This post is sponsored by the raging cold that I've had for a week, and the NyQuil and Advil PM that I have been consuming like mad in order to combat it (mostly unsuccessfully). They bring us this lovely dream, and all its weirdness, which is cheap at twice the price.
It appears that today I am getting married, which comes as a bit of a shock to me, but here I am all dressed up in my sacrificial tuxedo waiting for my bride to be to come and join me in the joys of (my second) marriage. The first one didn't end so well, and I am idly pondering why I chose to make the same mistake twice, but it appears that the day of the nuptials is upon us, and that pondering might be a bit tardy in the making.
For reasons passing understanding, not only am I getting married again, but I am having a HUGE wedding, something that may require the Pope to officiate because it is so huge. The social event of the season it seems. I am not sure why I would ever be a part of such a circus, but here I am. The head clown in this circus of silliness that is about to see me hitch my wagon to some new star in the galaxy of doom that has been my life up until now. I am sure she is a lovely woman, because after all, I have wonderful taste in women, don't I? I have through some careful listening to the myriad of party guests, learned my blushing bride's name. Which I would guess is a plus, it will certainly make saying the vows a bit easier if I don't have to pause, and introduce myself to her in order to learn the name I need to insert in those vows. Her name is J______, a name that carries it own dark past in my life, and one that I am not exactly pleased that she has. But, I suppose it's a bit too late now to renew my own previous vow of swearing off J____'s. After all, it would be just a bit awkward to explain to what appears to be half the free world in attendance that I can't marry this woman because of her first name. A cleft chin, now that is a reason to call the whole thing off, but her name? That is unlikely to elicit the sympathy of the crowd.
The good news, if there is to be any good news, is that she doesn't appear to be any of the J____'s of my previous acquaintance. The bad news, of which there will be more to come, is that it seems that I've no idea who she actually is, and what she looks like. It would seem that the dream is just a bit light on those details. Details that would normally put the whole ceremony in doubt, unless I was someone like Henry VIII seeking any brood mare that could produce me a male heir to the throne, and willing to marry someone based off a portrait painted by some fellow with exceedingly poor vision, and a much broader view of what constitutes female beauty (see Anne of Cleaves if you dare).
Perhaps the size of the crowd is down to the fact that I have in the past sworn very loudly, both sober and drunk, and to anyone that would listen (and to quite a few who didn't want to hear it) that I would never, ever, ever get married again. Maybe half of the group that are here are just attending out of a sense of glee, to watch me eat a whole lot of crow at the wedding feast while they have their choice of the chicken or beef. Knowing the mob of people that I loosely define as "my friends" I am fairly certain that is the reason they have put on actual pants, and sobered up enough to show up to this ceremony. That and the free booze that all weddings promise to entice people to come, and watch some damn fool make the same mistake twice.
Being the fool in question, I am not exactly sure how to feel about all of this pomp. Popular opinion should suggest that I should be happy as a clam in mud, and all that. After all, this is supposed to be a joyous event, a union of two people madly in love (with each other no less) who are joining their separate lives into one with the intention of it lasting until one keels over, or one kills the other in a fit of rage about whose turn it is to take out the trash. Everyone certainly seems in a festive mood, as I circulate among the million of guests which seems to include everybody I have know or ever met even in passing. Who is that guy? Did we once ride the same elevator together? Well come to the wedding buddy, we are mates for life. Who is that woman? Did I order a book from her? Wasn't it about beekeeping? Come to the wedding, sweetie you'll love it, no there won't be any honey from the non-existence hives of bees that I don't keep, sorry about that, but have a drink, and mingle.
I can only surmise that my bride to be must come from wealth, because the amount of coin that her parental units have spent on this soiree would probably pay off my student loans, and I owe a whole LOT of students lots. Perhaps I have taken the sage of advice of "marrying once for love, and once for money", and have decided my bride's bank account outweighs her poorly chosen first name? This seems like something I might decide to do, since I am a bit of a bastard and all, but I still wonder about the actual looks of the money cow I have decided to milk. Is she possessed of a harelip and a lisp? Is she Orca fat? Not that I am a slim fellow myself, so that complaint seems a bit of the pot calling the kettle black. I suppose there is a chance that is just an average, normal, wholesome, toothy girl that loves her mother, and me in equal parts, and thinks that marrying me is a good idea. Who am I to disabuse her of such a notion?
This is a dream, and there are a lot of other issues going on during this wedding dream bit that make little to no sense. Those details are mostly lost to the haze of the NyQuil, and really need not concern us here, but realize that dreams, like real life, don't always follow an exact linear path to their logical (or fantastical) conclusion. A some point a penguin made an appearance, I am not sure if it was from me reading too much Bloom County, or an allegory to me in a tuxedo. Either way it didn't really advance the "plot" of the dream, and I discounted it then, as I do now. These meanderings of penguins and strangers things did consume some dream time, time I could have spent trying to figure out who in the actual fuck I was marrying, but I don't get to control the dream. The dream controls you, and you are merely watching your life unfold in front of you, like watching a three penny opera on the silver screen from the cheap seats in the back. Enjoy the show, maybe snag a bag of popcorn, and hope for a happy ending.
Since everyone in the world that I had ever met was at the wedding it was only a matter of time before I spotted them. Ladislaw and Not Allison together, arm in arm, and dressed to the nines. Ladislaw with a knowing smirk, and Not Allison looking ever so slightly disappointed in me. I knew the reason for the smirk, the disappointment was more of a mystery. Ladislaw, as usual, was quicker off the mark, and bid me a hearty hello, and well met with a broad wink, and a jovial punch to the shoulder. "Well, done GI, judging by the coin spent on this funeral, it seems you are quite the catch after all". "If we" and here Ladislaw put an arm around Not Allison's shoulder, "had known that, maybe we would have had a bit more fun in the time you allowed us, right sweetie"? Not Allison, not exactly amused by Ladislaw's comment only offered a small, trying to be polite smile, and stated "well, I hope J____ makes you happy, or at least as happy as a miserable sod such as yourself can be". That last bit stung a bit, I really didn't think Not Allison had that kind of venom in her, must be hanging out with Ladislaw too much I figured, "Oh, I suspect that if she doesn't, I will still find a way to be happy regardless." Not the most stellar of endorsements regarding my bride, but in my defense, I was having real trouble recalling anything about her looks, her personality, or her ability to make me, or anyone else, happy.
The hour of death for my (second) bachelorhood was quickly approaching, and I didn't think that I was quite ready to say goodbye to it, but time waits for no man, and it certainly seems to pass quicker when something dreadful may be approaching. Not Allison had wandered off, but Ladislaw remained by my side like a priest waiting for a prisoner's final confession. One of Ladislaw's more decent qualities is the ability to exude calmness, even if the world is falling to shit around them, Ladislaw will appear to be as unconcerned as someone on a Sunday stroll in the park. It was a gift, and at this juncture it was one that I wish they could share with me. However, I was not to be so lucky, and as the odd noise that seemed to be the death knell of my singleness begin to sound, I was stuck by that oddness. Shouldn't it be music of some variety, or maybe bells? The noise that the wedding of my century seemed to have picked was an odd clunk followed by a beep, beep, beep. That's when I noticed two things, a very fleeting glimpse of J____ my bride to be, and the alarm clock that was making the beeping noise that jolted me awake just in the nick of time. Perhaps it had anticipated the "does anyone have any objection to these two people be married" question, thus saving Ladislaw, and perhaps Not Allison the trouble.