Looking Down My Nose...at myself

It seems that the more I learn about others, the more I learn about myself. And I suppose that if we’re paying attention, that’s the way it should be.

This past Saturday, Will’s sister got married at the Biltmore, one of the nicest hotels in Santa Barbara. The wedding took place in the garden with a string quartet serenading the guests. The ceremony was at dusk and candles lit the way down the aisle. The reception was in the ballroom. It was an elegant chandeliered room that glowed with a soft, white light from the fire in the massive fireplace and from all of the candles flickering on the white cloth that covered the tables. The full bar served the best and the wandering wait staff with hors’deurves were steamed, pressed, smiling and ready for service. The dinner was a choice between filet and sea bass, both equally delicious. My wine glass was never empty. The bride looked amazing in a strapless gown that was simple and flowing. She was tearful as she walked hand in hand with her father down the aisle. She was tearful as he later gave his blessing in front of everyone and toasted to the new couple. She was tearful later when I hugged her and told her how much I loved her and how happy I was for her. The rest of us were tearful because she married the only fucking hillbilly from Santa Barbara that there ever was. This very tasteful and elegant wedding was hosted by Will’s equally tasteful and elegant parents. And let me just say, that the groom ended up in a sleeveless shirt and a camouflage cap, while the bride peeled herself out of her pricey wedding gown to finish the celebration off in a flannel top and pajama bottoms. The hair pouring out of the groom’s armpits and the shirt covering an un-kept, out of shape body that is more adapted to alcohol than water was quite a juxtaposition to the rest of us still in our tuxedos and dresses. If you’re wondering, I wore my own Vera Wang off-the-shoulder number, not to be out-done by some bride.

All of the groomsmen wore black cowboy hats, which actually looked pretty good. They also all whipped out small bottles of Jack Daniels, whopped and swigged at the introduction of the new betrothed couple. Remember, this is at the Biltmore, Four Seasons. At the beginning of the ceremony, the reverend asked that everyone turn off their cell phones and to please put their weapons on safe. He later in the ceremony, made the analogy of marriage to that of a racecar team in a NASCAR event. And how if one man doesn’t do his job, the car will burn up in a second. He then proceeded to declare how a “Christian” marriage between a man and a woman is above all others. He said this a few times. And it made sense to everyone there that was retarded. The rest of us had to fill in the blanks. Or just make up something new all together, which I think that most of us did. I mean, to hell with any Jewish, Buddhist, Hindu or Muslim marriages! Those must be crap! Let alone any gay unions…I’m surprised we were even let in…especially because I looked better in my Vera Wang than the bride did.

The groom has previously worn a BUSH bumper sticker on the back of his cowboy hat. And also had given a FUCK KERRY bumper sticker to his then, future mother-in-law, which was compliments of his homo-phobic, “Christian” father. They still are staunch Bush supporters in 2005. His future in-laws being Kerry supporters. His parents also didn’t want to meet Will’s folks – they would be so lucky to know them how I know them, to know what kind, generous, compassionate people they are. I’m extremely protective of them and I thought, how DARED they not want to meet their future daughter-in-law’s parents!

I wondered what was going on with the best man’s lips during his speech at the rehearsal dinner, then again at the wedding, until Will informed me that he had chew tucked down in his lip…that he didn’t remove for his speeches.

The groom is a tow-truck driver, which I think is completely fine. Who follows everything his parents say – has an NRA sticker on his cell phone, I guess to remind him to call them for instructions in the event that Nova Scotia invades and all or our military is elsewhere, staunchly supports George W., and the war, yet if there’s a draft has stated that he’ll head to Canada, which I do not think is completely fine. If you’re going to support a war, you should be prepared to be put on the front-lines to fight for what you believe to be right. Amazing what balls people have when they’re not on the front lines.

The Disc Jockey was “world re-known” (translating to “really well known in Goleta, California”) and played a lot of country music and head banger stuff.

It all just seemed a little surreal at the Biltmore.

I was determined to not be pleasant to these homo-phobic, narrow-minded bigot ass-holes. Determined to not go out of my way to be nice to them, to not welcome them, to prove that I’m better than them. And then it dawned on me; I’m not better than them, why should I think so? Different, yes, better – no. And if I’m rude, aren’t I compromising myself? After all, it’s really not about who they are, but who I am. I’m not rude, I’m not narrow-minded and I happen to pride myself on being one of the nicest, most welcoming people I know. I say this because I work hard at it. And how often do I get to meet the other side in relatively favorable circumstances? And shouldn’t I view any chance to meet the other side as an opportunity? An opportunity to prove them otherwise? To dis-spell their beliefs in the type of person who they think I am? Not that I care what they think, but that I care what I think of my own character and myself.

And so I did. At the rehearsal dinner, I stood proudly and introduced myself, as the bride’s brother-out-law, proudly as Will’s partner and then proceeded to toast to the happy couple. Because they are. It’s obvious when you see them together that they make one another happy. And in the end, that’s all that’s important. So, I meant what I said in my toast. I said how nice the groom has always been to me and how this speaks volumes of how his parents raised him. How he’s always first to walk towards me with his hand poised for a handshake and his arms have never failed to hug me back. How I’ll be happy to be their future children’s uncle-out-law. And how I wish them a long, long, happy life together. And I meant it all. Because that’s who I am. And I see good in who they are.

I then introduced myself to his parents. Gave them a strong handshake and thanked them for the evening – they sprung for the rehearsal dinner. And later at the reception, I talked again with them. While we were talking, their extremely religious daughter who was about 15 years old came walking up, looked at me, realized who I was and glared at me as though I had just barfed upon myself. She looked at me with such disgust that it was apparent that I repulsed her. I shouldn’t make assumptions, because unless someone literally tells us, we really don’t know what someone else is thinking. So, I just kept smiling and actually ended up talking with the groom’s father about guns. I was in a Port Security Unit with the U.S. Coast Guard and had previously been deployed. I had been familiar, a marksman actually, with a 9mm, an M-16, M-60, 12-gauge and 50-caliber. I told him how I was a boatswain mate and drove a 41 ft Utility boat and a 22 and 24ft Boston Whaler raider attack boat. His face completely changed when I told him all of that. He was shocked, shocked that some of his previous labels that he had put on fags were not quite accurate. Especially given that I was standing in front of him on 6 inch heels and billowing taffeta, rouged cheeks and ruby lips. He invited me to go shooting sometime with them. I invited him to go shopping sometime with us. I’ll pass, just in the event that I would become the target. And I’m sure that he’ll pass, just in the event that we only have Judy Garland music in the car. But if I planted a seed in an otherwise closed mind, which might blossom into something more open, than right-on. And if that seed dies in that closed mind, then that’s okay too – because when the day was done, I was true to myself, I was true and free to be so. And I knew that I hadn’t barfed upon myself. ‘Cause I’ve done that too.