Day 49: Wedding Crasher

A couple of weeks after starting the blog, I received an email from a girl from my hometown named Carrie.

"Love your blog," it read, "you should start a food fight as something you've never done before."

Love. It.

I hope she won't be offended by this, but I'm not really sure what Carrie is to me. I wouldn't be so bold as to call us friends, because we really don't keep in touch or ever see each other. To call her an acquaintance seems cold and not quite right. She's more than that. To say she's just some girl from my hometown implies that we once knew each other but have since had a falling out and that's not the case either.

Her first email kicked off an exhange between us, and she revealed she also had a blog that she hasn't yet had the guts to promote. Well, I love promotion, so her blog is: http://www.woodwardwayward.blogspot.com/. You know what, now that I'm thinking about it, I consider anyone that reads my blog a friend, so Carrie and I are friends. There. I said it.

One of the last emails that I got from Carrie came in when I was on my trip to California and Boston. It read, "Ever crashed a wedding? I know one on November 14th that's pretty low risk!"
I had to read it twice to completely understand. Did this girl just tell me to crash her wedding?

Hmmmm...My mind went to (where else?) the movie Wedding Crashers. Two dudes, making up aliases and going to weddings they aren't invited to to meet girls and hook-up. Ok, so this wouldn't be exactly like that. I'd have to go as myself, I would know other people there and the bride has thrown it out there, so it's not a full-on crash, but I liked the blog potential.

I shared this email with my friends who were invited to the wedding and were staying with me for the weekend. "Should I really crash her wedding?"

"Heck ya!" they both said, "Awesome."

With full support from those with an actual invite, I made Day 49's thing I've never done before crash a wedding.

I told my friend Katy what I was doing. She looked confused and said, "You go to weddings all the time. Why would you go to one that you weren't invited to?"

It's true. Like a lot of people in their twenties, I have made a second career out of weddings. I have become a professional wedding guest and bridesmaid, attending more than 60 weddings since college (at the request of a co-worker, I actually counted them) and have been a bridesmaid 12 times.

So Katy's inquiry was valid. Why, after finally having a weekend off, would you want to go to another wedding? This was going to be different, though. Dangerous. Well, not really, the bride told me to come. But still, having been to so many weddings that I was invited to, I'll know exactly what to do and how to act.

Carrie's wedding day arrived and it was beautiful. "A perfect day to crash a wedding!" I said to Mark and Jen.

In the days and weeks leading up to the wedding, I really wasn't nervous about pulling this off. But when we were getting ready, I started to get nervous. What if Carrie was just kidding about me crashing her wedding? What if she freaks when she sees me show up?

Mark and Jen assured me it was fine and it was going to be fun and a great opportunity for the blog. Plus, we all decided that a wedding ceremony is just like a church service. That's all it is. I'm just going to church, on a Saturday night. So what if there is a girl in a white dress standing up in front? No biggie. This was a big wedding/church service. There is a good chance Carrie and her husband won't even know I'm there.

The ceremony was lovely and I surveyed the crowd and saw several familiar faces from my hometown. I even saw a couple that was at my brother's wedding back in September. I was feeling good about just laying low, blending in and not revealing to anyone that I wasn't actually invited. A great plan, until the pastor invited everyone forward for communion, a practice that would require walking in front of the entire congregation and the bride and groom.

Sorry if it is sacrilege to say this about communion, but shit.

We filed out of our pew and began our approach to the altar and I felt like everyone's eyes were boring into the back of my head. "Who is this girl?!" I could hear them whispering. "She does NOT belong here!"

We made it to the altar and it wasn't long before I made eye contact with Carrie. Her eyes widened and a huge smile appeared on her face. I think she was genuinely surprised (or shocked or horrified) that I actually came. She nudged her fiance and whispered something into his ear. Not sure what, exactly, but in my head, I imagined it was something like, "Whit, please tell security that there is a wedding crasher who will be making her way to our reception soon. Have them ready to take her down."

But Whit smiled too, so maybe this was going to be ok. So much for laying low, though.

The wedding was a success and it was on to the second half of the evening, the reception at the beautiful Piedmont Driving Club on Piedmont Park. Shockingly, in the 60+ weddings I've been to, I hadn't ever been to a reception there.

I thought that after making eye contact with the bride and groom and receiving approving smiles that I would feel like I was home free, but as we're pulling up to the valet, I had another sick feeling. I shared it with the group.

"What if this reception is a sit-down dinner?"

I pictured us all walking in and Mark and Jen finding their place cards and ditching me with nowhere to sit. I told them that if that happened, I would walk to a friend's apartment, which was right down the street. But they were as much a part of this experience as I was, so they said if that was the case, we could share the two seats between the three of us. One person would just have to be up walking around at all times. That would likely garner strange reactions from the other people seated at their table, but it was a risk we were all willing to take.

We walked into reception, which was gorgeous, and I was relieved that there were no signs of seating cards or numbered tables. Safe again!

The reception was fantastic and I was ready to take advantage of all that it had to offer. Mark, Jen, our other friend Myles and I found a table and set up camp. From there we had access to the delicious food and the photo book (that's right, this reception had a photo booth).

We eventually moved closer to the dance floor to enjoy the band. We even got a bonus performance by the groom and his band. I felt safe on the dance floor and tried to stay huddled to my friends. I only left twice: one time to get wedding cake, and another time to talk someone.

She was the girl that was at my brother's wedding. She said, "So how do you know Carrie?"

This made me nervous, so I just started rambling, "Well, Carrie and I actually knew each other in high school. She went to Chapin, I went to Irmo. . ." and then I just decided to tell her, "but I actually wasn't invited," I went on. "She told me to come with Mark and Jen. They're staying at my house."

She smiled reluctantly and then I watched her quickly scan the room, presumably to figure out a way she could make her getaway. We'd already been talking for a while and she must've been worried that people might associate her with the wedding crasher.

Before we parted ways, she said, "Yeah, Matt and I were wondering what you were doing here."

Ouch.

I guess that's the tricky part about crashing a wedding where you actually know some of the guests. If there is any question as to your relationship to the bride or groom, chances are it's going to be brought up in conversation. I think I might've been better off just going to a complete stranger's wedding and not conversed with anyone.

I returned to Mark, Jen and Myles, who not only didn't mind being with the wedding crasher, I think they enjoyed it. And we rarely left the dance floor all night. In fact, it was the dance floor where I came face to face with the bride.

Carrie, like all brides, had been like a pinball bouncing from one group to the next, and while there were several invited guests who were waiting to talk to her, I couldn't miss my chance to tell her, "You look beautiful! Thanks for not calling security!"

She said she couldn't believe that I actually came, but she loved it. Or at least she said she did. She was so cool, I looked at the leftover crab claws and considered starting that food fight she had suggested. Knock out two of her ideas in one night. I figured it best to not push my luck, though.

Congratulations Carrie and Whit! You throw a great party. It couldn't have been more fun if I was actually invited.

Day 48: An Acquired Taste

Since I can remember, my dad's drink of choice has been Dewar's (scotch) and water. Apparently there was a time in his life when he liked PBR (his nickname was "PBR Charlie") but since I've known him he's always been a scotch man. Not just any scotch though. Dewar's.

My voice is on the deeper side for a woman, so when I am tired or coming down with a cold, I'm sometimes accused of being a seasoned scotch drinker. But the only scotch drinking that I have ever done has been purely accidental. It's a light enough liquor that when watered down, a scotch drink looks like water. And I've picked one up, more than once, taken a big sip thinking it was water.

Big mistake.

The handful of times I've done it, I've nearly spit the drink out, exclaiming, "Ugh, Dad, how do you drink this?"

But lately I've developed a curiosity about the beverage. There is something equally refined and bad-ass to me about a woman who drinks scotch. I think of scenes from movies or television shows where a woman storms up to a bar after a fight with her boyfriend and has the bartender pour her a scotch. Another woman heads home to her perfectly decorated house after a long day at work and pours herself a lowball of scotch from a crystal decanter. Do scenes like that happen in real life? I don't know, but there is a part of me that wants to be a scotch drinker, and not just sound like one.

So Day 48's thing I've never done before was to drink, and perhaps learn to enjoy, scotch.

The day started with much better intentions. I walked to the library, again, in search of a library card. And again, was denied because my public library doesn't open until noon on Fridays. Seriously, I wanted to know, why are they making this so hard for me?

I had friends coming in from out of town who know my dad pretty well, so they were on board to make the scotch challenge a success. They were more than on board, actually. In fact, Mark and Jen had a Dewar's and water waiting on me when I got to the restaurant where we were meeting.

"In honor of your dad," they said, and we all clinked glasses.

Sure. Only when I think of my dad I usually don't make the face I made when I took the first sip. Painful is the only word I can use to describe it.

My dad said scotch is an acquired taste. I think that means it tastes terrible and makes your taste buds burn, but if you make up your mind that you're going to drink it, eventually your body will have no other choice but to accept it.

I took another sip.

And, in between telling my friends the story of my trip to California and Boston, I took more sips. And pretty soon, scotch began to warm me up and relax me the way I believe it is supposed to. It still tasted pretty bad, so I took my sweet time finishing it.

We left the first restaurant and went to another venue, where I tried to order another Dewar's. The place didn't have it, though, so I was forced to try a different scotch. I can't remember the name of this scotch, but it was as unpleasant as Dewar's.

I finished two scotch drinks and never really enjoyed the taste of it. Maybe I've still got some acquiring to do. But I think I'll give it a few more tries before I give up on being a refined bad-ass woman.

Day 47: And Bingo Was Its Name, Oh!

A few days after I started the blog, my friend Dani sent me an email saying she had an idea for something I could do.

"Bingo," the email read, "I've done it three times. It's the best entertainment."

She went on to say that the average age of the participants is 80, but there is an opportunity to win money. Some winners take home between $50 and $75 per game and the final jackpot, depending on how many people show up, is between $700-$1000.

Entertainment, a blog entry, and the possibility of winning cash? Sign me up.

It took us several weeks to get it together, but Day 47's thing I've never done before was play Bingo with the Knights of Columbus.

Part of the reason why the evening took some effort for me is because Bingo starts at 7:30pm and I usually don't get off work until 9pm. So in order to go, I had to ask a generous colleague if he would switch schedules with me so that I could leave early. He agreed.

That's right, I rearranged my schedule on a Thursday night, not so I could go out on a hot date, or because I scored tickets to some great concert. No, I got out of work early and raced to the Knights of Columbus hall for Bingo night.

For those of you who don't know, and I didn't, the Knights of Columbus is a Catholic fraternal benefit society founded on the principles of charity, unity and fraternity. Which is a lot of words to say it's an adult fraternity for Catholic men.

I barrelled into the parking lot right at 7:30pm freaking because I was late and I was scared I was going to miss the first game or worse, that they wouldn't let me in at all. Bingo was already causing a lot of drama for me, which is sad and quite telling of my increasingly lame social life. Luckily when I arrived, my friends Lisa and Dani, along with some others well over the age of 60, were still in line purchasing their cards. I burst out laughing when I saw them, partly because I was nervous and relieved that I made it, and partly because my friend Lisa was standing there in her designer jeans and Ugg boots, sipping on a Bloody Mary clutching Bingo cards. We were really doing this.

Dani helped us pick out what supplies we would need to best execute Bingo night. That meant cards and a stamper. Gone were the days of my Bingo youth, where pennies or beans marked the squares. I quickly learned that this isn't your elementary school Bingo. This was serious Bingo and serious Bingo requires an ink stamper. Dani already had a stamper for herself and an extra one for Lisa, a fact that is worth delving into at another time. I bought a blue stamper for myself for $1.

We took our seats with all of our cards and I scanned the room to take it all in. The room reminded me of an old church fellowship hall or gymnasium. Everything seemed yellow, old, and I don't just mean the people. There was a light up Bingo board up at the front and a podium with a microphone. The rest of the room, which was pretty big, was full of cafeteria style tables and folding chairs. I'd like to tell you how many people were there, but I have no gauge on that (I once told someone that there were 500 people at a wedding that I attended and there were 200). It seemed like 60 people to me, so that means there could've been anywhere between 15 and 200 people there.

While I was perusing the competition, Dani starting pulling bags of snacks like Munchies and Lifesavers out of her purse. I gave her a look that said, "What the hell are you doing?"

She responded, smiling, "Look around, Steph. People bring snacks."

Sure enough, she was right. At all of the cafeteria tables were players, and their cards, and their snacks. We fit right in. What kind of strenuous Bingo was this, I wondered, that constant nourishment was necessary?

Besides the three of us and another young couple, there was one other guy that fell way below the average aged person. He looked like the guy that had a recurring role on Grey's Anatomy whose name escaped me until I just looked it up: Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He was cruising around in a t-shirt and warm up pants and it was obvious by the fact that he was moving chairs and assisting players, that he was a member of the fraternity. He likely wasn't expecting to to see three young, attractive girls show up at Bingo night, or he probably would have dressed up a little. He liked us and gave us a hard time pretty much all night, so we considered him our friend.

I asked Lisa about her Bloody Mary and she remarked that the hall had a full bar with cheap drinks. "Two dollar Bloody Marys, Steph," she said. "Where else in Atlanta can you get that?" I can't think of anywhere, Lisa, so drink up. But the accordion style doors separating the bar from the big room had already been shut, blocking it from view. There was no time for drinking. It was time to focus.

There's an all-call before the games begin, where the "caller" (not sure if that's what they are named, but the 100-year old guy that calls out the squares) chooses one square as a "free space" in addition to the already free space in the center. Ours was B-4. So I went ahead and stamped all of the B-4's on all of my cards. Not because I thought that was a good strategy or because I thought it would help me, I just saw Dani do it. Seeing as how she already owned two stampers and brought snacks, I figured she knew what she was doing.

The last time I played Bingo I remember only having one card and the way to win was to get five squares in a row, horizontal, vertical or diagonal.

Again, this is not your average Bingo. First of all, we had sheets with 16 cards on them, so it's a lesson in detail because there is a lot of squares to pay attention to. Knights of Columbus Bingo has several rounds and each round requires a different combination to win. One round you had to have two rows on the same card, one you had to get four squares in one of the corners, and one you had to black out the entire card. They even had "caller's choice" and he picked a round of nine squares to win.

The most stressful part of the evening came during the speed round, where the caller calls squares quickly, barely pausing before he announces the next one. Intense.

There is an intermission where they open up the bar and everyone grabs drinks and takes smoke breaks. We bellied up to the bar during intermission and grabbed a beer as well as the attention of several of the regular male players, who were quite impressed by us. I told Mountain Man about it later and he laughed saying, "You probably made their night."

I'd like to think so.

Following intermission, we went back to our table and started playing again. We were all stamping away, laughing and having a good time. And by "good time," I mean no 29-year old person should really enjoy Bingo quite like this. We weren't even winning! But I thought it was hilarious. There were points, at the peak of such enjoyment, that I thought it might be time to reevaluate my life.

I looked across to my friend Lisa and said, "This is awesome, we should do this every week!"

She glared at me and said, "Stephanie, do you want me to be single forever?"

I suppose making Thursday Bingo nights a weekly thing would put us on the fast track to dying alone in a house full of cats. Most of the people at Bingo night would old enough to be our grandparents.

But I don't care. It was fun. So let that be a warning to all of you Bingo regulars. Though maybe not every week, I will be back. And next time, I'm cleaning house.