So thanks to me, in a small way, The Queen and her husband can celebrate their anniversary on Dec. 29, instead of Dec. 30. Had somebody not fetched the marriage license, it wouldn’t have been filed until the 30th, and legally their anniversary would fall on that day.
Following the ceremony we had dinner at a seaside restaurant outside of the main drag of Marco Island. Dinner was uneventful. I was seated amongst the outcasts. I sat with two of the groom’s friends, the two who attended but didn’t make the groomsman cut. One of the two dudes brought his fiancé with. She wasn’t a fiancé when they arrived on Marco Island, but the night before the wedding he proposed. You’d argue that he stole the wedding couple’s thunder, but that honor belonged to Mandy the starfucker.
Speaking of Mandy, she sat at my table, too. She seemed rather interested in Bart, who had recently ended a six-year relationship.
Sometime prior to Saturday’s nuptials Mandy was informed to clean up her act. I’m not sure by whom, but I think an intervention would have been more appropriate.
And for the most part she was rather low key and well behaved. She mingled with the celebrity a bit, but toned it down quite a bit, much to her disappointment, I’m sure. At the end of the night they walked from one bar to another nearby, for what purpose I can’t imagine, but Mandy put on much less of a show than she did on Friday night. I might have been the only one who was disappointed.
This seaside restaurant and bar was pretty quiet after dinner, so although we spent a few hours drinking and socializing, nobody bothered the celebrity, except for a couple members of the wait staff at the end of the evening. The first time it didn’t seem obnoxious, but the second time it was downright ridiculous. Yet the celebrity was quite polite to the gap-toothed hillbilly who fawned all over him. God bless him.
Although I spent two nights hanging out with a bona fide celebrity, I never met him. I was never formally introduced to the groom’s buddies, and since I never had a conversation with him, I never met him. While he was more than happy to pose for pictures with everyone in the wedding party, I don’t have one. And while he won’t know any better, my actions were by design, out of respect for him.
Yeah, it’s neat to get a picture with a celebrity, but he was there to hang with his high school buddies for a wedding, not promote himself or pacify fans. Unless I wound up being introduced to him or talking to him, I determined I’d treat him like everyone else there, and if that meant I never got to shake his hand or get a picture, I was fine with that.
The rest of the weekend was enjoyable, albeit a bit anticlimactic. Several people were gone by Sunday, including the celebrity, and after three nights of mass consumption, New Year’s Eve was a bit tame for those of us who were left, particularly since we were all boarding planes the next morning.
But it was worth all the trouble to be there. A holiday respite in Florida is something I should make a point to do every winter.