Oh yeah, I almost forgot: We got married!

No, seriously. I almost forgot. You know that feeling you get in the middle of winter, when the wind is blustering around you and you haven’t been able to feel you toes since Thanksgiving, and you just can’t seem to remember how it felt to stand in that exact spot in the middle of sweltering July?

That’s how it feels to get married on vacation. You know it happened, your memories are fond if hazy, and yet it seems more probable that it was all a hallucination.

In the interest of, um, remembering The Most Important Day Of My Life So Far, here are a few favorite, hilarious, or otherwise blog-worthy moments.

(dusts off the slide projector, dims the lights)

Here we are on the plane to Maui. We flew with Rob’s family and got to sit in first class.

I never realized that airplanes operate under something of a caste system. The difference between coach and first-class is absolutely appalling, what with the hot towels and the beverages served in a real glass and the course dinner (no kidding), when everyone else was crammed together and trying to hold themselves over on a meager bag of airplane peanuts.

Rob even got a plate of fruit, including honeydew melon, which, he was surprised to learn, was not, in fact, cantaloupe that wasn’t done cooking, nor was it called “greenaloupe.”

It was the best part of the trip so far, which is saying a lot, because I did find myself getting pretty giddy and into the “bride” spirit (uh, FINALLY) that morning, what with all the attention a person gets from walking around the airport carrying a huge bridal garment bag high above her head so as not to wrinkle the train.

Likewise, Hawaii did not disappoint, being as beautiful and paradisical (is that really not a word? I am making it one) as everyone says it is. Accordingly, I will spare you the gratuitous photos of vivid sunsets and abundant hibiscuses (hibisci? I’m really striking out here) as big as your head and will share just one shot, taken from our table at the very delicious Mama’s Fish House, where we enjoyed the world’s most expensive Mai Tai ($18 ) and one of Maui’s most beautiful views:

It is a bizarre experience to travel for 15 or more hours to a remote and foreign island, only to arrive at your hotel and be immediately greeted by EVERYONE YOU KNOW. Hosting fifty of our family and friends in Hawaii was absolutely wonderful and, in that special way Rob and I have of turning fun into work, maddeningly stressful. We so wanted to make sure everyone felt comfortable and happy and loved and, most importantly, appreciated for trekking halfway around the world for our nuptials.

Meanwhile, for practically every thank-you we said, we were thanked for getting married in a fabulous location, though mostly by our 26-year old family friend, Jason, who came with his parents and couldn’t stop marveling that he hadn’t spent a dime, and by my 18-year old cousin Kevin, who was mostly thrilled that some woman on his plane gave him a hundred bucks in exchange for his aisle seat.

It is just incredible how special people make you feel when you get married. Particularly my dad, who, just before walking me down the aisle, told me something along the lines of, “Listen, now, you got a good thing going for you here, so don’t f*ck this up. Just take it easy on him. You gotta let the little sh*t go.”

That’s some classic “Kenny G” (as his friends now call him) for you, folks. Believe it or not, he meant it in the sweetest, most fatherly way — as advice, not a reprimand — and it takes a special person (and perhaps many years of therapy) to understand that.

Anyway, here we are going down the aisle. I love the looks on our faces here:

So, when you are getting married in Maui, you don’t really make an “inclement weather” plan. I mean, it hasn’t rained in Wailea in June, like, ever.

But what I hadn’t counted on was the possibility of wind. And not just that famed trade wind that blows continuously across the island. We are talking gale-force, hair-whipping, skirt-uplifting, I-can’t-hear-you-and-you-are-standing-next-to-me, oh-my-gosh-is-that-a-cow-flying-
through-the-air, I-don’t-think-we-are-in-Kansas-anymore, 45-mile-per-hour GUSTS, people.

During the rehearsal, I thought I felt a drop of rain, but then I realized it was the waves crashing into the shoreline with such force that the bridesmaids were in real danger of being completely doused, dresses and nosegays and updos and all.

Minor glitch.

Still in vacation-on-a-tropical-island mode, I was (surprisingly enough) unfazed, but everyone else (*ahem* ROB *cough* *cough*) got themselves into such a tizzy over it that my inner Bridezilla came roaring out. It was not pretty, but a few phone calls and one medium-grade hissy fit later, our entire day of wedding festivities was bumped back by 45 minutes with the hope that the wind would die down later in the day, as it had been the past several days.

It, unfortunately, did not.

OK, so it really wasn’t that bad. Here we are during the ceremony:

You may be wondering why I am adjusting Grandpa’s tie as he officiated our ceremony. Well, actually, I’m covering his lapel microphone in a somewhat futile attempt to block the wind. That’s also why we are standing just a little to close to him.

Oh, and if you are one of those people who doesn’t like me but reads my blog anyway and are about to start in with the snarky commentary about the way my dress is pulling in a horribly unflattering way, you can can it right now. Believe it or not, I hadn’t gained ten pounds from drinking too many poolside smoothies. (That was on the honeymoon, thankyouverymuch.) I had a horrendous experience with my dress shop, Weddings 826, and their alterations person. Go ahead, go read my review on Yelp. Now start feeling bad about yourself.

But if a small monsoon and a little polyester was the worst that could happen to me on my wedding day, I count myself as a very lucky girl.

Truly, I thought everything was more perfect and wonderful than I dreamed it could be. In fact, I surprised myself to realize that I was actually having FUN on my wedding day. I didn’t cry once, simply because I just couldn’t wipe the huge smile off my face.

I mean, Rob actually kissed me in public, TWICE! Once when we were pronounced husband and wife, and once here:

Of course, right now, I’m bawling like a baby thinking about how happy and fortunate I felt that day, to be marrying my best friend and partner, to be surrounded by so many of the people we love most in this world, to be on a once-in-a-lifetime vacation, and to have the best damn reception I’ve ever been to, if I do say so myself (or, if my Auntie Peggy says so herself, “Nobody was NOT dancing!”).

The next day, we’re sitting at the pool with a group of friends when I suddenly realize aloud, “Oh crap! We didn’t get your grandpa to sign our wedding license!”

To which my dear husband replied, “Oooh! Does that mean we’re not married until today?” There was hope in his voice, as he dislikes odd numbers and would far prefer that our anniversary be on the 22nd.

After some quibbling among our friends as to what I would take as my full married name (maiden name as middle name? New last name altogether? The addition of an “L apostrophe” before my last name, followed by a “de la Mancha”? We have weird friends), we became the first couple in history to have their grandfather sign their marriage license in his swim trunks at the pool:

There is more, of course — you do know there are professional pictures and a honeymoon, not to mention two more wedding parties (who has three weddings?) — but that’s quite enough for now. Even I’m sick of hearing about my wedding!

The best advice I can give any bride is to STAY AWAY from The Knot message boards.

It was the influence of many wedding-obsessed “Knotties” that I came up with the brilliant idea of making my own wedding invitations. Why not DIY? That way, I could save money and still have really nice invitations

Here is the result of many months and many tears and many fingernails bitten to the quick:

Now kids, this is not something you should try at home.

The bridezillas on the Internet will shriek “YOU CAN DO IT YOURSELF! DIY!” But no one tells you that it is impossible to match the ink color to even the same ballpark of the shade of the paper on a home printer. No one tells you that no pen known to man will write on metallic envelopes. No one tells you that you will spend hours slaving over the design and layout, only to have the print shop ultimately screw it up anyway.

And just when you think you are out of the woods, you realize that, after biting off all your nails and spending the better part of three months slaving over the invitations, though it will have cost about half as much to make them yourself, but you wish you had just ordered invitations that were half as expensive in the first place. Even if they aren’t as nice. No one gives a crap about the invitation. Including you.

From now on, I’m saving every wedding invitation I get so that, years later, when the couple is visiting me, I can whip it out and rave about the font they chose or how nicely the paper matches the ink or how they worded the reception card. Because, even if it doesn’t look like much, it cost at least seven dollars and/or your friend’s sanity.

Here’s the kicker: this is a destination wedding, so nearly all of these invitations went to people I KNOW are not coming, to be opened, glanced at, and tossed into the recycling bin.

Rob was right. We should have done an E-vite.