Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Small town wonder.

This weekend I went to the wedding of a friend of a friend. I feel like significant things happened that I want to talk about and yet I've started this entry about three times and have no idea what I want to talk about.

Should I talk about the dresses and the way people (bridal party and guests) were dressed? But I don't want to do that because it was an important day for two people and to them, everything was wonderful, just the way they wanted it to be. I'm uncomfortable with the snark.

Should I talk about the Very, Very Religious Hotel/Camp we stayed at? With icons of Jesus on the wall, but no teevee and pillows that smelled of old people and a policy where you had to pay extra for a key to your room? No. It was fine. We maybe spent seven hours in it and it served its purpose.

Should I talk about the bar with the myriad stuffed animals, and by that I mean an actual elephant head, the actual front half of a giraffe, a leopard cub and its mama, and many, many other disturbing examples of taxidermy? No. That was pretty amusing even if I was afraid to be left alone with the intense creepiness of it.

Should I talk about Old and Really Old? Two men who now think "shooting cows with Prince" means "going to a wedding"? Maybe. That's kind of interesting actually.

Should I talk about the man in a baseball cap and Rolling Rock shirt, who was both a firefighter and a chiropractor (allegedly), who rubbed my arm and told me stories about town happenings and offered himself as an escort to another rowdy bar? The one who C wanted to frisk against her car and the one I've thought about at odd times? Why? I have no idea. I'm not even sure what he looked like (much, much alcohol went into the making of this weekend). But his fingers were soft, he made me laugh and he thinks my name is not one that it actually is.

Should I talk about him?

I think I may keep that to myself.

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