Sunday, July 29, 2007

I’m not gonna lie, St. Anthony’s waxy corpse looks like a dead child in a tuxedo.

Wedding yesterday. Pretty good time.

Here's a long, drawn out play-by-play. If you don't care, then, well...don't read it.

Arrived fifteen minutes late to the ceremony (surprise surprise, lateness) which I was supposed to be videotaping for Trish (the bride), who has grown up considerably since we last hung out. Luckily random Uncle Vince was there to tape it for me, thank god, and that gave me the freedom to laugh at the mumbling priest and the wax model of St. Anthony's corpse that basically reminded me of a dead child in a tuxedo resting beneath the tabernacle in a glass casket. It also gave me time to play hangman on my wedding program with Muffy and draw a bad ass rendition of the entire creepily beautiful high altar with Trish and Tom kneeling in front of it.

After blowing some bubbles at Trish and Tom, Muffy and I explored the bowels of the church while we looked for a bathroom and a drinking fountain. They were completely uninteresting (the bowels, the bathroom, and the drinking fountain) except there was a closed gift shop and a card stand with a sign that said, "Cards 54 cents." I got lucky because I hadn't bought them a card yet, so I snagged one that was in Latin and had a half-assed depiction of a bride and groom on the cover that closely paralleled a pencil sketch of Ken and Barbie and ripped my drawing from their wedding program and placed it inside, folded 54 cents into the remainder of the program and wrote "thanks for the card" and left it in front of the gift shop.

Since I was technically the videographer, I had to find Uncle Vince and steal the camera from him. He was very upset.

Rode in the swank bus with the wedding party to a rose garden and filmed them taking pictures and goofing off and drinking free Coors Light and awkwardly introduced myself to everyone I didn't know.

Got to the reception and grabbed my place card which put me at Table 6, and walked into the reception hall right over to Muffy, M.E., Mary, and a random guy named Greg. But they were at Table 27. What the cock is that? I took my camera and panned the room over to Table 6: a bunch of old people that I don't fucking know. Fuck that. I sat at 27 anyway. Eventually we were joined by Stiles (haven't seen her in forever) and her boyfriend, who dominates.

They were serving beer out of kegs in tiny 10 oz cups, which was kind of lame, but hey, free beer. Problem is, you need to go to the bar every five minutes, I mean, 10 oz. of Bud Light goes quickly. Random guy Greg emptied our water carafe and tried to convince the bartender to fill it with beer, but he refused. So Muffy, a goddamn genius as far as life is concerned, poured all of the coffee out of our coffee carafe into every single mug on the table and thoroughly rinsed out the carafe. So instead of going to the bar every five minutes, we all went up there and got three beers a piece and took turns pouring them in the carafe. We now had a pitcher. Drinking problem solved.

Then it was basically, you know, a wedding. Random guy Greg started following Mary around, and M.E. thought it was hilare and shadowed them and took secret candid pictures so she could make fun of Mary later. Uncle Vince kept on harassing me about how I should be filming the wedding, so I gave him the camera since it was so damn important that I do things his way. Made friends with the photographer and got him to take a bunch of trashy pictures of Table 27 in front of the classy backdrop he'd set up. There's a good one of me and Muffy clutching the pitcher/carafe and pouring it into our cups. We also convinced the photographer to start drinking with us, even though at first he adamantly refused because he said he was a lightweight and all the pictures would get fuzzy. We were like, "Fuck that. Beer."

The reception ends eventually and to avoid making a pit stop at Steak n' Shake me and Muffy raided the hors d'oeuvre table that was never cleared from earlier in the night. We grabbed empty beer cups and poured the bruschetta mix into one and spooned spinach dip into the other and wrapped up a crapload of bread in unused cloth napkins and shoved them in my purse. For the bruschetta and the spinach dip, because they were lidless, we fashioned makeshift lids out of smaller plastic cups and held them in the car on the way to the hotel.

Got to the Holiday Inn, changed out of my skirt immediately (skirts are lame) and headed down to the hotel bar. Played darts and Nudey Touch (fuck yeah, Nudey Touch at the hotel) and made friends with some random fellow wedding attendees including some guy named Ben.

The bar closes and Muffy, Bobbay, M.E., Mary, and I go back up to the room 424, pick up Chris the groomsman in the elevator and make him hang out in our room. Start calling room numbers that Chris gives us because they apparently belong to other people from the wedding, and a couple of people from 315 make their way up to the room. We introduce ourselves (we don't know anyone) and hang out, offering beer and old hors d'oeuvres. They love us. Duh.

Random Ben from the bar finds his way up there and drags along with him two dudes drinking Smirnoff Ice who look about seventeen that he met in the hallway. Random Ben, by the way, is gripping a bottle of Jag that he stole from behind the bar downstairs. Badness. I'm shivering just thinking about it.

After all of our stolen bruschetta and spinach dip is gone people start trickling out (the 315ers and the seventeen year olds) and we're just sitting around and talking loudly, probably laughing too much, you know. There's a pounding on the door. Random Ben opens it up, still holding the Jag and smoking a cigarette (in our nonsmoking room). It's hotel security. She yells at us at tells us that everyone who doesn't belong in our room needs to leave, we're being loud, disturbing people, yada yada yada, and by the way, don't fucking smoke in a nonsmoking room or we'll get a fine. She stands there and waits while M.E. and Mary leave to go to their room and gives us bitchy looks. Oops.

Bobbay, Muffy, and Chris pass out, and me and random Ben are bored so we fill my purse with beers and snatch the bottle of Jag and start roaming the halls. This gets kind of boring after about fifteen minutes, so we plop down on the carpet in front of the elevators on the third floor and start chain-smoking, finishing off the beer and as much Jager as possible. By the time we're out of beer it's goddamn ten to seven in the morning, so we go back to our room and pass out.

Wake up this morning, hang out at Trish's parents house for awhile fighting off our hangovers and playing with Stewart the pit bull and Sam the Great Dane. Sam is roughly the size of a rhinoceros.

Eventually Muffy and I go back to Elgin for Sunday Funday. We buy sixty dollars worth of bloody mary essentials (tomato juice, vodka, guiness, olives, pepperoncinis, worcester, clamato juice, garlic salt, celery salt, cayenne pepper and tabasco) and go over to her friend Ian's house and have a spontaneous poolside bloody mary party with the Elgin crew. Ronin, Muffy's new puppy, was hanging out with us, and he's fucking cute as all hell.

And that, my friends, is how you do weddings.


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