Now I can always come back to my blog if I forget my anniversary. Some people have memories, and some have the internet.

I got married to Sara a few weeks ago in St Croix. We had 48 of our closest friends and family there with us (don’t have a wedding anywhere far away and exotic and use the logic that it will be a small simple wedding because no one will want to use the vacation time and cash it takes to show up. They will.) I do have to say, however, that I had the best ten days of my life on that trip. And it was due almost entirely to the fact that those people were there. So here’s how it went…if this doesn’t bore you to death, I’ll send you a link to the 2000 or so pictures we had taken while we were there and you can thumb through those.

We left on Wednesday the sixth, and we had about 30 of the 48 expected guests on the same airplane departing at 9 am. Said airplane’s flight crew was not warned of the load of functioning alcoholics that would be traveling that day, and they were out of beer by the time the wheels left the ground. That was sort of a bummer. And by “bummer” I mean “time to switch to liquor”. 4 hours later we were in St. Croix, and we all went to the hotel and unloaded our bags into our rooms. I was leaping over the balcony to the beach when Sara reminded me that we were getting married in two days and that “the ruined part of my life starts now.”

We had about fourteen tons of crap to do before the actual wedding, so I had to hang up my spiderman swimtrunks, matching fins and crimefighting snorkel so we could go take care of bidness. For the next two and a half days we ran around town picking stuff up, meeting with all of the wedding people, signing papers, and so on. Small price to pay, considering the wedding coordinator and her crew had already done the hard stuff.

Seriously, If I had spent the past year debating the merits of white napkins instead of off-white, I would be living in my old condo by myself right now. Of course, I never would have married someone who would want to have that discussion…

The hardest part was walking along the beach being shown where we’d be standing, who would do what, and so on while my bestest jackass friends were screwing around getting drunk 10 yards away. I’m so good at screwing around and getting drunk…I mean…it’s really my best quality. The wedding was Friday at 5, and I felt a little bit guilty for wanting to get it over with. So whenever I had that feeling, I’d look around me and breathe in the fact that my life was absolutely perfect at that moment. And it was. Almost everybody I cared about in the world was there with us, they were having a good time, and I needed to take it in and savor it like good heroin.

The night before the big day, some friends of ours who live on the island offered to throw a party for everyone, so we all piled into random rental cars and headed up the hill. After we’d been there a while, our friend Chris (formerly known as Jamiroquai if you’ve been reading this blog for a while) said he had something for us. We sat down to a video he had made called “Sara and Dusty – How it all Began”. It was almost 30 minutes long, and he had somehow (without either of our knowledge) gathered hundreds of pictures of us as kids and pictures we have taken together for the past four years. For the next half hour, everyone was glued to the television, alternately laughing, crying, admiring my creamy white thighs in a bikini, and in my case thinking “holy crap this must have taken over 300 hours to put together.

I’m not trying to play favorites or anything, but I don’t think anyone will fault me for saying that that was the most meaningful gift we received.

Most of the day of the wedding was spent anticipating the event. I was out on the beach while she was getting her hair did, and they were setting up the wedding area with chairs and flowers and seashells and pig blood and everything.

I kept looking over at the setup, wondering why I was so nervous. It wasn’t the idea of getting married – I have been at peace with that idea since long before we got engaged. And it definitely was not the group of people who were there – I mean, more than half of them have seen me naked, and the other half probably did in the next few days.

I guess I wish it was more of a “you guys will be over here getting hitched and your friends can watch from the bar if they want to” thing than a “okay at five after the hour you will be here and your bride will be lowered from the heavens on a unicorn and everyone in the world will be staring at you while you forget what to do or say, vomit on your shoes, and finally look out in the crowd and see tears welling up in your proud parents’ eyes and you’ll cry like a little bitch. No, not just choked up, my friend, you will lose control of your diaphragm and be completely unable to speak. Then, if you ever make it to the part where you kiss her, your faces will part to reveal a nice snotcord connecting her upper lip to your nostril. Enjoy.”

Crying for me is a slippery slope. I am an emotional guy when it comes to babies and family and friends and machine guns and ninjas and stuff that matters to me, and this was like all of those things had been diced, pan seared, deglazed with white wine, and reduced until thickened. I knew that if I saw my mom or dad getting all watery around the orbital sockets, I’d be a heap in a matter of seconds.

It may be years before I can look at this picture without getting all sniffly.

…or this one.

Sara and I talked about it for a while and decided that we should practice our vows a few times before the actual wedding so we could just get through it without blubbering.

So for a few days we stood in our condo and got through about two sentences each before we both teared up, and then decided we’d try harder tomorrow. We finally gave up and made a pact that we’d only look at each other during the vows. If you don’t cry, I won’t.

And it worked. I realized something as I squeaked and choked my way through the vows. Right at that moment we were depending on one another to get through something (albeit something quick and painless), and it really was a pretty awesome example of why we are making this commitment. The best statement I ever heard in favor of marriage was that you will never have to face anything alone again.

True.

That boat came sailing across the horizon just as the ceremony started. Nice timing. I thought “What if it catches fire and we have to listen to the faint screams of the crew as it burns and sinks? Would that distract the guests? Better yet, what if another ship comes up and they totally have a big cannon fight and get all plundery on each other. I’d stop the ceremony for that.”

In a short 20 minutes, we were Mr. and Mrs. Dusty Scott. And I was Mr. relieved. Then we went around the resort property and took more pictures. I’m going to go ahead and retract almost everything I said about the photography being too expensive while I’m at it. I still can’t logically fathom why the pictures cost so much when you break it down to time, effort, and materials used, but sweet mother Mary and all of the pixels that fall from her brow did we ever get some good shots. Here are a few -

The heart-shaped opening in the clouds was free of charge, and believe it or not, is not photoshopped. This is the kind of service you get when you have a wedding at The Buccaneer.

Yes. This woman married me. On purpose. I’m at once thrilled and baffled. Thraffled.

The guy on the bottom right is my brother, the last Scott available for marriage and breeding until the next batch comes of age. Contact me for pricing and availability. No dudes, please.

The hottie on the top right is my sister, and she is married to the guy on the bottom left (shown attempting to restrain the raw power of the dance machine we know as Savannah). So please don’t ask me to hook her up with you. You aren’t better than my brother in law at anything. Trust me.

Needless to say, the liver punishment started in earnest when we got to the reception. Little did I know my speech at dinner would be at least as hard to get through as the actual wedding was. For those who were there but couldn’t understand me through the involuntary regression to puberty I seemed to be going through, here’s what I said–

“Those of you who know me well know that I am really only comfortable expressing myself through the majesty of dance, but I’ll do my best here…(polite “get on with it, funny guy” laughter)…and I also wanted to let you know that I was only able to get through that ceremony by picturing you in your underwear (I heard laughter, but I think it was one of those laugh tracks they use on sitcoms. So thanks to DJ Bootz for having my back)…by the way, Chris, you need to start wearing underwear to these things.”

“First, Sara and I can’t thank all of you enough for taking the time and effort it took to come all this way, so if I say it over and over, forgive me, but it means the world to both of us to have you all here. I’ve had a lot of time to think lately, being barely employed and all, but I have been thinking about what it means to be successful, since it obviously has nothing to do with having a job. Looking around me now, I really hope success can be measured by the quality of people you surround yourself with, because I could not imagine having a finer group of people than we have right here.

“And to an even greater extent, I believe that the truest and most undeniable measure of success over the course of a lifetime can only be shown by what your children think of you. So Mom, Dad, Sara’s mom (dunno if she wants her name in this blog), all I can say is ‘well done’. I can’t imagine better parents, and thank you for giving us all something to aspire to.”

And then I sat down because I was having to clear my throat every fifth word. My brother then got up and did his speech, which contained more beatboxing than I expected, but it made water come out of my eyes. The boy can bust a poignant rhythm. He had a speech written down, but ended up talking about standing next to us at the wedding and how much he was touched by the simple sincerity of it all. Sweet toddler Jesus with a ring on a tiny pillow, I am lucky to have the family I have.

Once that was over, I thought I was going to fall asleep with my face in my plate like I did when I was a kid. The stress was gone and I still had a week to party my ass off with all of these great people. And holy spirits, did we ever party.

As the party started in earnest, I realized that if the most important expenditure at a wedding is photography, the second best place to spend money is on booze. I say that as not only a semi-pro drinker, but as a friend and an American patriot. Everyone who felt the urge got lit up like Air France flight 447 (too soon?) and we had to pile the asses in the parking lot as everyone danced them off.

My niece gave lessons in levitation. The force is strong in her.

At the end of the night, the DJ played that song by Rusted Root that (if you are old enough) was played at the end of every party you went to in college. “Send Me On My Way”. By now the dancing had become largely interpretive, and we were looking to my niece and nephew for new dance moves. At one point, someone asked Savannah (my niece) how she came up with such great moves. “I just go crazy.” Was her sage response. My nephew’s exlplanation was “I dunno, just dance and have fun.” So everybody somehow ended up in a big sweaty circle doing this strange kicking thing with the music loud enough to make a fat guy dance, and I looked around and thought,

“This is actually the happiest I have been in my entire life”

So far.