mazel tov

Congratulations to Scott and Suzanne, who stomped the glass last weekend! Everyone had a really great time and left with the desire to have a Jewish wedding themselves sometime in the near future. Guys, just hold on to those complimentary yamakas.

Here are some weekend highlights:

First, Phoenix is motherfucking hot, yo. Why do people live in this city? It was at least 150 degrees the entire time we were there. This was exacerbated by the fact that we rode around in the Mustang convertible that Will rented—with the top down. The front seat passengers, though warm I’m sure, were engulfed in a small pocket of air conditioning, while the backseat passengers (Meatsweats and I) were blasted by inconceivably hot gusts of air while speeding down the roadways. In the words of Sweaty: “It’s like driving through a fucking convection oven! Uggghhhhh!!” The 90-mph trip down the highway to the dueling piano bar didn’t help either. When we got there I had to check to make sure I still had a face.

Second, I was pleasantly surprised by the Hampton Inn. It was clean, it was air-conditioned, the bed was gigantic, and the décor wasn’t overwhelming. I was shocked. I’d expected something slightly horrific, à la Great Falls, MT Holiday Inn. You know, artful arrangements of animal carcasses or some such. They had a pool, too, which we never checked out because I’m pretty sure we would have been boiled alive.

Channeling David Brent at the Hampton Inn

Third, the wedding! Having never attended an orthodox Jewish wedding, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew that there would be a bride and groom and a chuppah and the stomping of a wine glass and that’s it. Therefore, I was immediately unnerved upon arriving at the hotel when a smiling hotel staff member promptly separated me from my all-male group. As luck would have it, the only person who entered with me was a woman in a sari, so neither one of us knew what the hell was going on. We were ushered into the bride’s waiting room (the name of which I have forgotten) where we were served iced tea and lemonade and mingled with other lost gentiles while family and friends greeted the bride. At one point someone dropped their glass of ice water and it broke all over the carpet to a cry of “Mazel tov!” but it turns out that wasn’t the planned glass breakage—someone was just being a smart ass. Then the men swarmed into the women’s quarters carrying Scott on their shoulders. After narrowly avoiding a beheading by low-hanging chandelier, he veiled his bride and was paraded back out again. I met up with Sweaty for those two minutes. Turns out the guys got free yamakas and booze. Bastards. However, I’m not going to complain too much, especially since this is a much better set-up than the Muslim wedding I attended several years ago where all of the women gathered in one room to sit and stare at the bride for three hours before the actual wedding ceremony. Nothing makes you feel more conspicuous than being dressed like a giant meringue while having to stare down your entire family and religious community. Cree-py.

Then came the wedding ceremony. The lights were dimmed and the candles lining the aisle glowed cheerfully. The guests seated in the aisle seats did their best not to catch on fire. I waited anxiously, convinced that one of them would eventually catch alight and I’d have to jump in and save them. My plan was to snatch the yamaka off the victim’s head and use it to smother the flames on his jacket. I contemplated using one of the flower arrangements as well—the head gear looked like a small pot-holder but who knew how well it would manage the heat? I hoped that I wouldn’t catch fire myself during the rescue operation. How embarrassing would that be? Anyway, soon the ceremony began and the bride, groom, their parents and the rabbi piled under the chuppah and vows, contracts, and rings were exchanged. Scripture was read and speeches were made. Finally the fun part—Scott dutifully smashed a wine glass to smithereens. Mazel tov! The wedding party filed out and someone tipped over and broke one of the glass hurricanes placed over the big candles lining the aisle, almost setting the hotel ablaze. More mazel tov! I didn’t get to save anyone from a fiery death, but I did help them spot and pick up the stray pieces of glass on the dark floor. Heroics come in many shapes.

Their parents rub their hands together triumphantly

(Yeees, it's all going as planned--we'll have grandchildren in no time!)

Next, cocktails, appetizers, and small talk. All were pleasant, some extremely delicious. Fried avocado pieces? That sounds… scrumptious. You know what would go great with this? I thought. Bacon. But I kept this thought to myself.

After the preliminary feeding we entered the ballroom where frantic Jewish dancing ensued for a full 45 minutes. These Jews, I tell you what—what they lack in grace, they more than make up for in enthusiasm. There was twirling and circling and hopping and jumping around. People were hoisted up onto what looked to be the most cumbersome chairs ever made and tossed high up into the air. When Scott’s parents were perched upon their rocking thrones I could see his mother chanting: Letmedown letmedown letmedown! This apparently means “Go faster and higher!” in Hebrew. The cheering crowd obliged.

Traditional newlywed torture

After everyone collapsed at their respective tables there were more speeches and then some more dancing. I was hesitant at first, but apparently my boyfriend is a dancing machine, so I eventually gave in. (Please note: Anyone who posts pictures of said event will be unceremoniously executed at the next group event.) Hours later, after dinner and dancing and cake and drinks and more dancing, the band reached the end of its set and we set off for the Hampton Inn. Determined not to go to bed by midnight we headed out to find a bar where we could continue the festivities a little longer. But it being Sunday night, none were open, so we fell back to the old standby and went to In-and-Out for the second night in a row. The original plan to only order a basket of fries instantly disintegrated and so we ate burgers for our fifteenth meal that day. Then, finally, it was bedtime, followed too soon by the farewell brunch with the newlyweds the next morning.

Dancing Ma-CHEEEN

So congratulations, bitches! We had a really good time and we really hope you enjoy your new life in NY.

And I really really hope my seared face grows back.