What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 4 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

The big day has arrived. The day that I will share our wedding woes and enlighten you with that experience. Best wishes.

Originally emailed June 23, Seriously Enhanced August 3

Our wedding yesterday was pretty strange. Shahin and I went to get our hair done by the beautician, who got her post because she bought a compact of 50 colors of eyeshadow and thus was the most qualified. She colored my eyebrows red and used theatrical makeup to make me white (i thought i already was but apparently you're supposed to be porcelain white, who knew) and started to put a ponytail on the top of my head when I finally had to intervene. Instead of doing what I asked, she tried to sell me on what she wanted to do, which was something out of Boughaz Weekly. I ended up with a lopsided french twist and some brown-red makeup on top of my porcelain skin, which still looked pretty bad but was 1000 times better than what she first did. And i got my eyebrows shaped by a professional, so they look a little better. Oh, and I got a good shave. Yes, she shaved my face with a straight razor sized for women. She got peach fuzz from my cheeks and held it up for me to look at with a look on her face like "oh, see all this nasty hair coming off your face." that's when I decided my degree of maintenance was just right, and that i would from here on out forgive myself for having hair on my face. As long as it doesn't grow in thicker and coarser than before.

I was ready to get the hell out of there as soon as Shahin got her makeup done, so I suggested we just get dressed at home. We called Ali to have him come get us only to learn that he was on his way with Mack and the photographer. We put on our dresses in about two seconds flat, got all of our crap together, and as I started to put my headscarf on and walk out the door, Shahin said to leave it off. I opened the door to a handsome but annoyed Mack, heard the words ACTION, and received a bouquet of red and white roses. Apparently we didn't do this impromptu exchange very well because we had to redo it a couple of times. I walked to the car, the first time I'd been outside without a headscarf in more than a week, and climbed in... with Shahin, Laila, Mack, Ali, and the photographer all in a compact car in formal wear. Let the sweating begin!
I was positively glowing!

We walked into the courtyard and Mack's aunts immediately started singing something. Because I'd been conditioned over the last 10 days I started clapping to the beat of their song... not recommended. I think the bride is just supposed to be still and smile and dance when the people want her to. So I stopped clapping as they brought out some burning sage and waved it over our heads. We took our seats on the marble deck-turned-stage and watched our DJ and singer set up their enormous speakers. It was going to be entirely too loud up where we were so we relocated our chairs to the courtyard amidst the other chairs. Cherries and bananas and peaches were out on all the tables, and as soon as the DJ started up, the dancing ensued.

It started inside, where I was told to sit so my makeup wouldn't melt, but when I couldn't stand it anymore and went outside, the dancing followed. I asked Mack's dad, Tom, if I could have a cigarette... not because I wanted the nicotine but because I wanted the habit that doubles as an excuse to get away for a minute. He laughed, whether it was at my desperation or my dramatic eyeliner, I have no idea. My legitimate smile was morphing into the God-I-Love-Jesus-So-Much-I-Could-Explode one that I see on preacher shows... a little coma stained with numbing mind control. I hope I looked delightful, but I doubt I was fooling anyone. Mack was trying to pull off the same look that I was, and I could see how badly he was executing it, so I can only assume I was just as transparent. Luckily, it got dark pretty quickly and lots of people started showing up.

I got a bouquet of flowers from one of Shahin's relatives and a ring from another. People just kept coming and coming, all of them shaking my hand and saying things I completely didn't understand. I just said, "Salaam" and "Merci" whenever it felt right. Some of the women were really beautiful with hair that went past their butts when they took off their scarves, and the men were all over the place. Young, old, ancient, babies.

Everyone danced. And danced. And made us dance. And we are not dancers. I wish I could upload video because there are some dance moves on there from Jaffar that are youtube worthy. They also do this fantastic shoulder shake thing that basically vibrates their shoulders without moving their chests. I tried it and my boobs were flopping like a stripper on The Sopranos, so I decided just to stick with the wavy arm move. And to try to dance as little as possible. At one point, we had a belly dancer girl who was about 14 with quite a tank butt but a good dancer perform for all of us. She was wearing a white mini skirt, a shirt that accentuated her pointy bra boobs and some white thigh highs that peeped out from under her skirt on certain movements. I was proud of her outfit, but after a few dances she was asked to put on some pants. That kind of made me mad, but she didn't seem to bothered by it. An Iranian tradition is for the groom's family to give money to all the people dancing, so when Shahin walked out with a wad of tomen, people got out of their seats and started shaking even more. I'd earned enough gold this trip, so I didn't dance for dollars.

At one point we had to do our first dance together as a couple. We took dance lessons at one point a few years ago and learned the waltz and the box step and the swing and the foxtrot. The music came on, Mack started doing a box step that was robotic even by my standards, and our attempts to loosen up and have a good time failed. I kept telling Shahin if she could get us a few beers we'd dance our heads off, but alas. While we were sharing this forcibly intimate, awkward moment, Mack mentioned that the song sounded really familiar. It did. I got visions of shootouts in a restaurant setting. Where had we heard this? Then he said, "It's the song from the Godfather!" How appropriate.

We knew dinner was on the itinerary, but we'd already been fed fruit and cookies and ice cream, so we were thinking maybe the itinerary had changed. Not quite. We were herded into the neighbors' courtyard where tables had been set up with soda and lamb kababs and rice and salad, and we all stood around the tables and pigged out. It was pretty good food, but it was quite a challenge to shovel rice into my mouth from 2 feet away. I filled up pretty quickly, snuck back over to our courtyard, and snuck into the bathroom to pee one last time while no one was around.

The music, which rubbed my tolerance for techno completely raw, resumed, and I danced one final time for the remaining guests. It was so funny. I can't dance the way they do, so when I stood up, I just did my typical arms-in-the-air, I-can't-care-what-you-think-this-is-how-my-body-moves dance. Then everyone else started trying to do my dance. They all tried to imitate my move and I thought, "Dear God, don't let them think I'm a dancer to be copied."

About 11:30, that would be four and a half hours after our nuptial soiree began, we snuck into our bedroom and hid behind the door so no one would see us. I practiced the shoulder shake, realized it would just be one more dance move I'll never absorb, laid down on the floor behind the door, and fell asleep. About 30 minutes later, Shahin woke me up, told me to wash my face, which was one of the most painful things I've done, and the day came to an end.

It wasn't at all the wedding I would have made for myself, but it was really wonderful to be able to get Mack's entire family together and to celebrate our relationship with them.
Shahin, Me, Bobba Bezorg (Shahin's dad)
Me and Momma Bezorg (Shahin's mom and the hardest working woman I've ever met in my life)