It was a traveling weekend for Velvet. While I usually spend my weekends baking in the sun, duty calls. After the 7+ year courtship of HandyMandy, the CosmicGoof finally made an honest woman of her. I have been friends with these two for quite a few years, and you would think they could get married in their homestead and my favorite U.S. city, Phoenix, Arizona. But noooooooooo. My fat ass had to fly to Detroit, where there are no cowboys for Velvet to take home as a parting gift.
Aah Michigan. It’s a land like no other. When you ask anyone in Michigan where in the state it is from which they hail, they immediately fashion their hand into a mitten shape, thumb alongside the palm, hand flat, and they point:
If you’re really lucky, they will also give you the “Upper Peninsula,” just to be accurate.
It’s amazing that the entire state behaves in this manner, even doing it on the sly, under a napkin, because it’s just so ingrained in them.
So, leaving my brother’s house just in the nick of time (21 hours baby,) I head to a place called “Stockbridge, Michigan” for the wedding. I’m glad I’m not one of those prissy girls who is intimidated by directions, driving and finding places.
Finding La Casa of HandyMandy’s mother was no small accomplishment. Couple that with the fact that I do my best blog writing while I’m actually driving the car, I’m flying down Interstate 96 east, with pen in one hand, camera in the other, directions balanced in my lap. Stockbridge is a small town buried between several major interstates, but not immediately accessible by any. Directions from my beloved Mapquest indicated portions of my journey would be on unpaved roads. What I would have preferred for my directions to tell me was that I would be passing this:
Ok. So, on to the wedding. I was so happy HandyMandy chose to get married at her mom’s house. I’m soooooo anti-establishment formal wedding. I just don’t believe in spending tons of money on a wedding. (Frankly, I don’t really believe in spending any money on a wedding, but okay.) I’d rather take that money and sink it into a house and just send out an announcement that “Billy Bob and Velvet swung by the Justice of the Peace on their way home from Famous Dave’s BBQ and got hitched!”
Seriously, what is the point of spending all that money? Isn’t the wedding really just about the marriage? The union of two people in love? Why do the flowers, reception halls, cakes, food selection and limos have to complicate things? And ugh, the weddings themselves!! The humiliating bouquet toss, the peer pressure of the drunkards to make the sober guests participate in such delights as the Electric Slide and the Chicken Dance. Good Lord. It makes me understand why it is necessary to be drunk for any and all weddings, including one’s own.
I was painfully sober though, to witness not only the atrocities mentioned above, but the groom’s grandpa who seemed to have Tourette’s syndrome. While the LADY was carrying in the cake, he screamed, “I HOPE HE DOESN’T FALL!” During the ceremony he just started screaming out something I couldn’t understand. I was also sober to witness the groom’s father backing the grooms jeep up to Grandpa Tourette’s, almost taking out HandyMandy’s cherished pug Mojo in the process. Mojo narrowly escaped injury death as Grandpa was shuttled off, screaming all sorts of funny ass shit on his way.
On a not so light note, a guest at my table told me that 7 families a day are moving out of Michigan. Work is drying up, and some major homebuilders have pulled out of the entire state. And if you also listen to my seatmate on my flight home, Michigan’s economy is dying and people have to go elsewhere for jobs.
So, that answers my question from the whole weekend. Why are Michigan speed limits 70 mph on all highways, non-interstates included? To get the people out faster, silly!
And on my flight home, and continuing in the spirit of jokes, I ask myself, so, what do you have when you build a virtual hell on top of a swamp and breed a bunch of dirty lying politicians, hangers-on, and bottom feeders?