MRS. Luessi here, writing to say HEY!!! Martini and I had a small courthouse ceremony on 9/9 and it was perfection. Here is the rom-com breakdown of our special day:
10am Wedding at City Hall. We planned to leave our house at 9:30am.
OK, here we go:
7:45am: Hungover as fuck, I roll out of bed, put on my running shorts, shirt, and shoes.
Side note: After many arguments about not wanting to make a big deal out of this wedding, my mother talked me into having someone do my hair and makeup, because god-for-fucking-bid Martin, let alone, the clerks at City Hall, have to witness my greasy-ass stringy bun on my head and a poorly attempted “smokey eye”, during the most important 20 seconds of my life. Honestly, that would be a disgrace to humanity. I am so glad I decided to invite my mother last-minute. So glad.
Anywhoo, the night before, after several bottles of booze, my mother tells me she will not be attending my hair/makeup appointment via text message:
MOM: what time is your hair appt tomorrow?
JENNI: 8am. you in?
MOM: no, in bed.
7:55am: Staring at the wall, wishing I gave myself time to poop. And thinking of ways I could get to Newbury St. in 5 minutes without having to move my body. Owell, I probably can run at an 11min pace, and still get there ontime. Walking out the door.
7:56am: My phone rings. My mom is on her way to my house from the hotel across the park. She tells me she is coming to my appointment. She was always planning on coming to my appointment. WTF? She will be at my house in 1 minute.
7:58am: My mom is at the State House. Which is not my house. Actually, it is in the opposite direction from my house. She is lost.
8:02: I meet my mom. She is wearing heels, and cannot run to my appointment with me. I am already late. Word to my mom.
Side note: My mom stayed at a hotel that was less than a one-minute walk to my house. And she had walked to and from her hotel about 10 times at this point. She is awful with orientation and directions to put it lightly. It’s genetic.
8:15am: We arrive at the hair place. The hairdresser offers me an espresso! SWEET! I needed some caffeine. Make it a double.
8:17am: Holy fuck. Now I really need to poop in a bad way. Espresso = bad idea…
8:30am: The hairdresser decided she wanted to go for the most immaculate braid ever, by taking each strand of hair, one by one. Her attempt at the most immaculate brain went a little something like this: taking 3 strands of hair, braiding them, and then watching it fall out of place. Over and over again. I too believe gravity is fun to play with sometimes. But not today, not on this time schedule. It was painful to watch her struggle.
The problem is my hair. My hair is very thin, and in order to do anything with it, product is required. Like texturizer. I told her over and over again that she will need to texturize the fuck out of it in order to get anything to stay in place. Hair spray does not work. (Shaving cream also works, but I did not even want to go there.)
Homegirl did not listen. She did talk. A lot. About all of her failed relationships, and how she hates happy brides, and hates all happy people in happy relationships. I know a lot more about her ex’s than I maybe should.
We were bonding. I just smiled and thought about controlling my bowels.
9:00am: My mom started to get anxious. But still trying to avoid confrontation, she did the whole passive aggressive act by asking me when we needed to leave, and how long it would take for me to get dressed, in attempt to speed up Miss “I hate happy people”. She did not get the hint. Continued to drench my hair with hair spray, and continued to watch it fall out again. Bobby pins don’t stay in my hair, either. Well, they do when I have texturizer in my hair.
9:04am: She gave up on the braid, she pulled out the curling iron, and put in more bobby pins. I have no idea what was happening back there. At this point, I don’t care.
9:05am: She started working on my make-up. Started with my eye shadow.
9:15am: Still on the eye-shadow…my eyes hurt. I have to to poop.
At this point, I told her I needed to leave in 5 minutes. She said she could be done in 5 minutes. She then proceeded to pull out fake eye lashes. “You’ve got to be kidding me”, my mom yelled at her. “No, we need to leave now. please finish it up without the fake eyelashes!”
After all said and done, she pulled it together, and put on lipstick. I stood up, my hair falling out, we had to call it a day at 9:25am. (5 minutes before we planned to leave to the courthouse).
After dropping a deuce in the hair salon potty, we started to run back to my house…
My mom and I ran about 10 steps, then she had to stop and take off her heels. 5 steps after that she said she could not walk barefoot. She refused to try to find her way back herself, she was scared she would never find me. I could not leave her there.
9:35am: Martin called frantically… My mom and I decide to catch a cab.
Side note: Boston is full of one-way streets. Beacon Hill (where I reside, is full of one way streets, all of which go OUT, very few of them go IN to Beacon Hill. It was actually intentionally planned that way We don’t want peasants coming into Beacon Hill). Also, it was rush hour on a Monday morning. Also, 8 streets were blocked off for construction. Also, Boston is notorious for being the worst city ever to drive in.
9:38am: The cab driver decides to go around the mess, which means getting onto the mini highway, and then forgetting that there was construction on the other side. At this point, I was farther away from my apartment than my hairdresser, and I was seriously jeopardizing being late to my wedding – the implications of this would mean Martin would not get his greencard on time, and would have to leave this country forever. I started panicking.
9:39am: I told my mom to meet us at the courthouse, and I was really sorry to leave her, but I had to run home. I got out of the cab in the middle of the highway, and started running.
9:42am: I am sprinting from the highway, up the streets of Beacon Hill as fast as I possible could, and start to sprint up Mount Vernon (a very steep street).
Side note: I don’t run often. When I say “often”, I mean never. Literally, never run. And I never sprint. And also, I actually just don’t exercise.
After sprinting as fast as I possibly could for about a mile, I started to hyperventilate, I could not breathe, I started to cough, which turned into dry-heaving, which turned into vomiting…on my neighbors porch. On the bottom of the steep as fuck hill-street in Beacon Hill…I live at the top. I was SOO close, but I could not physically do it.
At this point, I started sobbing. And trying to push myself, and run, while simultaneously gagging, and sobbing, up the hill. My hair had fallen out, my make-up was running, and I was questioning my fucking morals and why Martin would ever want to marry someone who would risk my relationship for artificial beauty aka hair and makeup (which was now ruined). I was a hot mess.
9:45am: I look up, and my fucking mother is passing me in the cab as I was having a meltdown on the side of the road.
I ran into the middle of the street shouting and yelling at my mom, hoping they would stop. (mind you, this is a VERY touristy street, John Kerry lives here, I am making a fucking SCENE). People were seriously taking pictures of me.
My mom and the cab driver did not notice me and continued to drive up the street. I called my mom, sobbing, trying to make out a word. All I hear from the other end of the phone was, “STOP THE FUCKING CAB NOW!” mumble mumble from the cab driver… “SHE NEEDS HELP, TURN AROUND NOW”, mumbling arguments from the cab driver, “SHE IS GOING TO MISS HER WEDDING, SHE IS GETTING MARRIED TODAY, DO SOMETHING!!!! YOU ARE GOING TO RUIN HER FUCKING WEDDING, YOU ASSHOLE” mumble mumble. “STOP THE FUCKING CAB”!!!!
Side note: She must have taken all of her aggression that had been building up for the past decade, and dropped a bomb on this poor cab driver, blaming him for everything that went wrong this morning. I honestly think about this poor man on a daily basis, and hope we did not affect his overall mental well being. There was really nothing he could have done to help the situation. He was trying his best. She can be scary. It’s also genetic.
Anyways, I hung up the phone, and at this point, I had passed them (they did not even notice me), and got home.
9:47am: Martin is standing outside, in his suit, looking handsome and put together as fuck. I am BALLING, trying to breathe, and not vomit. He calms me down (at this point, he thinks I am crying because I had cold feet…I did not get a chance to explain).
I ran inside, threw on my dress, put on the first necklace I found, flip-flops, and ran out the door. On my way out of the house, my sister and my best friend surprised me with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers I have ever seen (I was not planning on getting flowers).
And, I just looked at the bouquet and said, “What the fuck? I don’t want these!!” I was belligerent. All I could think about was how I did not get to change my underwear, shave my legs, and I forgot my belt.
Who was I? Bridezilla…
Side note: I later learned the story of what my sister and best friend went through to get these flowers for me…They literally ran around the city (starting at 8am), trying to find a flower shop that was open, and one that would make a bouquet with such short notice. Their story is equally as hilarious…They are angels.
Martin and I, in our pseudo-wedding gear, were running down the street, parents and sister and photographer in tow trying to keep up.
9:59am: We arrive at the courthouse with 1 minute to spare. HOLY FUCK.
We expected for an old disgruntled government clerk, to call our number, tell us to sign here, and here, and say, “You are now married. NEXT!!!”
That was not the case. The Justice of Peace was wearing a 3-piece pink Chanel skirt-suit, gold Chanel earrings, and invited us into her office full of shiny mahogany furniture and classy artwork.
She asked for us to hold hands, and performed an actual ceremony, “in sickness and in health” to the t. It was more that we ever expected! She really made it special for us!
After that, we went for lunch with some family and friends, and the family went to the airport. We went home, and PASSED OUT! Woke up around 7pm, got a burger, and tried to watch Breaking Bad, but could not stay awake…
Perfect ending to a(n almost) perfect day!