a hipster wedding weekend

If you want to feel old ancient, attend a hipster wedding, preferably in a place like Providence, RI, the woodstock of this ironic trend. For like all progressive fads that flout convention, hipsters flout convention with synchronized conformity- right down to tips of their Bohemian, organic-fed, gentrified toes.  If you espy a disenchanted 20-something with thick-rimmed glasses, a liberal arts degree and 3% body fat, you have probably stumbled upon one of these Kant-reading edgy urbanites.   Generally, they are harmless -as gluten-free, vegans are wont to be - but don't be fooled by their tight jeans and vintage kicks, they kill it on the dance floor- A lesson learned from my first hipster wedding- They've got moves like Jagger.

The weekend had all the makings of a disaster.  Driving over 600 miles in a tiny sedan with your sister, her newborn and your parents with the intention of all shacking up together in 2.5 star hotel room for a blustery New England weekend is only for the cheap of heart.  Really-what is not to love about sharing a double bed with your 23-year old brother, while falling asleep to the sounds of your suckling nephew?! (Par to the T!)

However, what might have destroyed other classier families only deepened our bonds (of secrecy and lunacy). A girl's day shopping tryst in Massachusetts brightened the dismal, sleeting skies. And dinner at Providence's Public Kitchen  afforded my siblings a celebrity meet and greet with our (now) good friend Denver Bronco's owner John Elway- a photo-op faked friendship, that is. Details, details.

Later, our family reunion extended into a karaoke sing-off, where even the beautiful bride and groom (truly, both are physically beautiful) deigned to serenade the Gastro Pub on their wedding eve. A night to remember- especially for my portly nephew Calvin klein who never seemed happier than when flailing along to "Livin' On a Prayer."  The weekend was also my dietary bachelorette- a gluten send-off so to speak- as I wed myself to a menu minus wheat. A love affair sadly ended. So, we consumed "wicked" good, carb-filled breakfasts served with a side of Boston sass and it was all like a happy episode of Parenthood (but we said grace).

Finally, the wedding was lovely and God-honoring and hipster haute.  At the charming Newport reception, I confided to my uncle, "I feel old." To which he graciously replied, "You are old" (crow's feet for the win). And as I fondly watched my mom "salsa" to the DJ's mix of the "Club Can't Handle Me Now" I ceded that you are only as old as you feel.  Which today for me is ancient.  Gluten-junkie withdrawal and a night of pretending moves like Jagger- practically made me a hipster (for like a second) until I spotted the three car-seats in my back seat.