the wedding story

Okay, let me tell you a little bit about my weekend in New York. I arrived at JFK VERY early on Thursday morning. While waiting for the Air Train, I befriended a Tibetan Buddhist Monk who was touring with the Dali Lama. He said that he gets searched at nearly every airport and he tells the security people, “I am not a terrorist! I believe in peace and loving kindness!” They search him anyway. We sat together on the subway and talked about the nature of forgiveness, about teaching, about war. He asked me if I had hope, and I said sometimes I do. After an hour and half on the train together, we parted ways. We exchanged phone numbers and “good lucks,” and he gave me a photo of the Dali Lama to frame. When I arrived at Liz’s house I was exhausted and dirty. Heather was there (yay!), and Liz’s mom, who started listing the things we needed to get done before the wedding as soon as I walked in. Heather stood behind her mouthing the words “don’t worry!” I took a nap and a shower, and then Heather and I went into Manhattan to run errands. The first stop was the Chelsea Flower Market. Heather is a florist, and her shop was doing the flowers for the wedding. (In case I forget to mention this later: The flowers turned out SO well. Honestly. They were beautiful.) After tracking down the right vases and beads, we took a taxi to the Irish Pub where I used to work.
Part of me wanted to avoid the place. I worked there for a year and a half, and I was pretty depressed at the time. Waitressing and bartending 50 hours a week sucked all of my creative energy, and I worried about money constantly. There were a few girls I worked with that became close friends, and one customer that became a surrogate grandfather. These were the people I wanted to see, so I swallowed my inhibitions and made the visit. Amanda and Suzanne were working- my favorite ladies. The owner was there as well, and he gave me a warm greeting. Heather and I sat at the bar and ate veggie burgers while the girls caught me up on a year’s worth of gossip. It was pretty awesome. Also sitting at the bar was this English guy I used to make out with sometimes. He’s captain of the soccer team our bar sponsored, and though generally a nice guy he’s prone to bouts of sullenness, which used to drive me crazy. Anyway. It was a funny coincidence that he was there, and I acted sort of bratty to him, which I now regret. I was disappointed that Eddie wasn’t there, but I saw him on the street as we were leaving, which made me so happy I got a little teary. Eddie is a 70-something year old man who is an elevator operator in the apartment building next door to my Pub. He comes in for happy Hour every day after work, and he is just the sweetest man ever. Here are some facts about Eddie:
*He grew up in Hell’s Kitchen, and has MANY connections to the Irish Mafia there (though he himself was never a member)
*He was an Iron Worker for many years, and helped to build skyscrapers. He and his buddies would use the crane to deliver beer to themselves after work, 50 stories in the air
*He is a perfect gentleman
*His hands are enormous and soft
*He always tipped me at least $10, and occasionally as much as $50.
Eddie and I felt very protective of each other, and would always greet each other “My friend!” We spent a Thanksgiving together, and he is one of the people I miss most when I think of New York. When I saw him on the street he was delighted. Amanda says he asks about me nearly every day. He had bought me a t-shirt with a wolf on it, and was worried that he didn’t have it with him to give to me. I reassured him that I would visit again soon. He told me that I was a “real special lady,” and I told him that he was my friend. I get really scared that Eddie will die before I see him again. He drinks a lot.
Okay, that was quite a digression. Sorry. After the Pub we went to the Dirty Store to buy more junk for the Bachelorette party, and then to H&M for a whirlwind shopping spree. That store is so good. We were in a hurry, so I was only able to find two shirts that fit right, but damn, they’re nice. And so cheap! Completely laden with bags we hopped on the N train back to Brooklyn for the Hen Night. Here are some pics:



There are more awesome photos on my Flickr page. They’re pretty tame, if you can believe it. I have plenty more on my iphoto that are Not To Be Shared! We had one of those Pure Romance parties where the lady comes and passes around a bunch of sexy products and then you can order what you want in the privacy of your living room. Sorta like a Tupperware Party, only dirtier. Afterwards we went to the East Village to sing karaoke, and drink cocktails. I realized how Portlandized I’ve become when I found myself exclaiming over the $6 I had to fork out for a bottle of Corona. New York will suck you dry, man! After we had sung our hearts out (I scandalized Liz’s lesbian cousin with my super-raunchy performance of “Secret Agent Man”) we went over to my favorite NYC bar, Niagara. Heather’s brother Caleb works there, and he bought us drinks and put up with our “woo hoos” for a while. Finally, exhausted and drunk, we took a taxi back to Brooklyn.
Thus ends part one of the Wedding Story. I’ll finish up tomorrow with more stories and pictures.
PART TWO SPOILER: I did not make out with any boys at the wedding.
See you tomorrow.