Learning from My Mistakes
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
One of the perks of being me is having a fantastic, very patient, much more docile older sister. Her sweet and patient demeanor have, for the most part, allowed me the freedom to become the stereotypical baby of the family - which in our family mostly means mouthy, ten decibels too loud at all times, and opinionated. Sure we got into plenty of innocent trouble together, and we are both spectacularly whiny at times, but besides the obvious, we are pretty much polar opposites.

So when I sat down this evening to start brainstorming an outline for my next public speech (if it happens, will be my toast as the maid of honor in the wedding next weekend), my sister immediately came to mind. You see, the first time I ever had the pleasure of serving as someone's Maid of Honor, it was my duty towards my sister. The year was 1999, and I had just finished my sophomore year of college. My social life consisted of barhopping, reading, talking on the phone, and I had recently come off of a stint in the university musical in which I was able to flaunt my inner dramatic to its full (and obnoxious) extent. Here - you can see my acting abilities in the following photo from the aforementioned wedding, in which I pretend to be SOBER.

Say anything about the heinous acrylic nails or the Jane Austen hairdo, and I will cut you.

Despite the fact that both my mother and my sister were ridiculously prepared for the big day, I somehow forgot to prepare any kind of speech/toast. Seriously. No one reminded me, so I didn't think of it on my own. Please. I was too busy figuring out what my next major should be. It will come as a shock to NO ONE when I say that I majorly fumbled on the big day. The best man handed the microphone to me, and I choked. I choked BIG TIME. I was also tipsy, so I don't remember the painful details..

Fortunately for everyone but me, the entire rambling, incoherent mess is caught IN LIVING COLOR on video for my sister and my brother-in-law to cherish forever and ever, amen. Shalom.

In the foreground, you see the wine bottles on which I blame my speech, and in the background, you see our server Rose who kept bring around deserted, half-full bottles to our table full of minors - a.k.a. my friends from college who shall remain name and faceless. We loved Rose.

I have small pangs of very strong guilt about that particular part of the evening - and in hindsight, I have to congratulate myself on a couple small points. First off, I'm an okay public speaker so there was no stammering, no nervous coughing, etc. Also, I at least ATTEMPTED to play off of the best man's speech by extemperanously turning around his words into my own and making them funny. I managed to do neither of these things, but I gave it a valiant effort. ALSO, to my great drunken credit, no one had to pull the mic from my hands. I at least managed to end the damn thing on my own. I may have slurred, but it's not like they got out the cane.

To this day, I don't have the heart to watch the tape because I feel so incredibly awful about the entire thing. My lovely sister has forgiven me (I'm sure no one has forgotten, let's be realistic) and that is all well and good - but it doesn't change the fact that I was 4-5 cocktails away from being Sandra Bullock's character in 28 Days. Not good.

At least Sally Fields put aside her concern for the night, and joined me on the dance floor. She dances like a boxer. If you don't believe me, ask my friends.

So this time around, I think I'll prepare something classy, safely funny, and brief. On a notecard that is going to reside inside my Spanx so that I don't get tipsy and forget about it - only to end up rambling on about how my sister knew Adam was the guy for her, or how he should be aware of what he's getting himself into.

Seeing as how my brother-in-law met me when I was a junior in high school, I guess you could say he DID know what he was getting himself into. One weirdo family, that's what. Jesus God in Heaven Above, what is happening in that last photo? (Please note the depth of field - my friend was not actually poking me in the armpit. She was at least 3 feet away from me.) If I ever find out who took this photo...well I guess I brought it upon myself.