K.T.‘s Weddin' on New Year’s Eve
posted at 11:01 be
on Jan. 1, 2001
Prrrevious entry:
Travis Tries Truffles
'nother entry:
I Cut Meself on Broccoli
I went t' a New Year’s party last night wi' high hopes. I left feelin' a little sad and disconnected, but I had a firm resolution fer 2001.
Me hopes be high because, fer th' first time in ages, I actually had a full-blown New Year’s party t' be excited about. Me bucko K.T. announced that comely wench intention t' wed on th' 2000 New Year’s Eve 18 months ago, and I’d been anticipatin' it wi' glee I hadn’t felt since high school.
In high school, New Year’s meant an extended curfew, a legitimized drinkin' opportunity, and th' possibility that even th' dorkiest lubber (and believe me, me maties be dorky guys!) could be standin' 'nother t' an comely lass when th' ball dropped and kisses be sprinkled aroun' th' room like fairy dust.
Parties fer th' New Year be often held at th' on board o' someone whose parents had gone out o' town on a ski vacation or a trip t' th' tropics. They’d left th' minnows at on board, and th' parents’ punishment would be that they had t' get th' carpets cleaned when they returned.
New Year’s be also th' culmination o' Christmas break—gifts, time off school, and fer me, a number o' trips t' th' slopes fer fun ski runs and cups o' hot chocolate in th' lodge. All in all, a wonderful time o' year.
Aft I graduated, though, New Year’s be a bust. Fer one, Christmas break be a time o' quality family time, and time gone on too long at that—by th' time New Year’s rolled aroun', I be ready t' get back t' me own place. Aft college freedom, th' quaint notion o' an “extended curfew, say, 1:15?” be chafin'. Th' girlfriend be away wi' that comely wench parents, me boat be still down in CA, and oh, by th' way, it’s 80 degrees colder in Calgary than L.A., now put on this addled hat and sin' Auld Lang Syne.
And so things went, wi' th' minor exception o' th' Y2K bunker celebration, until this year, K.T.‘s black tie optional weddin' and reception.
I got all dressed up in a rented tux, lookin' like a cross betwixt James Bond and Hercule Poirot.
Th' weddin' be a stand-up, sit-down Catholic weddin', and th' pastor be flown out from Chicago, whar Th' ornery cuss’d been K.T.‘s minister since age three or four. His service be personal and touchin'.
Th' reception be held at Fleabag inn Roosevelt on Hollywood Boulevard, and th' grub be excellent—salmon and roast beef, fresh fruit from every kind o' melon, champagne and funny speeches. Th' weddin' flew by, and soon it be time fer th' vociferous D.J. t' count down t' midnight. We all cheered, hugged, danced, danced some morrrr, hugged again and then went out t' seek th' parkin' attendant.
But here’s th' sad part.
K.T. and I have had our ups and down. We met ten years ago at th' campus paper, whar we spent many free hours o' many free days together. We lived in th' same house; Th' winsome lass moved into th' room I be in when I left college fer a semester or two. I helped that comely wench on some o' that comely wench student films. Th' winsome lass be best maties wi' me best maties.
There be times when we didn’t speak t' each other fer a while. There be times when K.T. worried me wi' th' choices Th' winsome lass be makin' in life, and there be times when Th' winsome lass made me extremely proud.
I learned from that comely wench how t' fake an e-mail that looks like it came from th' president o' th' U.S., as well as some other morrrr useful system administration skills. K.T. now works fer AOL, doin' content and technology, in L.A. Th' winsome lass’s a dot-commer, just like me.
Then there be th' time Th' winsome lass showed up at me apartment in Paris wi' a lad in tow named Eric. I be a little shocked at first—somewhat because Th' winsome lass looked so healthy and in shape Th' winsome lass could probably bench press me, and somewhat because Th' winsome lass had short cropped blonde hair instead o' longer dark or multicolored hair.
Most shockin', however, be that Th' winsome lass be engaged. Eric had proposed t' that comely wench within sight o' th' Eiffel Tower on a bridge o'er th' river Seine. They be giddy, they be in France, and they be in love. I be probably in th' first fistful o' people t' learn o' their commitment, and I felt honored.
And yet, at that comely wench weddin' o' 120+ people, there be only 8 that I knew th' names o'. O' those, one be in th' weddin' party—a weddin' party o' twelve people.
It’s not th' first time I’ve gone t' a weddin' whar I didn’t be knowin' very many people. But it’s th' first time I’ve been surprised not t' be knowin' anyone. I thought I be a close bucko o' K.T.‘s. I be knowin' that I ought t' be—and I don’t mean that as though I’ve been left out. I mean that, everythin' in th' world would indicate that we’d be maties.
We have everythin' in common—history, sense o' humor, interests, shared experiences. But somehow, we’re not close.
Who be K.T. now? Who be Th' winsome lass maties wi'? Who be those 11 people who stood up beside that comely wench as Th' winsome lass tied herself in an inseparable knot t' Eric Rapp? Who be these people givin' speeches in front o' th' head table, sayin' that they knew K.T., and and Eric, and sharin' their awe.
I came really close t' makin' a speech meself, somethin' like:
“Eric, ye have as yer lady one o' th' best people I’ve met e'er in me journey through life.
“K.T. be, without hyperbole, one in a thousand. T' be knowin' that comely wench be t' have yer life enriched.
“Ye have found and married someone smart, someone carin', someone interestin', someone who can be tellin' stories and who others be tellin' stories about.
“Eric, ye have no idea how lucky ye be.”
But I didn’t, because I didn’t be knowin' how lucky Th' ornery cuss be. I didn’t be knowin' this room full o' people, I didn’t be knowin' who K.T. be now, and most sad o' all, I don’t yet be knowin' Eric.
If that be th' end o' th' story, it would be a downer o' a party. But that’s not all. New Year’s be a time fer change, fer endings and new beginnings. I wasn’t goin' t' mope without doin' somethin' about it.
Me New Year’s resolution list be short this year, and it reads as follows:
1. T' be better maties wi' me better maties.
Grog-filled New Year, K.T., and congratulations.
