We awoke in a little bit of a daze and donned sunglasses to go the The Black Rabbit Grill for breakfast. I think I got an omelete but I can't really remember. I know I got a bloody mary. This and a smoke started out the day right, and after a little hanky-panky back at the room, it was time for golf. I'd been trying to train for the occasion by golfing my local course, but it turned out it was just a pitch and put. I borrowed a sand wedge and putter, bought a couple cigars, and yes, a pint, and we were on our way. Sara chose to come out with the boys instead of tie ribbons with the girls (which later became a small point of contention. Bridesmaids, keep in mind that to be a good Bridesmaid, you must not only satisfy the brides verbal requests, but also read her mind!). It was me and Sara, Dane, Sara's cousin (all 6' 7" of him) and Chris, one of the other BM's fiance's (why is it that marriage seems to spread like a virulent infection. Really...). Chris was kicking all of our asses at first, basically by not playing like an idiot while we did. It is amazing how hard a simple par 3 course can be if your first shot sucks. The raging Oregon sun sucked the beer from our veins so we looked over every rise and fall for the drink cart, but lo, it was not there. Somewhere around the 10th hole (of 21) we sent the now over-golf Sara back to the beer shack. Now mind you we had some dozen foursomes on the course, all dudes, and all experiencing the same beer-withdrawals; but somehow my baby made it past the $100 dollar bribes to bring us two pitchers of Rubenator across the rolling hills-she may have had a halo, at this point, I believe.
After giving up on whacking the little white balls, Sara became the ball retriever/discoverer. I believe she found an average of 3 balls a hole over the last 10 holes, with the bramble-cuts to show how commited her search had been. I worried about her bleeding, she worried about what the bride would say...
After a bit of time to clean up, the reception barbeque was fast-approaching. Sara and I got into our slightly fancy clothes (once you move to the islands, your 'dress-up' clothing doesn't go beyond linen pants and a button-up shirt-a fact that I have no problem with) and decided to, you guessed it, grab a drink. True to McMenamins high standards of random perfection, right past Sara's mom's room was a tiny little pub (called such, I believe). We split a beer and a quessadilla, but were caught by Nicole, who kindly hid her concern as she explained that there was going to be lots of food at the barbeque. We felt mothered, but understood. It must be hard being a bride-kind of like putting on a show for your whole family, with a cast that only gets to practice once, and it is taped, live. Salon.com had a great article on drawing the line as a bridesmaid that talked about requests for cosmetic surgery, and/or fitness programs. My favorite was the bridesmaid for a mormon, who wasn't a mormon, and was asked to stand outside the church and ask people "Are you a believer in Jesus and the Book of Mormon?" and if not, not let them in the temple. I am sorry, but Mormons just don't make any sense in the end, no matter how rich they are...
The barbeque was dank, and though it was just gourmet burgers, potato salad and chips, I'm sure it was like three grand, not counting the open bar. I was in charge of the music, and I found an outlet and hid the Ipod dock in the shrubs. Dire Straits, Jack Johnson and others played while the guests took thier seats. Another priceless feature of weddings is the slapdash variety of ages and types of people, and the desultory development of thier interactions. Sara and I sat next to Chris and Verinda, as well as the random cousins who spent most of the time discussing thier Magic Cards tip books, and the corresponding powers of thier main characters. One of the kids was probably 12, and the other, of course, was only like 9. I tried to talk magic with them to no avail-sometimes I am such an ignorant bastard.
TBC...
Glorious Oregon Pt. 3

