More Cops, Elvis, & A Disco Cab

Saturday, the wedding. The whole thing had a retro 1950's vibe to it, complete with special guest, Elvis Presley. Yep...the King made a grand entrance and after the first dance it was me, the bride, and Elvis the pelvis, shakin' our thangs to Burnin' Love. Backed up by The Nashville Blue Tones (if you're getting married, and I know you are, you need them), words could never describe how freakin' appropriate it was.

After Elvis left the building, Ciaobella and I (among others) kept our grooves on, stilletos and all, throughout the entire night. It was open bar (an open bar!), rockin' music, scrumptuous food (a potato bar!), and the wackiest people ever. I knew I was going to catch the bouquet, but then Ciaobella busted out her Go Go Gadget arms and my little 5'4" figure didn't stand a chance. So we ran around with peonies for the rest of the night.

Once the reception was over, we (aunts, uncles and cousins) migrated to The Flying Saucer, since it was within stumbling distance. Oddly enough, it was the older representatives of the family who felt the need to bust out the Jagermeister. (Due to a mishap in The Outer Banks in the summer of '03, I will never again touch it.) After we closed that down, we headed back to Union Station Hotel for a hotel room party. At this point everyone was crazy, and I was reminded that the 50+ year olds in the family are still way cool (photo shoots to prove). We made it until about 4a or so and then the hotel kicked the non-guests out, called the cops, then called us cabs.

As we froze our asses off outside waiting, we saw a normal looking, van-style cab pull in. So (running from the cops), the now inebriated serenader, Ciaobella, and myself hopped in. The first thing we noticed was that there were Mardi Gras beads...everywhere. Not to mention the Turkmenistany flag. They were all over the dashboard, hanging from the mirror, and neatly lining the rest of the vehicle. So we're like, okay, the dude likes to party.

Five minutes into the ride the guy reaches down, flips a switch, and says with a middle eastern accent, "Welcome to my disco parrrty cab!!", and starts clapping his hands incessantly. Mind you, there were no hands on the steering wheel. The beads all lit up and started flashing, strobe lights came on that were bolted down all around the vehicle, and some Arabian disco music was blowing our eardrums out. For the next fifteen minutes I thought that I might have dropped acid, and that this really wasn't happening. Turned out that it was, and that I could have done a better job driving home than this guy. A $40 fare and a heart attack later, we made it back not to safe and sound.

*****

Epilogue: Here's a review on our Thursday night fever, er...I mean...Thursday night shindig...or is it, um...the Thursday night soiree. Whateva.