The wedding reception was not all roses and free cocktails, although there were plenty of free cocktails.

While Captain and I were busy being blown away/getting our photos taken, things were heating up in the cocktail tent. But not really, because the heater the hotel staff promised wasn’t heating.

My friend tells me,

“One lady said to another lady, ‘keep your f–king opinions to yourself.’ And walked off.”

I have no idea what that was about, but hopefully there’s some video footage.

Captain and I are ready to enter the reception hall and do our 3 minute long choreographed first dance. Huge success. Dance competitions here we come.

The toasts were perfect. My maid of honor went into detail about my food foraging skills and mentioned the time when I asked for and ate some stranger’s pizza crusts.

I know a good deal when I see one and that’s food scraps on someone else’s plate. Captain’s face in the photo below shows he’s still processing what a good deal food scraps are.

The honeymoon is over.

What a whirlwind! I’ve read that the wedding ceremony can be transcendental. My ceremony was special, but it veered off the transcendental track before I even walked down the aisle.

My mom puts my blusher veil over my face and I follow my bridesmaids down the long hotel corridor toward the outdoor ceremony overlooking the beach. We reach the end and line up behind the door to go outside. Music is playing and I catch a glimpse of everyone seated and waiting. It’s 2 seconds to go time. The hotel fire alarm starts blasting.

Really? The ear piercing bell removes any sentimental thoughts I thought I might have. The bridal party proceeds down the aisle. It turns out you could barely hear the alarm at the ceremony site, but nobody told me.

My mom and I step outside. We start to walk toward everyone. The wind swoops up and my blusher is gone. I shout,

“Mom! My blusher!”

“I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”

What she didn’t tell me at the time, was that it was so windy my blusher was standing straight up in the air and there was nothing anyone was going to be able to do. Not such a big deal considering Captain has seen my face before.

I walk up to Captain with my sobbing somewhat under control. I slip under the chuppah (Jewish wedding canopy) to join him. It’s a chuppah made for 5 feet tall people. I’m 6′ and Captain is 6’3″. Never mind that the florist upsold us on some chuppah greenery that is hanging down and slapping us in the face every time the wind blows, which is the entire 30 minute ceremony.

Something wet splatters me. There are so many things happening. I’m not processing much. Captain points at my shoulder,

“A seagull pooped on you!”

I look at my arm and shoulder. Yup. Covered in bird poop. I look back at Captain. I tell him,

“It got you too!”

There’s bird poop down the front of his suit. I’m clutching my great-grandmother’s handkerchief, which until now I’ve been using to wipe my nose. Do I use this to wipe up bird poop?

“Mom! I need a tissue.” Keep in mind the wedding ceremony is still in progress. If you ever need a Rabbi, I highly recommend ours. She was wonderful and hilarious. Plus she spent a good portion of the ceremony promoting my blog.

There were almost 100 people standing/sitting around outside with no cover and Captain and I were under a canopy. The seagull still decided to poop on us.

Five minutes later I glance down. There is bird poop the entire length of my gown. Now I want to cry for real. Someone tells me to let it dry and it’ll flick off later. Note to anyone wearing a wedding dress who gets shat on by a seagull. Let it dry; it will flick off later.

We’re pronounced husband and wife; Captain kisses me and we’re off for 5 minutes by ourselves. We planned on this before the ceremony. We enjoyed it, but good luck finding all the family members and bridal party people you want photos with after you’ve let them get away.

Between trying to round everyone up and keeping my veil from pulling my head off into the wind, I was over the group photos. The photographer can see my frustration, he asks,

“Do you want to take your veil off?”

NO WAY! When else in my life will it be acceptable to prance around in public in a ball gown and veil? This is it. This was our very special, windy, fire alarm, bird-poop filled day.

I’d like to dedicate this post to my newest reader: The wonderful Rabbi who is going to marry Captain and me.

I don’t know when the last time is that you went to the Boston City Hall for an intention of marriage certificate, but it’s not a romantic experience. Boston City Hall is a concrete monstrosity with limited windows and no discernible doors.

I researched the Massachusetts’s marriage instructions online. Both people must appear in person, together, to complete an intention of marriage certificate. Then 3 days later one person may return for the required paperwork and then any day within 60 days later somebody can sign that paper and it’s official. Kim Davis types are not welcome. The wait is already long enough as it is.

I manage to sneak Captain away from his work. We approach City Hall. Where is the door? Why is our city hall the least welcoming building in the city?  Some people appear to be going toward a part of the building that is either a parking garage or a bunker entrance.

We squeeze in the side of the building and head upstairs to a sign that reads “Births, Deaths and Marriages.” There’s a pad of paper and pencil in a window. It looks like somewhere to sign in. I pick it up. A lady barks at us,

“What do you need?”

“An intention of marriage certificate.”

“Come back here.”

We enter the windowless concrete cave of an office. She sits us down at a computer and we fill out a form with our names and our contact information. We click complete. So far this doesn’t seem like it should be a joint in-person operation. When one of us needs a death certificate, we’ll have to be able to complete the form on our own.

The lady directs us to a line of many soon-to-be newlyweds. Everyone looks morose.  Somehow the bunker like atmosphere has sucked away all the love and googly eyes.

We make it back to the window. We raise our right hand and swear that we’re the people we say we are. We go to another line to pay $50, then we get back in the original line and we get a receipt to bring back in 3 days for more paperwork. If we can file taxes online, surely we could let people fill out their names to intend to get married.

We find an above-ground door to exit from and now we’re one week away from being married, paperwork and all.