A special thanks to our photographer extraordinare Mike Sargent (www.videotronics.org), the musical stylings or DJ Stephen “Euro” Wexler, an electric peformance Deatra Gilmore and the always never-to-underestimated Stephanie Seguin who got to throw the switch that starts the rest of our lives.

And we can’t say enough about the hotel liason Mike (and I apologize for not knowing his last name), his excellently professional staff and Jeanne Durand who managed to give Natalie everything she wanted (and a few things she didn’t know she wanted), which according to her friends and family, is a feat previously accomplishable only by me.  Jeanne, you are in a very small club.   I am sure there are several other people I am forgetting or not even aware of their participation but know it’s appreciated.

We apologize we couldn’t spend more time with each and every one of you.  From the bottom of our hearts we wished we could have had all our friends there but  we were blessed with more friends than space.  These things happen.

Something we did instead of putting disposable cameras on the tables in an era of the digital camera and cell phones, was open a Flickr account, gave all our guests access and asked them to upload their own photos from the evening.  The hotel, the ceremony, the cocktail reception, the reception, the nightcaps, the after-party Natalie and I were unable to attend because we were “busy” and whatever else you did this weekend.

So if you want to see what you may have missed, here is the link:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/natalieandjim/

Images are being uploaded by dozens of different people so I apologize for they not being in order.  Keep checking back because pics will keep getting posted so you may want to bookmark that link (CTRL + D).  If you are uploaded images, Put your name in the description or tag so we know where they came from.  In the upper right there is a slideshow feature so just sit back and enjoy the show.

As for us, we leave at noon for our Caribbean cruise and I’ll be drinking margaritas by the sea, mamasita. See you in a week.

We were there for the karaoke.

Come to find out Debbie is quite the karaoke junkie. Everybody knew her by name and she requested her Whitney Houston songs by numbers, not by titles. This is what regulars do. This is what professionals do.

From the classic lessons of Carmine Coppola, if you’re going to steal, steal from the best.

This is why on Friday, April 17 we will begin our weekend festivities at Colonial Lanes with a karaoke night.

Now I know what you’re thinking:

Jim, we’re already coming to your wedding, a testament that we like you and/or Natalie. Is it really necessary to subject ourselves to the two of you singing “Islands In The Stream?”

In a word: “Yes.” I want to see you people there. There is a bar which means there will be liquor and a karaoke machine which means there will be Journey songs and people living out their Steve Perry fantasies. It’s a dangerous mix that only gets better and better until someone is on a stage six mojitos in singing “You Oughta Know” with a little more bitter than necessary because when the lights kicked in and the chorus came up, someone touched a nerve.

Now you’re thinking:

This guy wants me to fly in a day earlier for karaoke?

No. That would be stupid. I am asking you to fly in a day early for bowling alley karaoke.

Yes. This karaoke is held in the bar of a bowling alley. Bowling. Drinks. Karaoke. If you’re lucky you’ll run into this guy.

And Natalie likes to perform Starship’s “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” or as she calls it, “The Mannequin Song.” You’ve been warned.

Colonial Lanes
400 North Primrose Drive
Orlando FL 32803

http://www.coloniallanes.net/

And for my younger readers, MTV stands for Music (not Miscellaneous) Television and they used to play short films set to songs.  These were called videos.  This was before the twelve hour Date My Mom marathons and Flavor Of Love… oh yeah, Flavor Flav was once in a band.

On occasion Natalie will try to explain things to me like who John Mayer is and I have to quickly correct her that I know exactly who he is.  Of course this is because he was on an episode of Chappelle’s Show… not because I can name any of his songs.  Likewise, in the car, one of us will be driving while the other is performing their wingman duties which are 1) looking out for cops, 2) distributing sandwiches, drinks and other food items and most importantly 3) acting as DJ.  There used to be a four which was reading maps but my Garmin Knight Industries Two Thousand does that more accurately than Natalie ever could. 

Another American job replaced by a robot.

The DJ duties are carried out by my Microsoft Zune opposed to Natalie’s iPod not because I like my stuff better but because I bought her the sleek 8gb iPod Nano and I bought myself the 30gb Zune Cinder Block giving us more options.  It’s the difference between a Miata and a Humvee.  I hear Microsoft uses the returned defective Zunes to fix the levees in New Orleans.

She’ll scroll through the titles complaining she doesn’t know any of the artists and I insist she does.

NATALIE: Who are The Cars?

JIM: You know The Cars.

NATALIE:  No I don’t.

JIM: Yes you do.  They’re good.  Put The Cars on.  Track one.

RIK OCASEK (LEAD SINGER FROM THE CARS):  I don’t mind you coming here… and wasting all my time.

NATALIE:  I don’t know this.

RIK OCASEK (LEAD SINGER FROM THE CARS): But when you’re standing oh so near… I kinda lose my mind.

NATALIE: Can I find something else?

Chorus starts.

RIK OCASEK (LEAD SINGER FROM THE CARS):  You know you’re just what I needed!

A light shines in Natalie’s head.

NATALIE: I KNOW THIS!  This is the Circuit City song!  (Singing) I needed someone like me!

The line is actually, “I needed someone to feed,” and don’t ask me what that means either… I just buy the stuff.  Natalie will also mishear lyrics all the time and will argue hers are better since she fancies herself a more accomplished lyricist than Bernie Taupin or Diane Warren.

NATALIE:  (Singing) Sherry don’t like it… rockin’ the cash bar… rockin’ the cash bar.

Somewhere all the members of The Clash wince in unison.

Much of our relationship moves in these circles.  Modern English’s “I’ll Melt With You” has become synonymous with fast food commercials.  Cheap Trick’s “I Want You To Want Me” is that song from the end of Ten Things I Hate About You.

Conversely, I am the one watching TV wondering why Beyonce has a charm that says “Upgrade” in her mouth and Natalie will point out, that’s a song.

JIM: “Upgrade” is a song?  We’ll that’s just stupid.  She might as well write a song about watching videos on her cell phone.

But it’s Beyonce so she could be singing how to conjugate verbs and I wouldn’t care as long as she bounced when she did it.

So we made our wedding playlist.  I vetoed none of hers.  Driving back from Orlando most of what I wanted never made it past the vetting stages.  It was considered dinner music that nobody could dance to.  That’s fine.  I really didn’t care.  It is her day.

If you were wondering, my day is every day afterwards for the rest of my life.

I get to pick the song we walk into the reception to (and no it will not be the Imperial March from Star Wars… the sheer fact any of you thought of it is reason enough for me not to do it).  I originally wanted Isaac Hayes’ “Theme From Shaft” but she put a bullet in that idea saying something about how she didn’t want the words, “…who’s a sex machine with all the chics?” said at her wedding.

Sorry baby, whether Isaac Hayes says it or not, somebody is bound to say it… and I’m just talkin’ ’bout Shaft.

So here is the point to all this: We’re taking requests.  Ground rules.  There will be no Chicken Dancing so don’t even try it.  There will be the Electric Slide, so no need to worry.  Apparently from what I understand, Natalie’s family carries a CD with the Electric Slide on it in the event a wedding breaks out.  I have vetoed anything with the words “Soulja” and “Boy” in the same title.  If anyone Supermans anything it’ll be done by two consenting adults in private.  Leave a comment of something you would like played and most importantly, leave your name.  If you somehow stumbled across this blog and neither of us have ever met you and you want us to play Ozzy Osbourne’s “Crazy Train” you can stop right now.

Even I have limits.

…or Reason #219 I have to marry this girl.

As always, colored text are hyperlinks.

So Natalie and I are winding down Sunday and she tells me she’s been thinking about Groom’s Cakes and this would be a good idea.

JIM: What’s a Groom’s Cake?

NATALIE: It’s a cake for the Groom.

I gathered that.  She says this with a sense of pride expecting me to be excited.

JIM: I mean, what’s it for?

NATALIE: So you have your own cake.  You’ve never heard of a Groom’s Cake?

No.  I must have missed that issue of American Groom Monthly that I get OH YEAH THEY DON’T MAKE WEDDING MAGAZINE’S FOR DUDES.

JIM: Are you getting your own cake?

That previous sentence goes back to my upbringing where my father taught us if you don’t see anyone else doing it; you probably should be, either.

I am reminded of an incident when my good friend of twenty years and upcoming groomsman, Dusty Rhodes, was having a house built and insisted he have his own room (this was before Man Cave was a commonly used expression on HGTV).  He learned a quick lesson when you move in with a woman that everything you owned pre-them is childish and stupid.  Your comic books.  Your action figures.  Your recliner that you found on the corner on Trash Tuesday that matches nothing in your house.

JENNIFER: Am I getting my own room?”

DUSTY: No.  You’re getting the rest of the house.

He never did get that room and last time I was over he wanted to show me something on his PC.  His PC was in the garage on a workbench next to power drills and fertilizer.  He sat on a small barstool and played videogames and listened to music in the Florida summer.  At least his he was allowed to hang his Evil Dead poster there.

NATALIE: Yes, you can have wedding cake but this cake is for you to do what you want to.

JIM: What would I want to do with a cake?

NATALIE: I don’t know.  Maybe get a cake shaped in a Superman ‘S.’

JIM: (Appalled) Well, that’s just stupid.

For a second I wonder if she thinks I am ten.

NATALIE: I bet we can have someone make a cake shaped like an Xbox.

This is where I stop her.  Have you ever seen those country dudes that get married and they have the shoestring bolo ties and their cowboy boots and hats on.  I always think, seriously, it’s just one day.  I know you wear that stuff all year round but you think you can just set it aside for one day and put the tux and a pair of shoes on?  I’m not James Bond.  I don’t wear a tux and fancy shoes every day.  We’re all making sacrifices here.

There is a part of this that feels like when a mom gives their kid something to do that makes them feel important.  Natalie tells me stories of her parents letting her order Shirley Temples and how adult it made her feel.  My father used to ask me to grab the end of the couch when he rearranged the furniture and I felt like I was helping but in reality, I was six.

That’s what this cake is.  Natalie trying to involve in me a process I have little involvement with.  Not that I have been pushed out of the process like my brother was when the sentence, “we’re spending how much on flowers?” came out.   More because she knows what she wants.  Often she’ll ask me what I think and then throw another option up and seldom have I disagreed.  The colors are black and white… the colors are red and white… unless you expect me to ask my fellas to wear a pastel, we’re fine either way.  There are about three things I have asked to have happen at this wedding… outside of that, my goal is to make sure she gets what she wants.

She doesn’t want a Superman cake.  She might not care, but I do.  I know there are some women who probably go through their fiancé’s guest list with a red Sharpie and an “I don’t want to see any of his dumb friends on my big day” attitude.

Not Natalie.  Natalie offered me a cake.

So it took three months but there it is.  See, Natalie, you only have to ask for three months and then I’ll get around to it.

I got this husband thing down.

Funny story.  I haven’t been given many tasks in the preparation of the wedding.  It’s not for lack of offering.  My few jobs have been to secure a DJ (check), pick groomsmen (check) and make sure I arrive on the day with my props (ring), hit my mark and not say anything too stupid.  In the words of Humphrey Bogart, “the key to good acting is to remember your lines and don’t trip over the furniture.”

One of my tasks was the Save The Dates.  I barely know what this is.  I would get these in the mail and think, “is this the invite?”  Apparently not.  This is the pre-invite that tells people there will be a wedding, they’re invited and mark that date on their calendars.  I would think an invitation would do the same thing but there are all kinds of Emily Post rules as to how early you can send an actual Invitation.

So because we live in America in the twenty-first century Natalie tells me we’re doing Evites, online invitations.  I think I got one of these once.  My invitations to social gatherings usually come in the form of cell phone voicemails as follows:

Hey Jim.  What are you doing tonight?  We’re barbequing at seven.  Bring a two-liter of Sunkist and a bag of Tostitos.  Real Tostitos… not that cheap crap you buy at the Wal-Mart.

I was told to complete my task by the end of September.  Every few days Natalie would ask me what I was doing that night which really meant, “Are you doing the Evites?”  I would respond with my usual excuses:

“No baby, tonight is Rainbow Six Xbox night with Yuri and Tony.  These terrorists won’t kill themselves.”

“Right now?  I’m watching King Of Queens and it’s the one where Doug does something stupid and Carrie is mean to him and calls him fat.”

“Tonight is my day serving soup at the homeless shelter.”

Okay.  That last one never happened but the point is I am a busy, busy person.  So in true procrastinating form I decided I would do this on September 30 and beat my assigned deadline.  It barely worked in high school and I don’t mess with a mediocre thing.

Instead I slept on the couch watching a documentary on the history of Iron Man from the DVD I bought that afternoon.  Natalie, meanwhile, was upstairs calling undecided voters reminding them to vote, “changing the world” as she calls it.  I intended to get up at 7:50p and be in full swing by the time she came downstairs tricking her into thinking I’d been working on it for the past hour.

That didn’t happen.

Instead she came downstairs and found me on the couch watching in-depth analysis of the Tony Stark/Iron Man character.  Busted.  I drag myself up and go to the kitchen table and start building this Evite.  The site is fairly clumsy and boasts features that don’t work.  I picture grooms like me nationwide knowing this will never work and they should have done it months earlier instead of watching that Ultimate Fighter marathon on Spike last weekend.  I hope this not getting done on time isn’t the nuclear bomb that turns Brides into Bridezillas and me into downtown Tokyo.  I get through the thing and it asks to import your contacts from the Outlook csv file.  I do this.  It doesn’t.  I do it again.  It stares at me like I owe it money.  I do it six more times and I start getting furious.  It’s 8:30p.  Finally I just start adding the emails in by hand… all seventy one of them.  It takes me close to an hour.  All my guests had emails except for my mom who doesn’t have a computer and her only use for the internet is retrieving lottery results and finding Paula Deen recipes she can improve on.

 I call Nat over to verify and she loves it and fails to contain her excitement.  I push the Send button.

Nothing.  Maybe I have to select my contacts?  I do.  Send again.

Natalie rushes to her laptop to verify and on the email are the words:

NATALIE & MATT ARE GETTING MARRIED.

Who the hell is Matt and what’s he doing marrying my girl?

I go back to the website and start going through my options and somewhere in the initial setup I find some obscure place where it asks for the Bride’s name (Natalie Maxwell) and in Groom’s name and it says Matt Damon.

Uh-oh.

A few months ago when I was given this assignment I was fooling around with the website and I entered in Matt Damon, Natalie’s fictional boyfriend, as a joke.  Three months later I just emailed that joke to seventy-one guests.

This is where my father would tell me I play too much.

Natalie finds this hysterical.  I do not.  I am furious.  I have her call her mother and to check if she got it.  She hasn’t.  We call a few more people.  They don’t have it either.  We conclude you have to select the people it gets sent to.  I only selected Natalie.

I go back in, this time, under pressure.  I do my best work that way.  I figure there has got to be an easier way to do this and it gives the option to import contacts from an online account.  I open a Google Gmail account, import my contacts there, then import them into the silly site.  It takes me less than five minutes this time.

Minutes later we start getting responses.   I thought I was the only one was checking my email at 11:00p.

So when you get yours, know that a lot of work went into that and Matt Damon can keep his distance.

And man it feels good.

There is a certain amount of “is this real” to the last year.  It happens quick.  One minute I am playing Xbox, eating Chinese take-out for breakfast and watching The Getaway with Steve McQueen and one year later I am selling of twenty-five years of comic books to make room for Natalie (and her twenty-five years of teddy bears), buying organic bananas and watching HGTV shows about people who don’t realize their city taxes pay for curbside trash pickup.  I didn’t even know I had HGTV.

And I am a better man for it.

Not that this is a one-way street.  I’ve corrupted Natalie with the modern conveniences of Tivo, streaming music, iPods, Bluetooth headsets and the complete idiocy that is My Name Is Earl.

I learned a few years ago the part of my life I wanted to get started was coming at me very fast.  I would soon be entering the part where I wished it would slow down.  Neither of us are the same people we were one year ago and if you asked us where we would be then, it would probably be anywhere but here.

But it sure is nice to be here.  Good work if you can get it.

So this is the blog.   I am not sure what it’s here for (unlike my personal blog which is for me to just hear myself talk).  I suppose we’ll have information about the wedding.  Stuff that happens.  Like our own little reality show where nobody gets voted off and no seventies sitcom has-beens to judge us.  There will only be one alliance made and hopefully crying will be kept to a minimum.

Nat knows how much I hate unnecessary crying.