I guess there are two or three parts to my big New York adventure.
First, there was the dress. (Mine of course, not the bride’s. MY blog. Me me me.) The dress was a 50’s inspired cocktail-y thing, black, with a halter top and a pink crinoline. Words can’t do it justice, for verily when I tried it on the light became more golden and a choir of angels sang. The Dress made it a lot easier to think about going to the wedding and seeing all my cool New York friends, who are leading lives much more exciting and worthwhile than mine. If I was going to do it, at least I wouldn’t have to do it some schlumpy horror of a flowered rayon jobby from the sale rack at Sears. Which was obviously my only other choice.
So my dress and I boarded the Chinatown bus and headed north. I had no book, which for me is like having no air, but on the plus side I did have an empty seat next to me. Back again on the minus side, I also had the bathroom next to me, and it stunk, so in a way I had no book AND no air. But I had books on my digital player for just such an emergency, so it worked out.
Made my way from Chinatown in NYC to Brooklyn just like an adult. The bride and groom had generously offered me use of their apartment for the weekend after my other plans fell through, and I found it just fine. Took myself forthwith to the used bookstore and stocked up for the weekend, and then out to dinner. Met up with an old roommate, whom I love and never get to see, and we had a great time
gossiping about everyone we know. I have a huge crush on Brooklyn. If I hadn’t foolishly bought a house here, I would be moving there.
But I digress. The day of the wedding dawned sunny and hot. In the clear Brooklyn sunlight of my old rommie’s house, it was clear that my eyebrows were far too overgrown, and that I either had to groom them or go back to DC. Did you know that it only costs five bucks to get your eyebrows ripped out of your face by a little Asian lady in Brooklyn? FIVE BUCKS. I think I paid $18 the last time I went here.
I had explicit instructions on how to get to the wedding, which was in Yonkers at 4 p.m. I had notes. I had alternate routes. I had flip flops to wear so I could dash to catch trains without breaking my neck in my wedding heels.
What I did not have was confirmation from the NYC Transit Authority that they were going to run the trains on the scheduled tracks at the scheduled times in the scheduled stations. Silly Metro rider that I am, I just ASSUMED. Out of concern for your attention span, I’m going to gloss over the intricacies of all of the things that went wrong on my journey from Brooklyn to Yonkers, and just give the highlights: train confusion. Wrong tracks. Lost. Take bad advice, get off at wrong station, Cry on platform, causing others to inch away. Make it to Grand Central at 3:45. Can’t find train to Yonkers because contrary to assurances, train to Yonkers is actually called train to Poughkeepsie. Frustration slightly alleviated by the fact that I really like the name Poughkeepsie. Find train. Sit next to huge man and apply makeup, including perfume, despite knowledge that such primping is very rude in public. Arrive in Yonkers at 4:25. Get in cab. Get horribly lost (church is 4 blocks from station.) Do not tip cabdriver (for me, equivalent of bitch-slap.) Arrive at church just when my friends are exchanging vows.
(Wait a minute. How can I be forty-five minutes late and still see the marriage part of the service? This wedding isn’t Catholic! Strictly speaking, no, but apparently Episcopalians really are Catholic, and just don’t know it. They’re Catholics minus obvious ethnicity and gambling, plus sexual clergy. They even have transubstantiation, which I thought was what differentiated Catholicism from Protestant sects. Upshot: very long weddings. Yay for late people!)
(Tomorrow; the wedding itself, which was lovely.)