For the remaining three of you out there who may not have heard, my little sister got married last weekend. The only possible reason I can come up with for NOT knowing about it is because you were in another country, trapped under something heavy, or too engrossed in the minute-by-minute Britney updates to realize that the wedding of the century was nigh. And, if you think this was one of those meringue dressed, love-and-obey affairs with seating charts and chicken dances you would be oh so sadly mistaken. If I’m not mistaken, I think the DJ was actually given explicit instruction to chloroform anyone who even mentioned the letters Y, M, C or A.

No, this was the type of affair where the wrong outfit was going to send you packing. These people don’t mess around. I was even given a not so gentle, “I hope you brought something else” when I pulled out my jeans to wear for the “getting ready” part of the day. Set foot in Blackhawk wearing jeans, and the snipers will see to it that you never make that mistake again.

And yet for all the prim and properness of the venue, the event was exactly the kind of affair you would expect from the couple who actually had Vince Neil on their guest list. The ceremony was fun and lively, and although the whole thing was punctuated with the obligatory “you may now kiss your bride”, it was seemingly irrelevant considering they had been smooching on each other the whole time. Beyond that, it had all the makings of a memorable ceremony: Thad forgot his lines, Stella forgot to throw her flowers, we, the two bridesmaids, cried the entire time and everyone cheered as the bride and groom danced their way down the aisle to Dean Martin crooning That’s Amore!

As you will see from the following photo sets, they were taking a pretty big gamble allowing the lot of us into this place. We all started out respectable enough at the rehearsal dinner, however things started getting pretty crazy at the after-party at the hotel. (For those who may be wondering, the hawaiian-shirted man in this series is my uncle Chris who refuses to ever take a serious photo, and spent the better part of the evening trying to convince those who did not know otherwise that he was a meteorologist with webbed, flat feet.) Then, of course there were the series of photos from the day that would not be forgotten. And it never will.

Congratulations, Sis!