A wedding extravaganza in our Nation's Capital...

I just got back from Washington D.C. tonight - I'm exhausted, but I had an incredible time. I went to the wedding of one of the college roommates of the Green Giant.

So here's a run-down...

I got into Reagan National Airport early Thursday morning. By "early", of course, I mean "earlier than I've been up in two years." I was super-happy to get there, though - he met me right outside security and I got to see his crazy haven't-shaved-since-the-last-time-we-saw-each-other beard. I've never been one for facial hair, but wow.

We spent most of Thursday indoors, I finished my book while G worked, we ran an errand, and then we got some delicious Mexican food up the street with his roommate. Friday was the day of the rehearsal, so we took it a bit easy then as well and got ourselves ready for the rehearsal. As is customary, I had forgotten a few things at home - a curling iron, hairspray, pantyhose. At this point, however, G had to get a haircut.

I should explain here. As this was going to be a full military wedding and G was part of the sword arch, he was going to be in full dress uniform. G has been on reserve for the Marines for some time now, and...well, he looks good scruffy too, so he's let it grow out. I was a little nervous about him getting it cut, because I'll be honest - I MET him because I looked across the skeezy bar and said "I LIKE THAT REALLY TALL BLONDE SHAGGY ONE". But he looked REALLY good with the haircut, and though the shave took a full TWO days to get it all, he finally got it all cut by Friday. G put on his...dapperest...three-piece suit, and I was rather impressed. He looked mighty handsome.

Friday night was the Rehearsal and Rehearsal Dinner, which was a lot of fun. The rehearsal showed me the church, which I feel bad even calling "a church". This - CATHEDRAL - St Matthews - was bigger than any church I've probably ever been to in the United States. That picture of JFK Jr saluting his father's coffin? Taken on its steps. Because it's the same place where JFK's funeral mass was held. Jeez, this ain't Lynchburg, Virginia, y'all. The rehearsal dinner was held at the Army Navy Club, near the church. We had a great meal and we all enjoyed ourselves, followed by a rousing few drinks at the pub around the corner.

So of course we woke up a tad late on Saturday. G had to be at the wedding for pictures at 12:30, and I was due to meet him at the church at 2:30. I had him get showered first, and while he did that, I got my own outfit prepared. I was proud of myself - I was all ready to go. He got showered, I jumped in behind him and he began to take out his uniform.

And then the feces hit the proverbial oscillating rotor.

I watched G put his uniform pants on - and they did NOT want to button. After giggling at him a bit (we've all had those days where we can't fit in our pants), I helped him and asked if he had another pair. "Of course!" he exclaimed, "these are probably the ones the cleaners shrank!" Second pair came out of the closet. Even smaller. Yes, he had gained a few pounds. Back to the first pair. They button, but barely. His standard-issue shirt will not fit either. This means that he has to wear a t-shirt and just the jacket. The jacket goes on.

Suddenly I'm reminded of this.

Really, I'm about dying at this point. I'm laughing hysterically. It's 12:15. He's a groomsman. And in the sword arch. You JUST don't see FAT MARINES - especially OFFICERS - walking around WASHINGTON DC. Even though I want to laugh my face off, I know that my sole duty at this point is to get this chubby Captain in his uniform and to a certain Church on time. So I rack my brain and remember that wool stretches when it's wet.

"G, do you have a spray bottle?"

"no, just Febreeze."

"That'll work. Okay, hold each side of your jacket, and when I spray, I want you to pull as hard as you can on both sides. The wool will only stretch when it's wet."

"Oh jeez. Okay. I already can't breathe from my pants anyway."

I try to muffle the rest of my laughter, but it's not happening. It's seriously hysterically funny. You know when you get a bad button-down and it won't go across the bust without pulling the buttons and puckering? Yeah, that's what his uniform jacket was doing. AT EVERY BUTTON. I was hoping that military construction would be the only thing to keep his buttons from popping off. Thank God they did. We finally got him in his uniform and off to the church, where I realized that the stiff-legged march of soldiers probably comes from pants like his - he literally couldn't move in them.

The ceremony was beautiful, and I found my hot marine a few hours later when I met up with him at the reception. He was in pain and avoiding anything with salt as he couldn't eat anything that would retain water. I still wanted to laugh. The reception, held at the Washington DC Shriners' headquarters, was SO much fun. I've never seen anything quite so funny as a 6'5" man in a Marine uniform, dancing up a storm. Picture a Weimeraner trying to stay upright on a slick floor - it's just all arms and legs.

After the reception, we headed home pretty early (I was exhausted, we were both starving) and we decided to hit the diner on the way. It must have been quite a sight - he in full uniform, me in a black cocktail dress, red pumps and a full-length dress coat - because the drunks in his part of town (Adams Morgan) had another comment for us every five seconds or so. The host at the diner shook his hand and thanked him rather profusely, a guy who looked about 18 said "Semper Fi, sir" (G thought it was probably a young enlisted guy who recognized his rank by his uniform) and - my favorite - a bum screamed "YEAH THAT'S WHAT I'm TALKIN BOUT" as we walked by. Only in DC.

Finally, after an exhausting day, we struggled G up the stairs into his room. He couldn't get out of his uniform. Seriously, it was THAT tight. It took five or six inhales and exhales just for me to get the NECK undone. The buttons hurt my hands so bad I can still feel it. Had I not been there, I'm not kidding - he would have had to cut thousands of dollars worth of military uniform off himself. So I really felt sorry for him and helped him. As I'm helping him get the WORST button off (right on his stomach, where the belt was), he realizes I feel sorry for him and probably won't say no if he asks. So he asks very quietly...

"can we please watch the Eagles tomorrow?"

Pictures tomorrow.