First off, let it be known that Russians know how to throw a wedding.
Second off, let it be known that, when dancing is involved (and not just drinking), I can party with the best of them.
(Third off, let it be known that, when partying just involves drinking, even the minor league parties look at me like, "Pssh. Rookie.")
You know a wedding that has a cocktail hour before the ceremony (and the ceremony isn't until 8 that evening) is going to be something stellar. And it was. I couldn't help but marvel at just how doey-eyed my friend's now-husband was when looking at her. I always love going to weddings and watching that interaction between bride and groom and just knowing that they're a good match for each other.
Since the wedding (well, cocktail hour) wasn't until 6:30, we spent the day at Jones Beach on the southern edge of Long Island, which was absolutely stunning and could almost rival the beaches in Florida (almost). I apparently had hit my sunscreen quota for the week, which resulted in a haphazard application, which resulted in a nice patch of sunburn along my outer right thigh. But that didn't stop me from busting a dance on the floor for nearly 5 hours (Also -- fourth off -- let it be known that all I need is a group of girls who don't mind dancing like an idiot and I have found new friends).
And after a very busy vacation, it is time to return back to New Hampshire. We plan on driving a little further into Long Island and taking the ferry across to Connecticut (why? Because why not. Because a boat ride sounds more enjoyable than wrestling with New York traffic). I return to my classes tomorrow -- I return to my "yoga homework" and massive editing I'm doing for M#2 tomorrow. It's always a little bittersweet when vacations end, especially vacations that have their foundation in exploration instead of just relaxation. But, hey, a few of my other college friends recently got engaged, so there's always a chance of getting that invite in the mail soon -- and, of course, getting another excuse to travel.
And, finally -- fifth off -- let it be known that I could go to bed in the wee-small hours of the morning and still somehow wake up before 8:30. Motherfucker.