THE BLOG
06/22/2010 04:33 pm ET | Updated May 25, 2011

Always a Bridesmaid... Never a Bride

I thought I would go a little off topic today and take a break from my male bashing ways and wallow in some bitter self-pity. Who's with me?! Nice. Lets do this...

Last Wednesday was my last day at Men's Health. I didn't have to start my new job until Monday of this week, so I had a few days off to just lay low, and it couldn't have come at a better time. I was really looking forward to a long, drunken and insane weekend. Instead, what I got was a weekend filled with wedding bells, couples, and babies. On the bright side though, there was an open bar. My good friend Michelle was getting married on Saturday and asked me to do a reading at the wedding, so I flew back to Maryland, my hometown, to attend the festivities, and with any luck, get a little wedding nookie. However, what I ended up getting was anything but.

Thursday I had arrived late because my plane was delayed, and then traffic was the worst I had seen it in ages! My father and I sat in traffic for two hours, on a drive that should have taken all of 45 minutes. I love my father. I'm a daddy's girl, but I couldn't wait to get out of that car the minute he brought up my blog, because I knew this could only end badly, especially when he mentioned the Like A Virgin entry. Not only does he now think his precious little girl is the next Lindsey Lohan, but he also thinks I'm slightly blasphemous. I didn't correct him, but I feel like the Lindsey Lohan comment was a little harsh, no? I mean, I may be a bit of a drinker, but I have never done a drug in my life... or a woman for that matter.

By the time we finally arrived at my parent's house, I was clawing at the windows to get out of that damn car, and well on my way to needing a stiff drink. I headed inside, dropped my bags on the floor, and walked straight to the liquor cabinet and poured myself a Ketel and soda. I made my dad one as well so that I didn't feel like such a drunk. I was sitting in traffic for so long, I missed the damn rehearsal dinner and instead had dinner with my parents and called it an early night. Too much family time and liquor makes Gena a sleepy girl.

Late Saturday I went to the wedding to help the girls get dressed and find out what I needed to do for my part in the wedding. Everything went smoothly. Michelle was stunning in her strapless mermaid gown, and Aaron was dashing in his suit. I swear to you, if they ever spawn, their children will rival those of the Jolie-Pitt family. It's sickening to someone as anti-marriage as I am. I gave my reading of I Corinthians without bursting into flames on the alter causing everyone to have to evacuate, so things were going well as far as I was concerned, except for the fact that when being seated, the usher asked me if I was alone and then proceeded to sit me in my own row... all by myself. Thanks for singling out the single girl jerk. In my defense, I was trying to be the good friend and not just bring any old Tom, Dick, or Harry to the wedding, because I didn't want her to have to pay for an extra plate just to bring a friend. That's the last time I will ever be that thoughtful.

After the wedding, we arrived at this amazing country club for the reception and I was blown away at how they transformed the room into this cozy, yet lavish scene. I soon came back to reality when I realized I was at a table stuck in between not one, but two sets of newlyweds and my friend Beth, who swore she was going solo to the wedding, but ended up abandoning me for one of the groomsmen. If I had to describe my version of hell, that would be it, except there wouldn't be any alcohol within miles.

The rest of the night I was forced to partake in conversations about wedding dresses, diamonds, honeymoons and wedded bliss, all of which I know nothing about. I was literally about one Journey song short to hooking up an IV drip of Chardonnay,.

After dinner was served and my buzz was at its peak, I took a look around at all of the men and women my age, all happily married, engaged, and/or with child, and came to the realization that if I still lived in that Godforsaken town, I too would be married with a baby on the way. I felt ill and in a moment of bitterness, mixed with relief, I got up from my table, walked straight up to the only guy in the room I thought was there stag and slurred, "Hi. My name is Gena." He laughs and says, "Gena, we met back in high school when you used to date Parker." Shocked, I managed to say, "Sorry, I have the worst memory. I can barely remember what we just ate for dinner, let alone who I met 6 years ago. In any event, nice to re-meet you..." He offered his hand and said, "It's Chris. Nice to meet you too." I then brazenly, and egged on by copious amounts of Chardonnay, said, "Right. Chris. I knew that. Are you alone too?" To which he replies, "Nope, I'm actually here with my beautiful fiancé," as he points to a lovely brunette dancing on the dance floor. That's it. Was I the only single person at this damn wedding? I turned around without even responding, stole a bottle of wine from the bar, and proceeded to take my butt outside on the veranda and sat by myself taking in the view, and drinking the entire bottle of wine by myself.

I was soon joined by a lovely gentleman, who jokingly said, "Can I get you a refill on your bottle?" I laughed and said, "Yes please, but you should probably help me with it, or I might never make it home. Or worse, I might embarrass myself during the chicken dance... if that's even possible." He sat down next to me and we started chatting about the wedding, where I lived, and somehow we got on the topic of religion. Now, for those of you that don't know me, or can't read, I'm clearly not the religious type. My middle name is Faith, because at one point, my parent's couldn't conceive and they would go to church and have people pray for my mother, and then there I was 9 months later. Lucky bastards. Other than my middle name, that's about the extent of my religious attachments. It is never a good idea to debate me on this topic, however, this man thought it was "intriguing" when I started spouting off at the mouth about how I think marriage and religion are ridiculous institutions that are too restrictive and outdated, and usually for people who need something to believe in, blah, blah, blah. We talked for about an hour or so, and then I looked down at my watch and realized it was getting late. I thanked him for being such delightful and refreshing company among the crowd of Stepford Wives, and went on my merrily drunken way to say my goodbyes.

Once inside, I was stopped by my friend's mother who said, "I saw you met John. Such a lovely man, right? He used to be the pastor at our church." Nice, Gena. Nice. If that didn't cement my place in hell, I'm not sure what will. I quickly said my goodbyes to everyone, and ran out of there trying to recite the Hail Mary that I learned during my Catholic Elementary School days.

Lessons learned here: 1) Do not ever go stag to a wedding. I don't care if you're my best friend, you're paying for that extra plate, 2) Cheap wine and liquor do not make for a good morning, 3) Never talk politics, religion, or sex with complete strangers, 4) Always have an exit strategy planned, or a fake engagement ring on your finger so you don't look like the crazy city girl, who is too good for marriage, that they will talk about when you leave in a crazy drunken rush mumbling the Hail Mary, and 5) Remember, 4 out of 5 times you will leave the wedding going, "I shaved my legs for that?"