OK, kids, as promised here’s a nice sum-up of the wedding. You’ll just have to wait a little bit longer for the honeymoon (need censor approval first).

The Wedding

Crockett, California, is this dinky little town built by the C&H sugar factory to house their workers way back in the day. It’s current claim to fame is as the eastern point of the newly rebuilt Carquinez bridge. So new is this bridge, in fact, that there was some threat that the grand opening ceremonies would take place during the same weekend as our wedding. In a larger town, this wouldn’t be an issue, but Crockett was expecting a full-bore turnout for the bridge event, which would have meant that our guests would have more than likely have ended up parking in Pinole. Which would have sucked.

But, thanks to the good graces of California’s sketchy political environment, they moved the bridge opening up a week, allowing lame-duck Gov. Grey Davis to preside over it. Thus, the road was completely cleared for the obviously more important event of the wedding of the friggin’ millennium.

Mom blew into town about a week before the big day to help us get our proverbial crap together and hang out with the soon-to-be-weds ahead of the crush. Dani moved out of the apartment we’ve shared for more than three years to live with her parents during the final week. Having heard the tales of couples that barely made it through that final week, we felt that a temporary separation would probably be in the best interest of everyone involved.

Now, everyone has asked me whether Dani, who is prone to her own special brand of irrationality now and then, had morphed into the dreaded Bridezilla. I’m proud to say that, while a few radioactive bubbles rose to the surface now and then, Dani was completely capable of keeping the silk and taffeta tressed reptile beneath the waves. She completely freaked out the Wednesday before, then settled into an eerie calm throughout the remainder of the week.

For my part, I had a brother-in-law induced hangover to keep my mind off the stress, thanks to a night of semi-wild debauchery hosted by Dani’s brother and a couple of his pals that Wednesday (after Dani’s freakout - she was actually glad I was able to get my freak on a bit before the big day). I was spray-painting toilet stalls and filling the gutters of Broadway by 9pm (hey, we started at about 1pm in the afternoon) before sobering up just enough to sufficiently remember a pleasant visit to the always classy Hustler Club in the city. Note to strippers: Belly dancing lessons have a remarkably high return on investment, if my empty wallet is any indication.

Bit by bit more folks trickled in - my cousin Justin and brother Bill both blew in on Thursday just in time for the non-rehearsal dinner (the minister failed to show up, sending ripples of panic through the crowd) as we all moved into the Motel 6 in Pinole, which was far closer to ground zero than my home in Hayward. We did the tux thing Friday afternoon and headed back for yet another little dinner event Friday night.

Saturday was la dia grande. My boyz and my krew (yo) headed out to the hall, the site of the reception, at 8am in order to decorate it to the bride-to-be’s excruciatingly detailed specifications. Upon arriving, we realized that everyone who was currently in town and had some free time had also decided to pitch in. Many hands made light work as we hung tulle and Christmas lights throughout the hall. At some point, we realized that the materials available were not quite enough to meet Dani’s specifications. My solution: “She’s not here, thus she’s forfeited all rights to complain. Just make it pretty and we’ll be fine”. Not that Dani and her ladies in waiting were slacking while the men, fam and friends sweated out the tough work - they were all toiling to look beautiful themselves with visits to the hairdresser and makeup artist.

With me standing at 6′2″ and ol’ Bill towering in at 6′7″, plus the fact that the groom should avoid any serious injuries the day of his wedding, it was an obvious decision as to who should scale the ladder and hang the decorations from the lights dangling 15+ feet in the air. And I quote: “Dude, I’m up on ladders every day. I ain’t climbing up there.” So, while Bill held the ladder, I hung the tulle and tried desperately to forget that I’m acrophobic. I only wavered twice, and we were able to get everything up nice and neat without incident.

Thanks to all of the good folks who helped out, we actually finished an hour earlier than expected. While the folks not in the wedding party held the fort until the caterer could arrive, the groom’s men headed back to the hotel to get gussied up. Once dressed, we headed back to the church, which was only about 100 yards from the hall, and prepared ourselves for the onslaught of well wishers.

There were people there I hadn’t seen in more than a decade. There were folks from every stage of my life - from nursery school on up. And then there were folks I hadn’t even met. They were all from Dani’s side, apparently, so I told the cops they could go ahead and take the cuffs off of them.

The videographer arrived along with the DJ, and the photographer was already setting up the lights. The minister, who thankfully showed up on time and helped run through an abbreviated version of the ceremony before the actual event, was overwhelmed by the paparazzi. Since he refused to be miked for the videographer, the responsibility fell on me. Though the church was small, the DJ also decided to amplify the microphone so that no one in the room would miss a thing. This is important later in the story, so keep it in mind.

As the tiny church rapidly approached its fire marshal-approved seating capacity, whispers that the bride had arrived began running through the audience. My best man (Bill), ever-vigilent, quickly ran into the church and blocked the door to forbid me from grabbing a forbidden glance of my bride. I toyed with the idea of rushing the barricades just to see how serious he was, but I hear a honeymoon in traction isn’t really a lot of fun.

Finally, the time arrived for the groom’s men to assemble for the procession. One by one we filed into the church and onto the stage. About an hour before, I had allowed myself a brief moment of contemplation into the enormity of the proceedings. It almost made me hurl. So I coped with it like I do everything else - ignore it until I’m faced with it, then trust my instincts. Well, apparently, as Danielle walked through the door, a pure and gorgeous vision in white, my instincts were to bawl. Openly. Perhaps bawling is exaggerating, but with the amplification provided by the microphone secreted away in my tux - remember that? - it sounded like sobbing echoing off the walls of the teeny, tiny - did I mention small? - chapel.

We all know what a softy I am. And if we didn’t know that before, it has been well preserved on beautiful high-definition DVD for all of eternity. We got through the initial “I wills”, which were completed by a sigh of relief that thundered through the church, and I choked out my vows as coherently as possible. The bride, ever so compassionate, kept her resolve completely together, only getting slightly misty-eyed here or there.

I’m focusing way too much on the crying only because I felt kind of like a wimp, but the truth is that everyone was touched by my show of emotion and all complimented me on my sensitivity, which showed beyond the shadow of a doubt how deep my love for Dani truly runs. The ceremony was very lovely, with readings that included by favorite poem by Pablo Neruda, “Your Laughter”, and mercifully short. The photographer cornered the family and wedding party for a round of photos after the ceremony (which, by the way, turned out to be AMAZING - I’ll hopefully have a link up here soon) before we all shuffled into the hall, which had been transformed by the caterers from mildly attractive to stunning gorgeous. The rest of the evening is really just a series of moments to me, so here are the highlights:

• The first dance to Etta’s “At Last”.
• Spending time with Kameron, Keri, Sandy and Wally Goerlitz, all of whom I grew up with and none of whom I had seen in more than 10 years (time has been VERY kind to that family).
• My high school buddies - in particular Bobby Knowlton - tearing up the dance floor. Yeah, you really need to see the pictures.
• My *father* cutting a serious rug with my *bride*, blowing everyone away, while I finally found a song that I could drag my poor mother out on the dance floor for. (American Pie)
• Tablecloth fires.
• My partially passed-out bride lying spread-eagle on the stage at the end of the evening.

The food was fantastic, the drinks flowed freely, the friends and family were beyond beyond wonderful… There is nothing - NOTHING - in the world like being surrounded by everyone you love and hold dear, everyone who serves a vital purpose toward your happiness. It was the most amazing feeling. My face still hurts from smiling. I’m just glad I didn’t have to wait for my death bed to experience it.

At the end of the evening, my mother spirited Dani and I away off to the Hotel Mac in Point Richmond for an evening of newly wedded bliss and a much-needed bath. The next morning, we got all of our new gifts from Dani’s parents’ house and headed back to Hayward, where we rapidly packed and prepared for sunny Mexico!

The tales of which I’ll have to share with you another time. I’ll try to get the pictures from our trip up tonight or tomorrow and do the write-up to go with it. Stay tuned!