By Jamie Swinnerton
By Mark Antonation
By Lori Midson
By Jonathan Shikes
By Amber Taufen
By Cafe Society
By Juliet Wittman
By Jonathan Shikes
When I booked our wedding festivities in Beaver Creek, I had thought it was the setting for one of the greatest movies of all time, Dumb and Dumber. The morning of our departure, I tore open the Netflix envelope holding said movie, popped it in the DVD player and fast-forwarded to the credits. Alas, it had actually been filmed in Breckenridge. "We are not switching our reservations," my fiancée said. I was miffed: No way was I so immature that I'd plan our nuptials solely on the basis of where a silly movie was made. Besides, the 24-hour cancellation window had already closed.
Though disappointed, I could not let myself get distracted. In Colorado, you can solemnize your own vows -- and we'd opted to do this, with the Mormon Representative to the Institute of Drinking Studies and his wife as witnesses. So I still had to worry about writing, then remembering, my wedding vows. Guys are not good at this stuff. We can't pick up a book or bridal magazine (one of these would give a power lifter a hernia) to get tips without having a friend suddenly materialize and start riffing with, "You know how I know you're gay?..." As a result, without the help of experts, friends or beer, we're very likely to be at the altar or in front of her father's shotgun, saying something like, "Well, do you?" The task was made even more difficult by the fact that I'd expended my monthly allotment of saccharine sweetness by cleaning the toilets without being asked not a week prior to the big day. Luckily, the Mormon Representative calmed me with the observation that this occasion is the one time in your life when you can be a total sappy wuss without fear of comments from the peanut gallery. Of course, your bride may be able to buy a new house with the emotional collateral she'll garner if you dick it up.
I'm happy to report that our hitching came off without a hitch. Everything that afternoon was perfect -- from the weather to my bride to the mild buzz I had going that allowed me to sound way more mature and romantic than I'll ever really hope to be. And I started off married life on the moral high ground since I had memorized my vows, whereas she had to read from a piece of paper. That alone should save me at least one conciliatory bouquet of flowers.
The deed done, we headed back down the mountain to celebrate in the beautiful environs of Bivans (50 West Thomas Place, in the Park Hyatt Beaver Creek). After seeing a young bear trot through Beaver Creek Village the day before, we'd decided to have our party in the main dining room. Although our group was small in number, fueled by the happy emotions of the day and an excellent wine list, we made about as much noise as your standard Irish-Catholic reception. Not even the low lighting and a killer steak could dampen our borderline obnoxiousness.
After dinner, we retired to the fire pit outside with a bunch of less-than-fun people who were up in Beaver Creek for a Tony Robbins indoctrination seminar or a scrapbooking cult meeting. We couldn't handle this downer group for long, especially since they didn't appreciate witty remarks about how fun it is to say "Beaver Creek." I'm used to that one killing. My only consolation was one guy who must not have been part of the crowd, because I heard him say to two girls, "It ain't cheating on your husband if you sleep with another girl!"
For guys, truer words were never spoken. I wish I could have incorporated that line into my vows. If Dumb and Dumberhad actually been filmed in Beaver Creek, maybe I would have.