I have not posted in a couple of days because I had a weekend wedding getaway at a resort in the Catskills. You may be wondering if it was my wedding. It wasn’t. My friends John and Carrie got married after being engaged for over a year. I’m still a tiger out there, and you can’t put a leash on a tiger (translation: I spend many horny nights alone at home).
There are few different kinds of weddings:
1) You are the friend and guest of the bride or groom – stag or +1
2) You are the +1 – you and your date are sandwiched at a table with a bunch of strangers who want to make casual conversation like “so, how do you know the bride?” or “who writes your auto insurance?” and you’re wondering how you can spend as much time at the open bar (if you’re lucky enough) and not embarrass your date.
3) You are friends with both the bride and groom which is the rarest of the three. The wedding this past weekend was a #3 (feel free to correct me, Carrie). I completely endorsed their union because they are both awesome people. Plus, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, they are a good looking couple – total hawties.
Even though weddings are meant to be celebrations, they are often stressful as all hell. I went through it when my sister got married a few years ago. The closer you are to the bride and groom, the worse it gets. Being 26, I have found myself at more and more of these god damn things, and I think business is only going to pick up going forward. I better get a 2nd job because I have a checkbook that I dedicated almost solely to weddings. In any event, this weekend was a lot of fun.
I was a total hot mess the entire weekend. My long weekend actually started Thursday night out for drinks in Albany and then over to a familiar Niskayuna backyard for a campfire. My friend Brad and I ended the night at his parent’s house with a whiskey nightcap and my taking a brief nap in his mother’s flowerbed. Before going to bed (in fetal position on top of the covers in Brad’s sister’s room), I heard Brad’s father poke his head out the door and say, “Who the hell is in there?” Brad told him and then he said “Oh, oh, ok. Yankees lost.” I smiled and fell asleep.
Friday was largely sobering up and packing/preparation in the early afternoon. Brad and I hit up CVS where I farted on an elderly woman and picked up a couple of travel-size toiletries. I had the pleasure of introducing my friends to Empire Wine & Liquor which is one of my favorite places on earth…or at least in Colonie. We split a bottle of the 12-year old Cragganmore (review to follow soon) and my buddy Jared and I were able to get a whiskey sample from a vendor.
The drive down was sunny and filled with some much-needed Phil Collins, reminiscing and “summarize the past year of your life in 15-minutes,” including a recap from Jared who is actually the friend I have known for the longest: 22 years. I only let him talk for 10 minutes. When we arrived, we met up with another dozen or so of our high school friends. We broke into the lawn games approximately 16 hours too early according to the itinerary, snapped a good four scatch paddles within five minutes because some asshole was throwing heat, then realized that none of us have attention spans. We poured a few fingers of scotch and circled the wagons again until the BBQ.
And what a BBQ it was. Pork ribs, portabella mushroom on chiabata, corn on the cob, roasted potatoes, corn bread (the OG and jalapeno), and a light herb butter which I used to make smashed potatoes. Washed down three plates of that with Stella. I made the decision to stick to beer both nights because I know my limits with liquor being such a fast drinker. I learned these limits two years ago at my sister’s wedding when my dad cut me off after I guzzled 11 vodka martinis and was trying to talk to my second cousin about the “New Yoke Mess” at the bar.
At the end of the BBQ, the bar was getting packed to go down to the campfire and so I did my classic move of ordering two different kinds of beer so as not to look like a total saucer (and it may look as though I actually have friends). They were out of Stella so I slammed two Sams. I had sort of befriended the bartender earlier with small conversation, so he said he’d grab some more Stella for the fire.
When the sun went down, it was frigid. I had already returned to the room once that day to flannel up and toss on my warmer coat. The scotch wasn’t as warming as I hoped it would be. The fire was a great success. Somehow I missed the s’mores. As the night wound down, more and more people began to wander back to their rooms. After a few more drinks, I was a total hug whore.
The campfire was smoldering and there were only about 10 of us left. I was too drunk to stand up straight so I would straddle the rock edge of the fire pit every five minutes and sway in as much warmth as I could before retreating to ice cold safety. I sustained the first of two minor injuries this weekend worth noting on Friday night: a burn blister on my thumb from a lighter which has made typing and texting incredibly painful. I hiss every time I hit the space bar…it’s like snake-gasm in my room right now.
Those of us that did wake up on Saturday enjoyed the unwonted October heat. For a minute, I thought that Johny & Carrie’s wedding might have really been a Ray Ban Expo. I threw on my wayfarers and hot pants and headed for the pool (didn’t even think to pack a swimsuit), spotting the groom-to-be on the way down and said that at least one jerkoff is going to hit the pool on his wedding weekend. The pool hit me.
I got zero cat calls on the way down to the pool to my dismay. I hung out for a good 20 minutes, shrieking every time a bee (or Ted) got within five feet of me. For the first time in my life, I decided to jump in. It could not have been more than 55 degrees. Halfway through a lap, hypothermia crossed my chilled brain and I worriedly doubled back to the ladder not realizing that doubling back halfway through a lap caused a break in momentum and actually caused me to be in the chilly water longer. Shrinkage was the first concern leaving the icy pool. I was rendered a pseudo-eunuch for a good 15 minutes.
After drying off and getting changed I cracked my first beer of the day, a $1 Budweiser from a $30 30-pack compliments of Rob. Win at whiffle ball. Some more beer. Win at bocce; I knew choosing the purebred guinea as a teammate was the right move. A few more beers, then shower, decking myself out and walking down the ceremony…after a beer.
Gorgeous. Picturesque. A warm Catskill clearing with a mountainous backdrop behind the white-draped wedding altar (or whatever it’s called when it doesn’t have a floor). The bride and groom looked really sharp. The wedding itself was very tasteful and was the perfect length from a guest’s standpoint. After the wedding party walked off they parked themselves not far down the path so that each guest was allowed to congratulate them individually. I ran the hug train.
Cocktail hour. Way too much beer and soft cheese. My intestines still haven’t forgiven me.
The reception was a lot of fun. The bride and groom were given some genuinely heartfelt speeches. I was given a bloody steak. After dinner, the emcee got all of the single women on the dance floor for the bouquet toss. Jared, one of us prowling singles, was amazed and remarked, “Look, they’re doing our work for us!” before realizing what was going on. The toss yielded some humorous results.
I knew that I had surpassed sideways and reached vertical because I was out on the dance floor…for a while, leaving only to grab a drink. My dancing has been described as strange, aggressive, slammy, avant-garde, bouncey, fun, jerky and bad. I grabbed as many of my lady friends as I could and jostled them for two minutes at a time.
I went outside near the end of the reception to use the rest room: nature. I don’t know if it was the fresh air, but everything that I had been doing to myself for the past eight hours caught up with me all at once. I steadied myself on a fence, but I was way too forceful with the zip-up as the pulling motion caused me to back-pedal about 20 feet and slam my head on the gravel. I got up and brushed myself off to re-enter the wedding.
Unbeknownst to me, I was bleeding from the head, a point which was brought to my attention immediately. I was tended to by “Dr.” Schaefer. Between the fall and the cut, I have about $45 worth of dry-cleaning to do. I know it doesn’t look like more than a nick, but it actually bled quite a bit.
At that point, I could barely stand and said my goodnights to everyone. This was misinterpreted as “he is concussed…do not let him go to sleep.” Dr. Schaefer acted as my human crutch on my walk back to the room. No motor skills; like my own marriage of cerebral palsy and vertigo. I can’t say enough about Schaefer; everybody always describes him as “the nicest guy” and he really is. Needless to say, I missed the after party. This is frustrating just because of all of the antics I couldn’t be a part of, but between my experience and word-of-mouth, I’ve been able to compile the following:
Top 11 List of Wedding Ridiculousness
To be fair, most of these are anonymous because you know who you are…
11) Cusack and I romping Hemberger and Jamie in whiffle ball thanks to Frohner’s sidearm relief and our ghosty having major wheels.
10) C-Mas being referred to as “Sea Bass” by the reception emcee (“kick his ass, Seabass!”).
9) Frohner’s graceful pool entrance x3. The knee hurts, but it’s still a thing of beauty.
#8 (otherwise it posts a frigging sunglasses emoticon) The look on somebody’s face after their girlfriend caught the bouquet toss. Shut up and do it. You were into it Thursday night.
7) Somebody couch cuddling and passing out in the vestibule…awesome.
6) Bartender romance. I have been vague about the resort and I honestly don’t even remember the dude’s name, but said third party shall be held harmless in order to preserve his job at said resort because he may have only glanced at the employee handbook.
5) Somebody peeing while simultaneously doing a whirling dervish leading to the biggest flood that the resort has seen since Hurricane Irene. I’ll be honest, that one was me. Son of a bitch.
4) Somebody being found unconscious in their car with their eyes open (lights were on, but no one was home).
3) Somebody getting driven home from the bar in a golf cart after puking and resuming heroic intake moments after.
2) Johny & Carrie’s beard photo (PS – Carrie, if you’re interested, I can show you how to grow an epic beard)
1) Schaefer’s dance-off win. He’s quiet…but the man’s got moves! I got trounced.
There were honestly more than 11, but some were either too embarrassing or too awesome (*cough, ahem*).
Sunday morning was rough and breakfast was a hazy episode. I remember coffee, french toast and my ass being really sore on the picnic table. There was a good hour of commiseration before we all packed up and said our goodbyes.
On Saturday night, my friend Rob organized a get-together at Brown’s in Troy to watch the Bills game on Sunday. At the time, it sounded amazing. Bills, friends I never see and Brown’s beer. I got there 20 minutes late. I ordered their Pils (review again to follow) and was disappointed that I was more comfortable standing up than sitting down. My right hand was shaking so bad that I had to anchor it on the bar in order to eat my turkey club. I’m fairly certain that I gained a good 14 lbs. this weekend. Truth be told, I had undone the top button of my pants like an overweight mother. FUPA.
Robby, who had a 4-hour drive to Buffalo, and I had a heart-to-heart about how badly we were hurting. My eyes were swollen, my head hurt (dehydration headache and cut/lump from last night), my chest hurt because I think I was doing push-ups on the dance floor, my legs hurt from dancing and swimming, my hair hurt, my lungs hurt, my breath was bad enough to down a rhino (even after brushing) and I didn’t get a shower in until 5pm (guh, again!). We aren’t the same beasts we were at 19. I had to pull over to boot before I even got on 787; turkey bacon pils splash.
All in all one of the best weekends that I’ve had in a while. Congratulations John and Carrie! Continue to enjoy your life together…I will!
the self-hating hipster 
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