apropos of anything

Y’all, I just did three wedding receptions in three cities in three days. I am so tired my contacts are sticking to my eyeballs, and I didn’t even do any of the driving. I’ve never seen Clockwork Orange, but at this exact moment, I’m not averse to using toothpicks to prop my eyelids open. (Of course, if I ever see the movie, this post might one day make me recoil in horror, and then I can write another post about how stupid we are at twenty-six.)

This would really be better as a blog-in-pictures, if only the pictures were available to me. Some are; I’ll try to update as I get more. I’m not posting any photos of the brides or grooms, though.

At the Marriott on Pleasant Hill, right before the Saturday wedding. My brothers are wearing yellow pants in honor of the groom, who loves his own yellow pants and wears them ALL THE TIME. I am doing that photo thing I do when I’m uncomfortable with myself and not ready for the picture. Also, my clothes look blue when really they are purple.

The Saturday reception was at the Global Mall (it’s not just a mall, it’s a venue!) in Atlanta, and that was the only one where we had any shoe-stealing. We all know the shoe-stealing is the best part. This time, the two entourages played tug-of-war with the right shoe until finally the groom’s sister, her hands covered in scratches, grabbed it away and handed it to her friend… who casually held it in the direction of the groom, allowing someone from the bridal party to snatch it and go running across the reception hall, people from the groom’s side hot in pursuit.

Meanwhile, the groom took off his left shoe and passed it to my brother, who smuggled it out to his friend. Said friend waltzed into the hall five minutes later, waving the shoe as though it were the right shoe and thereby deflating the entire bride’s side as they assumed the shoe had been stolen right out from under them. And then we let them figure it out and steal the left shoe too. We were not good at this whole shoe-keeping thing.

Eventually they settled on $300 for the right shoe, which broke in the process, I think. And then we all went home. At two a.m.

Mansoor, our mother, and me at the reception hall on Sunday. Now that I see the pictures, I am wondering why nobody, not even my mother, told me my hijab was slipping on one side.

The wedding on Sunday was in Greensboro, North Carolina, so we woke up early-ish that morning to drive the six hours it would take us to get there, and then we hurriedly dressed (under hotel lighting even!) so we would be on time, and then we did wedding stuff. Some of us were lucky enough to participate from the Outcast Table in the corner, where we silently wept over our missing seat covers and wondered just how long it would take one of the kids to tip the ice sculpture onto themselves. Also whether the ice was so cold it would stick to their skin if they did.

Mansoor, me, and Aasif at the Savannah Rapids Pavilion at the beginning of the valima reception on Monday. You can’t really tell from the small picture, but I am making a face in this photo… I have a knack for missing the photog’s timing.

We girls took advantage of the bride and groom’s photo session on the other end of the deck to have a photo session of our own.

Monday’s reception was the most entertaining, I think. Valimas tends to be less formal, more jokey, especially where the bride and groom are concerned. Also, I like the Savannah Rapids Pavilion better than the Global Mall. The Monday night thing killed us, though, as we had to drive back to Atlanta the same night, which meant Mansoor and I didn’t get home until almost two in the morning, which meant we were pushing three before we got to sleep.

Tonight I have to go home and figure out what’s for dinner. Currently in my refrigerator there is leftover pineapple-mango upside down cake (but only a sliver), leftover banana caramel cake (from Mansoor’s birthday last week) with the not-at-all-sweet mascarpone frosting (partly Martha, I think, and partly I probably didn’t use enough confectioner’s sugar as I was racing to finish the cake before he got home from work), and leftover blackberry roulade (Martha totally redeemed herself) that I made for Saturday’s pre-wedding tea guests since I couldn’t exactly serve them only leftover birthday cake with not-sweet frosting. That’s a lot of cake, but not much “real” food.

How non-sequitor that was of me. I really am tired.

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