You say 'wedding,' I say 'scouting mission'

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My fiancé and I went to a wedding over the weekend at an offshore casino and resort on the Missouri River. The groom is an executive in the casino chain; consequently, things happened that probably wouldn't happen at the average destination wedding -- things like a TV wheeled in to the cocktail lounge so guests could catch the Celtics game. Things like a post-reception party that included bottle service in a private booth at the resort's nightclub, where Mini Lady Gaga performed and the bride climbed up on a platform and danced like Goldie Hawn on "Laugh-In."

Yeah, it was pretty amazing.

You might think that, following a wedding like this one, there would be no shortage of topics of post-celebratory conversation. And you'd be right. But instead of recalling how much money I'd won at pai gow or how drunk the groom's college roommate had gotten, do you know what we found ourselves talking about?

Banquet room table layout. As in, how we would have done it differently.

That was when we realized that going to weddings will never be the same for us.

Now in our early 30s, we're in the second wind phase of going to weddings. The first wave of post-college and mid-20s weddings ended a few years ago, and there's been something of a lull as those early marriers have started reproducing (which means, for me at least, weddings have been replaced by baby showers and baptisms). Now the latecomers (like us) are starting to stroll toward the altar, and our schedules are starting to fill back up with weddings all over the country.

This was the first wedding we attended post-engagement. Until this weekend, weddings had mostly been chances to dress up, get together with friends and party on someone else's dime. The biggest issue at stake was usually whether or not we would argue when he refused to dance. (I'm gradually wearing him down on that one.) But in the past few months, we've been exposed to the complicated underbelly of wedding planning, with its complex network of budgets and logistics and per-guest costs. We'd been exposed to the gamma radiation of wedding knowledge, and it had given us X-ray wedding vision.

When we rolled in to this weekend's wedding, we didn't just see a party; for the first time, we saw the framework (financial and logistical) holding the whole thing up. Remember The Visible Man? Well, we were at The Visible Wedding.

Orchids? Expensive. Open bar? Expensive, but makes for happy guests. Buffet? Less expensive and more expedient than plated dinners. Carving station? Moderately expensive. Chair covers? Had to be rented; chairs underneath must have been hideous. DJ? Make sure to be very clear we don't want "The Cha Cha Slide" played.

Weddings are no longer mere social events. They have, apparently, become information gathering missions.

At first I thought it was only my bride-addled brain that was experiencing this wedding as two parts We're So Happy For You and one part I Have To Remember This For My Wedding. But then, about halfway through dinner, my fiancé -- the man who says once we've booked the venue he doesn't want to do anything but sign checks -- leaned over and whispered that he probably would have opted to condense the tables into a smaller section of the ballroom so the reception would feel more intimate.

I know. Romantic.

The good news is, this doesn't seem to make going to weddings any less enjoyable. The toasts were just as touching and the cake just as tasty as they would have been had I not been quietly making mental notes for when it's our turn. (This wedding also convinced me of something I've suspected for a long time -- I just don't care that much about the cake -- but that's a column for another time.) And I was relieved to find I felt not a single twinge of Bridezilla rise within me -- I might be planning my own wedding, but that didn't mean I couldn't enjoy someone else's. It's a party, not a competition.

Which is a good thing. Because no way could we compete with Mini Lady Gaga.

Contact Maia Nolan at maia(at)alaskadispatch.com.