Sidejob: Wedding in LA
Nov. 29th, 2007 11:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
danalwynSo I've been invited to a wedding in Los Angeles next weekend.
I don't normally go to weddings, seeing as how they're depressing, given that the chances of me actually getting to attend one in a position of honor is extraordinarily small. However, I'm having some problems skipping out of this one.
I know both families peripherally, the Stonebridges and the Vaslovs, who are being joined at this wondrous occasion, mostly from work issues. The bride's family, the Stonebridges, came to America so long ago that they've forgotten their roots, they have more than a little American Indian in them, and have taken well to California, with all its opportunities for outdoor adventure, several of them having become either park rangers, outdoor sports coaches, or wilderness guides. The Vaslovs are more recent, possibly from Eastern Europe, although they tend to be vague about where they came from (and given their lack of family history, when they made up that name), a very old family we are assured, who tend to be involved in one of those jobs where a great deal of money changes hands, mostly from people with suits to people in suits, somehow leaving a great deal of it behind during the process. The Stonebridges tend to be easily excited, impulsive, extremely disinclined to buy real silverware, and possessed of a tendency to have to spend a lot of time cleaning up their house, patching their clothes, and wiping up the blood, on days after the full moon. The Vaslovs are cultured, in a chin-raising, nostril-pointing manner that can be considered snobbish, cold, avoid restaurants and cooking styles that involve large amounts of garlic, can't walk across running water (of which there is very little in LA. They can drive across it for some reason), never go to church, are very sensitive to sunlight, and harbor a deep-seated fear of sharp wooden objects.
And they absolutely, totally, and completely loathe each other.
Nobody knows why they hate each other. Perhaps it relates to some primal memory of times long past, when an eastern European village could support perhaps a vampire or a werewolf, but lacked the population necessary to support both. Perhaps it is simply a recognition that they are rivals, and close to equals. Perhaps it's because, in the early 1970s after Abner Stonebridge ran over Ivan Vaslov's mailbox, Ivan put a collar on him and dragged him around the block by a leash. I don't know where it started. All I know is that there are many places that will be safer than this wedding, and some of them are in war zones.
Normally, keeping the peace at a wedding like this is the problem of the local bureau. Unfortunately, Antony Vaslov, being all of sixteen, discovered the ancient truth that, with just a little nip, he could exert an implacable influence on his victims, reducing them to barely more than mindless drones, about the level of the target audience for Survivor. Being sixteen, he immediately used this to assemble for himself a small harem, and get himself a hot car. This ran unnoticed by the locals (the LA bureau is notoriously overwhelmed) until Halloween, when his partially-undead collection of hangers-on broke free of his control as part of the Great Zombie Uprising of 2007 (which I still don't want to talk about). This was eventually resolved by a spectacular demonstration of MacAlister's Principle ("When all else fails, there is no substitute for a gun with the word 'orbital' in its name"). The Vaslovs, however, claim that nuking their house from orbit constitutes an excessive use of force, and hence the LA people are distinctly not welcome at the wedding.
So I have an engraved invitation, with a handwritten note from Charity reminding me that expected dress includes a stake (for the Vaslovs), a silver dagger (for the Stonebridges), and a shotgun (for general purposes - because, as Alice says, there is no problem that cannot be solved by sufficient application of firepower). I am seriously considering calling in sick that day.
On one hand, I get to see Emma again. I like Emma. For one, despite the fact that she's a blood-sucking fiend who feeds on the veins of the living, she's not very good about it. Perhaps it's her general frailty. I once put her out like a light by the expedient of eating a Polish sausage at Costco, and then breathing on her. Perhaps it's the way that she faints at the sight of blood. Either way she's the black sheep of the family, departing the shady, financially-oriented, illuminati-like jobs the rest of her family holds and becoming an Electrical Engineer (they never get exposed to daylight anyway). She's only tolerated by the rest of her family because she gets them good deals on big screen TVs. Emma, whose idea of a good time is flopping down on her couch and watching anime until her brain rots, is much better as a conversation partner than the rest of her blueblooded relatives, who always seem to be judging you based on how tasty your ancestors were.
On the other hand, there's her great-aunt, the groom's grandmother, Bella Vaslov, who is a heartless bitch. I call her heartless because she is, she lives in Los Angeles, in an old, ivy-shrouded manor that manages to be vaguely sinister despite the fact that it's in the middle of San Marino. Her heart, however, is in a safety deposit box in a bank in Switzerland. Please do not ask how I know this. I call her a bitch not because she is related to the Stonebridges (I do suspect, from her voice, she has a bit of banshee in her, an accusation she would take as a personal affront), but because she has very exacting standards, especially for her offspring. She has had at least eleven daughters, three of whom I know that she's had killed, and two others who have died in mysterious circumstances shortly after offending her. She does not like me, and has not liked me since I accidentally ran over her petunia beds while chasing after a mutant dwarf who had hijacked a school bus (no, I don't want to talk about that either), and is quite free at telling me that. She's also has no remaining sense of smell, so the garlic bread trick doesn't work anymore.
And both of the Stonebridge "wild uncles" will be there, David and Sam Stonebridge, who have, years ago, thrown off the fetters of civilization to live amidst the gap in the wild. Unfortunately, all that time alone in the wilderness seems to have done something funny to them. Sam is an out-and-out conspiracy theorist, one who, when asked to count the number of crows flying overhead, will tell you that there are three birds and nine black helicopters. He lives secluded, in backcountry Oregon, in a log cabin complete with more firepower than a fireworks factory, and constantly rants about a great liberal conspiracy to take away his whiskey, his guns, and his American Idol reruns, and who tells everyone the only way they can be safe is if they never go outside without a huge collection of firearms near at hand in case you get hit by the evil government stormtroopers. David somewhere turned into a thriving hippie, a long-haired, bearded, nature-loving, wild vegetable farming health nut, who continually meditates in order to become one with nature, bathes in mountain streams, and is all for the limiting of gun ownership, especially in the hands of those who take potshots at large, wolf-shaped objects moving in the dark. Last time I stood in the same room with the two of them, I ended up having to get my left arm re-attached.
And the fighting is already beginning. Already the bride's family and the groom's family are arguing over the menu at the reception. In LA, a city where ethnic diversity is best expressed as a function of how much garlic a dish involves, this can be quite an issue. The Vaslovs have even suggested a nice, clean vegetarian menu, which has met with universal rejection by the Stonebridges (except for David). They're fighting over the ring. They're fighting over whether the bridesmaids are allowed to carry weapons. They're already fighting over who is who's daddy.
All of which is of no import to the bride and groom, who have already eloped to Hawaii. Quite frankly, I think the fact that they are intelligent enough to have skipped their own wedding bodes well for their marriage. I wish I could do the same.
I don't normally go to weddings, seeing as how they're depressing, given that the chances of me actually getting to attend one in a position of honor is extraordinarily small. However, I'm having some problems skipping out of this one.
I know both families peripherally, the Stonebridges and the Vaslovs, who are being joined at this wondrous occasion, mostly from work issues. The bride's family, the Stonebridges, came to America so long ago that they've forgotten their roots, they have more than a little American Indian in them, and have taken well to California, with all its opportunities for outdoor adventure, several of them having become either park rangers, outdoor sports coaches, or wilderness guides. The Vaslovs are more recent, possibly from Eastern Europe, although they tend to be vague about where they came from (and given their lack of family history, when they made up that name), a very old family we are assured, who tend to be involved in one of those jobs where a great deal of money changes hands, mostly from people with suits to people in suits, somehow leaving a great deal of it behind during the process. The Stonebridges tend to be easily excited, impulsive, extremely disinclined to buy real silverware, and possessed of a tendency to have to spend a lot of time cleaning up their house, patching their clothes, and wiping up the blood, on days after the full moon. The Vaslovs are cultured, in a chin-raising, nostril-pointing manner that can be considered snobbish, cold, avoid restaurants and cooking styles that involve large amounts of garlic, can't walk across running water (of which there is very little in LA. They can drive across it for some reason), never go to church, are very sensitive to sunlight, and harbor a deep-seated fear of sharp wooden objects.
And they absolutely, totally, and completely loathe each other.
Nobody knows why they hate each other. Perhaps it relates to some primal memory of times long past, when an eastern European village could support perhaps a vampire or a werewolf, but lacked the population necessary to support both. Perhaps it is simply a recognition that they are rivals, and close to equals. Perhaps it's because, in the early 1970s after Abner Stonebridge ran over Ivan Vaslov's mailbox, Ivan put a collar on him and dragged him around the block by a leash. I don't know where it started. All I know is that there are many places that will be safer than this wedding, and some of them are in war zones.
Normally, keeping the peace at a wedding like this is the problem of the local bureau. Unfortunately, Antony Vaslov, being all of sixteen, discovered the ancient truth that, with just a little nip, he could exert an implacable influence on his victims, reducing them to barely more than mindless drones, about the level of the target audience for Survivor. Being sixteen, he immediately used this to assemble for himself a small harem, and get himself a hot car. This ran unnoticed by the locals (the LA bureau is notoriously overwhelmed) until Halloween, when his partially-undead collection of hangers-on broke free of his control as part of the Great Zombie Uprising of 2007 (which I still don't want to talk about). This was eventually resolved by a spectacular demonstration of MacAlister's Principle ("When all else fails, there is no substitute for a gun with the word 'orbital' in its name"). The Vaslovs, however, claim that nuking their house from orbit constitutes an excessive use of force, and hence the LA people are distinctly not welcome at the wedding.
So I have an engraved invitation, with a handwritten note from Charity reminding me that expected dress includes a stake (for the Vaslovs), a silver dagger (for the Stonebridges), and a shotgun (for general purposes - because, as Alice says, there is no problem that cannot be solved by sufficient application of firepower). I am seriously considering calling in sick that day.
On one hand, I get to see Emma again. I like Emma. For one, despite the fact that she's a blood-sucking fiend who feeds on the veins of the living, she's not very good about it. Perhaps it's her general frailty. I once put her out like a light by the expedient of eating a Polish sausage at Costco, and then breathing on her. Perhaps it's the way that she faints at the sight of blood. Either way she's the black sheep of the family, departing the shady, financially-oriented, illuminati-like jobs the rest of her family holds and becoming an Electrical Engineer (they never get exposed to daylight anyway). She's only tolerated by the rest of her family because she gets them good deals on big screen TVs. Emma, whose idea of a good time is flopping down on her couch and watching anime until her brain rots, is much better as a conversation partner than the rest of her blueblooded relatives, who always seem to be judging you based on how tasty your ancestors were.
On the other hand, there's her great-aunt, the groom's grandmother, Bella Vaslov, who is a heartless bitch. I call her heartless because she is, she lives in Los Angeles, in an old, ivy-shrouded manor that manages to be vaguely sinister despite the fact that it's in the middle of San Marino. Her heart, however, is in a safety deposit box in a bank in Switzerland. Please do not ask how I know this. I call her a bitch not because she is related to the Stonebridges (I do suspect, from her voice, she has a bit of banshee in her, an accusation she would take as a personal affront), but because she has very exacting standards, especially for her offspring. She has had at least eleven daughters, three of whom I know that she's had killed, and two others who have died in mysterious circumstances shortly after offending her. She does not like me, and has not liked me since I accidentally ran over her petunia beds while chasing after a mutant dwarf who had hijacked a school bus (no, I don't want to talk about that either), and is quite free at telling me that. She's also has no remaining sense of smell, so the garlic bread trick doesn't work anymore.
And both of the Stonebridge "wild uncles" will be there, David and Sam Stonebridge, who have, years ago, thrown off the fetters of civilization to live amidst the gap in the wild. Unfortunately, all that time alone in the wilderness seems to have done something funny to them. Sam is an out-and-out conspiracy theorist, one who, when asked to count the number of crows flying overhead, will tell you that there are three birds and nine black helicopters. He lives secluded, in backcountry Oregon, in a log cabin complete with more firepower than a fireworks factory, and constantly rants about a great liberal conspiracy to take away his whiskey, his guns, and his American Idol reruns, and who tells everyone the only way they can be safe is if they never go outside without a huge collection of firearms near at hand in case you get hit by the evil government stormtroopers. David somewhere turned into a thriving hippie, a long-haired, bearded, nature-loving, wild vegetable farming health nut, who continually meditates in order to become one with nature, bathes in mountain streams, and is all for the limiting of gun ownership, especially in the hands of those who take potshots at large, wolf-shaped objects moving in the dark. Last time I stood in the same room with the two of them, I ended up having to get my left arm re-attached.
And the fighting is already beginning. Already the bride's family and the groom's family are arguing over the menu at the reception. In LA, a city where ethnic diversity is best expressed as a function of how much garlic a dish involves, this can be quite an issue. The Vaslovs have even suggested a nice, clean vegetarian menu, which has met with universal rejection by the Stonebridges (except for David). They're fighting over the ring. They're fighting over whether the bridesmaids are allowed to carry weapons. They're already fighting over who is who's daddy.
All of which is of no import to the bride and groom, who have already eloped to Hawaii. Quite frankly, I think the fact that they are intelligent enough to have skipped their own wedding bodes well for their marriage. I wish I could do the same.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-29 07:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-29 08:54 pm (UTC)The real question, of course, is how much fun you had reading it.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-29 08:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-29 08:53 pm (UTC)I have to write something each day, or else I'll get out of practice.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-30 05:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-30 05:04 pm (UTC)I'm working. Slowly.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-29 09:06 pm (UTC)Seriously, they brighten my day and have an uncanny gift for showing up when I really need brightening. I am only mad jealous that I didn't come up with it first.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-30 05:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-29 09:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-11-30 05:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-06 04:02 pm (UTC)http://www.amazon.com/My-Big-Fat-Supernatural-Wedding/dp/0312343604/
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-06 04:11 pm (UTC)Thanks.