Margaret and Helen: Best Friends for 60 Years and Counting…

I waited in line for more than an hour to vote yesterday, but damn it, I voted. When I finally made it to the booth, I took that pen in my fist and made the heaviest, inkiest mark in the circle that I could, like a six-year-old coloring a clown’s nose.

Obviously, I’m not getting to the recap of the 3rd round of Jamaica photos. Suffice it to say we had a wonderful time. Full set here.

Stories left to tell:

1. I got engaged.
2. I moved to Orlando.
3. I bought some chairs off of craigslist.

Vintage Jamie:
My very first Fantasy Fest. My three best buddies flew down to join me. It was really an insane weekend of fun. I still miss the sweet parade party passes my job at the radio station scored for me.

Talking about my oldest friend, Beth. I was in her wedding a few years ago, and then we lost touch again for a while after she had her son. We really keep touch best through the internet, and we tend to lose it when she takes sabbaticals from the computer. She’s back online, though, and we’ve been talking regularly. When Matt and I went to Pittsburgh a month ago to check out wedding venues, we stopped by her place and hung out with Beth and her kid. I think I’m going to end up leaning on her more and more when it comes to wedding stuff coming up, as well.

Huh. This was a good weekend, but I didn’t remember it at all till I read that and now I’m realizing my awesome weekend standards are higher now. I think that’s a good thing.

A lot of good stuff is going to happen after we move to Orlando tomorrow. Matt got his dream job. Our new apartment is bigger, nicer, and cheaper. So are our utilities. We’ll be minutes from The Simpsons Ride. We already have friends up there. I’m going to look into playing a new sport, and my team plays in Central FL frequently enough that I should still be able to join up with them pretty often.

But I am really going to miss the beach. And I am really, really, really going to miss my friends. I don’t know how I lucked into knowing such amazing people. It is hard to say goodbye, which I did last night.

Now Matt and I are off to say so long to the beach.

1. Updating my flickr stream. I’ve got photos on standby from June.
2. Laundry. Our love seat has been reassigned as “holder for mountain of clean laundry.”
3. This blog. SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED since July.

Gay guys leave the toilet seat up even more than straight guys.

The other day I was at the beach when the lifeguard sprinted by carrying his red plastic rescue thingy. Another lifeguard dove in after him and I watched with interest because from what I could tell, there was nothing to rescue – no flailing or screams or visible panicking. A rescue vehicle with flashing lights pulled up as they helped a man back toward shore. As soon as the rescue-ee reached shallow water, he stood up and walked his way to the shoreline, where he sat in the sand. Nothing really happened after that, and as the lifeguard walked past my towel back to his tower, I asked him what happened and he replied, “Oh, he just go tired.” I didn’t know that was an option!

One of my friends had surgery to remove a tumor from her neck. When they got it out, it was SEVEN INCHES LONG. No matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe it, and it makes my neck feel funny every time.

My dad’s hot water heater broke, and when he called the plumber, he was missing some teeth and a toolbox. He only brought with him a screwdriver and a flashlight, but Dad showed him to the basement and he used the screwdriver to remove the water heater panel and the flashlight to peer inside. The plumber said, “A ha,” and then pulled out a tube and SUCKED ON IT, telling my Dad, “Just a clog, it’s loose now.” No matter how many times I tell THAT ONE, it doesn’t get any less gross.

The last story is Once Upon A Time (like, on Friday), I dyed pink streaks into my hair.

P.S. Nine reasons not to date a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Wedding Day!

Wait, wait, not so fast.

First, we walked next door to Jackie’s on the Reef –

for a hot stone massage. Check it out, these are my feet, below –

I was totally naked in that little hut, just a few yards from the ocean, while I nice Jamaican lady gave me the rubdown of my life. I seriously went into a trance during it.

Then we all got dressed and gathered on white chairs in the prettiest little corner in all of Jamaica for a quick wedding ceremony.

I did a fantastic job in not losing the wedding rings, and after I gave handed them to Mollie and Jason, then sat down, THEN realized that they still had the black velvet boxes, I loud-whispered, “Mollie! Boxes!” She had a pause while she figured out what to do, then just tossed it to me. Jason did the same. I caught them both and everyone chuckled.

And then that was that.

In her book One Perfect Day, Rebecca Mead devotes an entire chapter to Americans drawn to Caribbean weddings. She describes the effects of the trend on choice destinations’ economies, and speculates what exactly draws these couples to this brand of wedding? Is it the allure of appearing carefree, while enjoying a wedding that was perfectly orchestrated behind the scenes? Are the destinations merely the a way of shrinking a guest list? Is it an antithesis to the “Bride From Hell” stereotype?

Personally, I think it’s because the waterfront island sunsets make for amazing wedding photos.

During cocktails and appetizers we got the paperwork out of the way –

And then got down to dinner and dancing.

I gave the first toast, my throat closed up the first time I mentioned our mother, and then I sobbed through the rest of the whole thing. I’m afraid to watch the video which I know exists, because I’m sure it’s not pretty.

My dad stepped in and played drums with the band for two songs. That hasn’t happened in a while.

The best part of dinner was the spicy lobster skewers. Oh, Jamaican food. I miss you still.

My sister the bride, our uncle, Matt and I were the last soldiers standing. My uncle said when he went to bed, Mollie and I were in the pool, passing a bottle of wine back and forth like college kids.

And my family can still rock a kick line.

Thank goodness. Because one of our parties, without a kickline? Is not a fete I am interested in attending, no thank you.

I only have one more day to upload/chronicle, because after that, Matt and I got on an early flight and came back home. Despite my efforts to stay longer.

Hey, know what I forgot to tell you in my first day Jamaica round-up? What actually happened. Namely, we traveled a lot, were delayed a lot, and I did something very stupid.

Apparently, every flight AirJamaica gets off the ground is delayed. After spending some time on the island, this is NO SURPRISE AT ALL, but it did mean that our 3:40 arrival time looked more like 4:30. We found our driver and got into the cab for the hour-and-a-half drive from Montego Bay to Negril, excitedly anticipating dinner plans with my sister and her husband-to-be.

Two hours later, we were still in Montego Bay. The traffic was that bad.

I have a weakness. I am unable to understand people with accents. It doesn’t matter what kind of accent. I simply have very little capacity for parsing what people are saying, if they have a heavy accent.

The result of this was that our driver said several things to us that I did not understand, about stopping for food before restaurants close, on our way to the Inn. He also received several phone calls which I was unable to understand.

In the meantime, I was panicking and calling my sister – what if we stopped for dinner but she waited at the Inn for our arrival, and they didn’t get to eat? Should we pick them up something? Should we actually stop, or go straight to the Inn and check in with them at first? And besides, wasn’t she worried about us? We were pushing FOUR HOURS LATE, after all!

Of course, the driver was in contact with them the whole time, and his suggested restaurant was where my sister and the rest of the group were already stationed, enjoying some Red Stripe and waiting for our much-delayed arrival.

But I never figured that out.

So when we pulled up to the restaurant, I’m all, “Matt, I think I see [sister’s husband] sitting there! Oh my god, they are at THIS RESTAURANT! WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!”

They eventually did straighten me out, but it was a little embarrassing and I was definitely the night’s designated Captain Spazzo.

Second round of photos are up.

Highlights?

Crazy Jamaicans and their ganja regulations.

Matt steps outside our room and then contemplates his life.

The definition of “action” in Jamaica.

Oh yeah, I went whitewater rafting in a beautiful rainforest.

And when we got back, my family had taken over the Westender Inn.

And then I showed one of those action-y waves who is boss.

In a few hours, I’m getting into a car with my rugby buddies and then heading down to Key West to send off two of my best friends on the team. It’s going to be really fun and suck at the same time.

Next up from Jamaica: photos from the wedding itself. And they are beautiful.