I'm sitting here in Mexico, doing my best to avoid the violent drug cartels, while at the same time looking for a tourist-friendly drug dealer. But, that is not the primary reason for my visit. I am here because this is the spot that I will now force my friends and family to travel to, just to see me get married, and eat overpriced cake. I feel guilty having a destination wedding, because I know how I feel when I get that invitation in the mail. I go through this exact inner monologue:
1. He's getting married?
2. Whats her last name? I guess I don't know either of them very well.
3. It's in (tropical destination)
4. Cool
5. That's $2,000 easily
6. What good are my frequent flier miles for anyway?
7. Need an excuse.
8. Fuck it, where's my Amex?
It's the original 8 step wedding boogie. Sorry in advance for making my friends dance.
In exactly one year I will be married. This is a daily account of what happens between now and then. The countdown to Groomsday begins...
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