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Mantra for a Fundamentalist Christian Wedding when everyone asks if you're going to be next.
There are reasons I don't live in Southern California and this weekend I was reminded of them all.
I haven't really had time to consider my narrative of the weekend, so forgive the terseness of the post.
Thursday.
O and I drove down to LA and made a detour at my old stomping grounds to say hello to Pat. Pat filled us in on the entire Celebrity Charity scandal (complete with 20/20 footage) and sent us on our way with promises of martinis and quality company for the wedding. We bunked in my parents living room and managed to average about four hours of sleep per night throughout the trip. We learned to wake up the whine of the dog and howl of my sisters (you try getting a thirteen year old out of bed).
Friday.
O and I spent approximately 9 hours exploring The Getty. Words can't do it justice, it was breathtaking as usual. The illuminated manuscript exhibit was amazing. I was also able to get some of the prints that I've been lusting after for months. We came back home, had dinner at Mama D's, and walked down to the pier.
Saturday.
O and I went to Hermosa Beach. The weather was perfect but the people were not. Actually I should say that the people were perfect, but it was in that unnatural, creepy competitive LA sort of way. Perfect bodies, perfect tans, perfect youth with perfect smiles (ironically each one with a cigarette hanging out of it). And there I was with my flabby body and my pale skin...and I was okay with this. I've always reasoned that you can't lose a contest that you haven't entered. *shrugs* But that wasn't a mindset shared on the sands of Hermosa Beach. Three guys (your stereotypical So Cal frat species) followed behind us on the Strand making comments about me to each other. Comments about that [me] being "big country" and "rough terrain." I didn't say anything, but I should have. But I was tired and insecure and beleaguered. And those comments brought me right back to junior high, to the struggle to grow up and thrive imperfect in a society that demands an exacting standard. They made me so angry, who the hell were these guys to comment on my appearance? Why did they feel that they had the authority to ruin my day with their slights? And I thought of my youngest sister and was furious...she's anorexic and these men, this society encourages her self-destruction with every passing moment. I wanted to scream but instead I went home and cried.
My mother then sent O and I to Chef Hannes to dinner and we all watched The Hours together. My parents, sisters, and even the dog fell in love with O.
Sunday.
Mass chaos. major drama, and hair dressing were the hallmarks of Sunday. O was put into service to do my sisters' hair for the wedding (they were junior bridesmaids)--the girls were first class pains in the ass and I suspect that this weekend functioned as a birth control PSA for O. After we got the girls ready, O and I got dressed, packed the flask (we were afraid that it would be a dry wedding), and headed to The LA Equestrian Center for the wedding.
The wedding was the most nightmarish piece of sanctimonious Christian crap that I have ever endured in my entire life. There were Christian rock sing-a-longs, the washing of each other's feet, reminders that women were meant to serve their husbands, and at least 150 references to JC and the boys. By the end of the service I felt like making pagan sacrifice just to appease the world's need for balance.
Ironically I'm not a knee-jerk reactionary with most forms of Christianity--in fact, on many occasions I claim to be Christian. But this wedding would turn any reasonable questioning individual into a "hater." Hell, I was ready to feed the fuckers to the lions after sitting through this service.
The entire service was dedicated to the idea that Eric and Jeanne were going to be united in Christ. I don't have a problem with this concept and I even agree that a couple can grow closer when each experiences spiritual growth, but I do think that a wedding should have something to do with the couple entering into the institution of marriage. This wedding was so focused on god, canned vows, and the subservience of women that it forgot to mention anything (save for the names) of the couple it was uniting in holy matrimony. Not to mention the rapturous singing of the Christian rock songs (all I could think when I saw that audience singing with their eyes shut and their heads lifted toward heaven was Waco, Texas and the importance of not drinking any grape Kool-Aid that might be offered) ...oy.
My step-father's ex-wife also managed to create a scene by getting up and refusing to sit next to him at the ceremony. [History: their marriage broke up because she was cheating on him with a married man, in their house usually while my step-brothers were home. she took everything in the divorce and spent all of it on plastic surgery. she also married three times and was notorious for beating the shit out of the groom, her son, to the point of hospitalization.] I was tempted to grab her by her hair and smack her around the garden but I refrained...thank god for those manners lessons in junior debutantes.
*sighs*
At this point, I had a chance to look at the wedding program and saw that my brother mentioned every family member (save for me) in its pages. This wouldn't have bothered me if I hadn't also found out that day that I also hadn't been invited to any of the auxiliary family events (the rehearsal dinner, the Saturday pizza party, the brunch on Monday).
I assumed that these were oversights and decided not to say anything at the wedding.
At the reception we were treated to the most tedious party I've ever attended. The food was bad, the booze was over-priced and in short supply, and the company was, at best, lacking. They didn't even throw a garter (being the modest good Christians that they were) and all the husband-hungry bridesmaids made mincemeat out of the bridal bouquet (they literally tore it apart). A bird made it's way into the reception, freaked out, hit a beam, and fell to the floor dead. (Is that a freaking omen or what?) I can only say, what a fucking party.
When my brother and new sister-in-law visited each table, Eric refused to talk to me and instead I talked with his new wife. Again, I assumed this was an oversight. When the slide show didn't have any family pictures that included me, I also assumed that something had been overlooked. But when Eric gave his toast and mentioned EVERY SINGLE family member (all the way out to his cousins) except me, I felt that I had good reason to believe that I had been snubbed in a major public way. (The bride's family didn't even know who I was.)
And I don't have a clue as to why.
But I do wish that the little bastard had spared me the trouble and expense of attending his wedding. Son of a bitch.
Monday.
Drove back home. Stopped and had lunch with Pat and appreciated the concept of "created' family.
I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out why Eric snubbed me. We haven't had any fights and his wedding seems like an unlikely forum to vent out any lingering jealousy or angst he might still have with me. So what the hell happened? I can't ask him (he left for his two week honeymoon) and so I'm left to wonder why.
I wonder if he was so offended that I brought a woman as my date that he decided to delete me from the family record? O came as a friend, but even if I were gay and she was my girlfriend, does that give Eric any right to pretend that I don't exist? That thought makes me furious. Such a good Christian...intolerant, ignorant fucking bastard.
Before I work myself up, I need to talk to Eric and find out what exactly happened, but it will be difficult.
I'm so mad.
And unfortunately, so is my mother.
It's WWIII at Dysfunction Junction...again.
Oy.
There are reasons I don't live in Southern California and this weekend I was reminded of them all.
I haven't really had time to consider my narrative of the weekend, so forgive the terseness of the post.
Thursday.
O and I drove down to LA and made a detour at my old stomping grounds to say hello to Pat. Pat filled us in on the entire Celebrity Charity scandal (complete with 20/20 footage) and sent us on our way with promises of martinis and quality company for the wedding. We bunked in my parents living room and managed to average about four hours of sleep per night throughout the trip. We learned to wake up the whine of the dog and howl of my sisters (you try getting a thirteen year old out of bed).
Friday.
O and I spent approximately 9 hours exploring The Getty. Words can't do it justice, it was breathtaking as usual. The illuminated manuscript exhibit was amazing. I was also able to get some of the prints that I've been lusting after for months. We came back home, had dinner at Mama D's, and walked down to the pier.
Saturday.
O and I went to Hermosa Beach. The weather was perfect but the people were not. Actually I should say that the people were perfect, but it was in that unnatural, creepy competitive LA sort of way. Perfect bodies, perfect tans, perfect youth with perfect smiles (ironically each one with a cigarette hanging out of it). And there I was with my flabby body and my pale skin...and I was okay with this. I've always reasoned that you can't lose a contest that you haven't entered. *shrugs* But that wasn't a mindset shared on the sands of Hermosa Beach. Three guys (your stereotypical So Cal frat species) followed behind us on the Strand making comments about me to each other. Comments about that [me] being "big country" and "rough terrain." I didn't say anything, but I should have. But I was tired and insecure and beleaguered. And those comments brought me right back to junior high, to the struggle to grow up and thrive imperfect in a society that demands an exacting standard. They made me so angry, who the hell were these guys to comment on my appearance? Why did they feel that they had the authority to ruin my day with their slights? And I thought of my youngest sister and was furious...she's anorexic and these men, this society encourages her self-destruction with every passing moment. I wanted to scream but instead I went home and cried.
My mother then sent O and I to Chef Hannes to dinner and we all watched The Hours together. My parents, sisters, and even the dog fell in love with O.
Sunday.
Mass chaos. major drama, and hair dressing were the hallmarks of Sunday. O was put into service to do my sisters' hair for the wedding (they were junior bridesmaids)--the girls were first class pains in the ass and I suspect that this weekend functioned as a birth control PSA for O. After we got the girls ready, O and I got dressed, packed the flask (we were afraid that it would be a dry wedding), and headed to The LA Equestrian Center for the wedding.
The wedding was the most nightmarish piece of sanctimonious Christian crap that I have ever endured in my entire life. There were Christian rock sing-a-longs, the washing of each other's feet, reminders that women were meant to serve their husbands, and at least 150 references to JC and the boys. By the end of the service I felt like making pagan sacrifice just to appease the world's need for balance.
Ironically I'm not a knee-jerk reactionary with most forms of Christianity--in fact, on many occasions I claim to be Christian. But this wedding would turn any reasonable questioning individual into a "hater." Hell, I was ready to feed the fuckers to the lions after sitting through this service.
The entire service was dedicated to the idea that Eric and Jeanne were going to be united in Christ. I don't have a problem with this concept and I even agree that a couple can grow closer when each experiences spiritual growth, but I do think that a wedding should have something to do with the couple entering into the institution of marriage. This wedding was so focused on god, canned vows, and the subservience of women that it forgot to mention anything (save for the names) of the couple it was uniting in holy matrimony. Not to mention the rapturous singing of the Christian rock songs (all I could think when I saw that audience singing with their eyes shut and their heads lifted toward heaven was Waco, Texas and the importance of not drinking any grape Kool-Aid that might be offered) ...oy.
My step-father's ex-wife also managed to create a scene by getting up and refusing to sit next to him at the ceremony. [History: their marriage broke up because she was cheating on him with a married man, in their house usually while my step-brothers were home. she took everything in the divorce and spent all of it on plastic surgery. she also married three times and was notorious for beating the shit out of the groom, her son, to the point of hospitalization.] I was tempted to grab her by her hair and smack her around the garden but I refrained...thank god for those manners lessons in junior debutantes.
*sighs*
At this point, I had a chance to look at the wedding program and saw that my brother mentioned every family member (save for me) in its pages. This wouldn't have bothered me if I hadn't also found out that day that I also hadn't been invited to any of the auxiliary family events (the rehearsal dinner, the Saturday pizza party, the brunch on Monday).
I assumed that these were oversights and decided not to say anything at the wedding.
At the reception we were treated to the most tedious party I've ever attended. The food was bad, the booze was over-priced and in short supply, and the company was, at best, lacking. They didn't even throw a garter (being the modest good Christians that they were) and all the husband-hungry bridesmaids made mincemeat out of the bridal bouquet (they literally tore it apart). A bird made it's way into the reception, freaked out, hit a beam, and fell to the floor dead. (Is that a freaking omen or what?) I can only say, what a fucking party.
When my brother and new sister-in-law visited each table, Eric refused to talk to me and instead I talked with his new wife. Again, I assumed this was an oversight. When the slide show didn't have any family pictures that included me, I also assumed that something had been overlooked. But when Eric gave his toast and mentioned EVERY SINGLE family member (all the way out to his cousins) except me, I felt that I had good reason to believe that I had been snubbed in a major public way. (The bride's family didn't even know who I was.)
And I don't have a clue as to why.
But I do wish that the little bastard had spared me the trouble and expense of attending his wedding. Son of a bitch.
Monday.
Drove back home. Stopped and had lunch with Pat and appreciated the concept of "created' family.
I've been wracking my brain trying to figure out why Eric snubbed me. We haven't had any fights and his wedding seems like an unlikely forum to vent out any lingering jealousy or angst he might still have with me. So what the hell happened? I can't ask him (he left for his two week honeymoon) and so I'm left to wonder why.
I wonder if he was so offended that I brought a woman as my date that he decided to delete me from the family record? O came as a friend, but even if I were gay and she was my girlfriend, does that give Eric any right to pretend that I don't exist? That thought makes me furious. Such a good Christian...intolerant, ignorant fucking bastard.
Before I work myself up, I need to talk to Eric and find out what exactly happened, but it will be difficult.
I'm so mad.
And unfortunately, so is my mother.
It's WWIII at Dysfunction Junction...again.
Oy.
