Another Miss to Mrs.

It’s a little thing called priorities. Have food, will eat; photographers be damned.

I had the wonderful opportunity to see one my best friends, Tiffannie Feller, become Tiffannie Popplewell last week in Glenns Ferry, ID. I’ve known Tiffannie since high school, and despite the fact that I left for Washington to attend uni and she later moved to New Mexico, we have still remained good friends. I’ve been to plenty of weddings, but somehow seeing one of your best friends get married is different. It’s something special.

The entire wedding party met for the first time at the rehearsal dinner the night before at the vineyard. After the wedding rehearsal we went down to the cellar for dinner. Talk about a beautiful set up! We walked down the stairs into the cellar to pitch blackness. As we rounded the corner from the landing, there were candles lit to guide our path into the cellar itself, which was dimly lit and we sat amongst all the oak barrels to enjoy a feast of prime rib. After dinner we all went to the cabin where the boys were staying to continue drinking. Around midnight someone had the brilliant idea to go skinny dipping in the river and managed to talk the rest of us into it. Instead of the river we saw these four ponds just down the hill, so we started off toward the ponds. Keep in mind that we were all still dressed up from rehearsal dinner, so the girls all went trekking through tall brush, dead grass, and a minefield of goatheads in our dresses and heels. After hopping one barbed wire fence with only minor injuries acquired we were at the ponds. Lindsay was already shin deep when Jake pointed out the obvious, “Uh, guys….these are shit pools.” as he looked at the concrete walling and biohazard waste signs. Gross. Since the river was apparently not that far away, we continued on past the four waste pools, hop another barbed wire fence, and eventually make it to the river, which Kyle and I deem not good to jump in. After all that work, we had to turn around and go back; mission unsuccessful. However, after checking out the one local bar, we went to a larger portion of the river where we all finally jumped in! It was fun, despite the dead fish that Carly found floating past her at the end. We finished off the night by sneaking into the vineyard’s four person hot tub, piling in about nine of us, seriously depleting the water level, and finally crawling into bed.

Wedding day arrived all too soon and we spend the afternoon running around and getting everything set up. The wedding itself was beautiful, and Tiffannie looked absolutely amazing. After the ceremony we broke into the 3 kegs and started dancing. Normally I hate dancing, but when I get the buzz going I can become a dancing fiend. It’s embarrassing. There is that special level of drunk that isn’t black out but you feel invincible; you suddenly think you literally have the moves like Jagger, your voice would make Whitney Houston beg for lessons, and you are just all around awesome. I hit that level. Well, I still realized that I’m not a great dancer, I just stopped caring. Carly and I ran around and grabbed other people to make them come dance with us, and right as we hit the dance floor the song “Shout” came one. Kyle just looked at me and asked, “I thought you didn’t like dancing?” To which I replied, “I don’t! But I’m drunk! Besides, this song is easy…all you have to do is put your arms up and jump around like an idiot!” And that is exactly what I did. Oh but it didn’t stop there, Carly and I tore up the dance floor like it was our job for hours. Oh well, it was all in good fun and even though I ended up wanting to bury my head in my pillow with shame the next day I got over it pretty quickly. I was consoled by the fact that everyone else was drunk too. The next day Tiffannie and Joe took off for Mexico for their honeymoon and the rest of us had to return to our normal, day to day routine. I have to say it….that might have been the most fun I’ve had at wedding. Congrats to Joe and Tiffannie Popplewell! (It’s still so weird to be saying that…)

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