Fight for Your Right to Party

Brian and I have been basking in the glow of our own awesomeness lately, perhaps a little prematurely. Over the last few months, we have lovingly created the Mother of All Google Spreadsheets with research on photographers, churches (more on that in future posts) and, most importantly, the place that will keep us in food and booze during our party.

Honestly, the reception venue is the most critical decision after the extensive “DJ, if you play [insert Village People/Celine Dion/James Blunt song here], I will fight you” list. What if we pick a place that has bland jambalaya or a bartender who makes weak drinks? I shudder at the thought.

We initially had our hearts set on the Elms Mansion and Gardens on St. Charles Avenue because it’s beautiful and I have a soft spot for gazebos, but having a January wedding outside is a little stressful. And expensive. Turns out a tent for 200 people costs $2700. To rent. Next!

We checked out the other popular New Orleans wedding venues– House of Broel (too hoity toity), Rosy’s Jazz Hall (too small), Magnolia Mansion (too pricey)– before finding the perfect place: Embassy Suites. It’s a gorgeous, colorful hotel on Julia Street in the Warehouse/Arts District, and the indoor atrium is just what we’re looking for. A space big enough for everyone to eat and dance and make merry, big windows and skylights, funky murals on the walls and an outdoor feel without actual exposure to the elements, all for a reasonable price tag. It’s also a hotel, which means we can go out after-partying in the Quarter and easily crawl up to our rooms afterward. Perfect.

I was about to sign the contract and put down the deposit a few days ago when I noticed the contract only reserved the space for three hours. The basic wedding package is only three hours, but we had said from the get-go we would need to extend it to at least five or six hours (I mean, let’s be honest about our crowd here). The catering manager quoted us a price for each additional hour, and all was well. That is, until she told us they didn’t want to serve alcohol to any group for more than three hours. But we could work out “alternate ideas.”

Uhhhh. Exsqueeze me? What kind of alternate ideas? Sippy cups of Kool-Aid? We’re talking about a wedding. In New Orleans. It’s practically a city mandate that we throw a ridiculous party where everyone from the best man to Great Aunt Edna gets a little tipsy on too many mint juleps. A three-hour reception is just not gonna cut it, and a six-hour reception with three hours of liquor might incite riots. Brian and I are pretty chill, but you just don’t mess with our food or alcohol consumption. It’s just not a good idea.

I’m still waiting on a response to my strongly worded e-mail. I’ve got my hard face on. More to follow.