own shit!!

Wedding Megablog (megablog IS a cool term. It is.)

There was, of course, a small matter of a wedding.

The week leading up to the wedding passed by in a flurry of dress fittings; looking very busy so the bride doesn’t realise that you’re trying to make funny anagrams instead of reviewing the guestlist –

– travelling up to northern trinidad for invitations, fridge magnets and wedding cakes, negotiating with caterers, decorators and manicurists.

After the visit to the manicurist, time slowed down, at least for me. I for one got two and a half centimeter long nails. I thought why not. The bride and groom were obviously going to be the main attraction, but with long manicured nails I might too have a running chance. Besides, long nails might be fun for a change. How wrong was I? Just a little bit. I waited till I got home to use the bathroom, having carefully saved all my pee for the two hours it took to get the nails in place and painted. The problem being that inch long nails are button repellant. Going to the toilet gives you the same sinking feeling a small animal trapped in steel jaws has – either you chew off your nails or you wet yourself.

Oh, I quite disagree, it’s an excellent analogy.

But I found out that bathroom breaks need to be planned ahead ten minutes before you feel the urge, which is an art in itself, otherwise you’ll be standing there, nails slipping everywhere, and you getting nowhere. Not to mention removing your lenses. I was optimistic about this at first, thinking that if I used the tips of the nails very gently, I could get my lenses out and still keep my brain matter intact. In the end, bro removed them for me. You’ve probably seen a pic or two of my brother, but you haven’t seen my brother’s hands. They’re not so much piano hands as, say, Godzilla himself, and seeing a pair of his fingers make it for your eye makes you run off two three times screaming just a little bit before the lenses finally come out.

Donna and Daren hit their fair share of snags as well. Things weren’t being finished on time no matter how quickly they worked, and when everything seemed to be wrapping up, the priest mentioned that oh, by the way, they couldn’t get married in a Catholic church unless they got permission from the bishop as well – Donna being Catholic and Daren being all Hindu.

Suffice to say, it all worked out. Blood, tears sweat and the Bishop saw to it.

The day of the wedding was as hectic as any wedding day – the whole wedding party, minus the groom was running around at Donna’s soon to be ex-residence trying to find earings, make-up, speeches, photographers and another twenty four hours. Somewhere along the line I got talked into doing a little something with my eyebrows, which turned into full face make-up which turned into one extremely fat eyebrow and one a bit thinner, and that general lady of the night look that I’ve never quite gotten used to.

The bride however, was impeccable, as brides should be – keeping that look of perfection even while desperately trying to herd everything and everyone together by emitting small shreiks of horror every now and then. The ceremony was going to begin at three PM in the afternoon, and it wasn’t until ten past that we left the house – bride, bridesmaid and maid of very very much honour meaning me then.

At quarter past three we arrived. A gorgeous Gabriella and her escort walked down the aisle first, then the sweetest wee little flower girl, then I. The wee little flower girl was three years old, and not too keen on walking – period. She inched along in front of me, stopping every now and then. “Run!” I told her. No-one was going to mess with my honorable maid of honour stride. This, of course, was the wrong thing to say, she slowed down even more. Now I had to put on my thinking cap. She was small enough to kick but too big to not to have feelings and react. Decisions Decisions.

“Allright, slooow, slooow” I said. If it was reverse psychology she wanted, then by golly she would get it – except this time she listened.

When we finally got to the altar, the bride made her much awaited and much impressive entrance.

The ceremony was as such ceremonies are – beautiful.

And long. And then it was over.

I’m sorry, did you want more about the ceremony? Because I really do try to make things as well rounded as possible, and not all about Me.

Okay. Next up is the reception. Venue: On top of San Fernando Hill, at an open-aired terrace that overlooks the city. Pictures were taken, speeches were made. Rishi, the best man, had a ten minute speech that was pretty much a killer speech. This was his third best man speech for the year, and my first maid of honour speech ever. I wanted to shine as bad as a two dollar ho wants three dollars, but that wasn’t going to happen. And it didn’t happen.

Calm, cool, sophisticated me hiked my hand so far up my waist it looked like I was trying to grab a boobie for comfort, and then I let it rip. I got laughs at the mention of the word “snot”, and then I got laughs everywhere else as well. It would have been nice to get them in the right places though. And it would have been nice to make the audience roar, like Rishi

did. Here might be a good place to mention that he only has that one gonad. ONE SINGULAR LONELY LONELY GONAD with hair enough for two. I only share because I care.

I lie though. Rishi is one of the coolest people I know and he has three balls.

After this comes Daren’s touching reply, and the serving of my libations. Stewed chicken, spicy fish, noodles and vegetable rice all fit on one and the same plate and are awsome. The drinks that came with it was also awesome. I was thankful to my people, and raised my glass to them so that they would know and rejoice.

And then the first dance. The couple swaying in perfect unison, just as it should be. Donna’s white gown flowing behind her much like one or two tears flowed from the audience. It was a wonderful thing.

The cake cutting followed, a predominantly American tradition, I beleive, where the bride and groom help each other to cut the cake – one holding the knife, the other the fork, and feeding each other. I’m not sure what it represents, but I think it has something to do with sharing food and duties with the one you love for the rest of you life. It’s sweet, like cake. The rest of us got none.

Bouquet throwing! I didn’t get this either.

But it doesn’t mean that I won’t be next to marry.

Sometimes I try to think about this not so much.

The afterparty was excellent. Rishi, maestro of the moonshine, was good enough to forsake festivities and stand behind the bar the whole evening, mixing drinks and keeping people drunk enough to dance. Some danced of their own accord, some should not have done so. But everyone had a great time, and for this, Donna and Daren were happy.

I think we all were, in fact.