wedding recap
3 May 2007
Love.
(And luxury.)
That’s what it was all about this past weekend in Boston, where I traveled to celebrate the wedding of my friends Joe and Danielle. And friends, it was magical.
The Date
Before I get into a description of the wedding, I must give a huge thank you to my date, my dear friend Johanna. I am not an easy person to travel or spend a weekend with, what with my casual racism and spending upwards of three hours a day in the shower and my barely (barely) legal sexual aggression, but Johanna was a real trooper and held up very well. Sure, we had some rough stretches – it got pretty ugly on Friday morning when I learned that the Cracker Barrel in Sturbridge, Massachusetts did not have creamed chipped beef and some pepper spray was not quite employed but definitely bandied about and threatened – but we pulled through. Somehow.
And what thanks did I give her for being such a wonderful date? How ’bout morbidly embarrassing her in front of 150 people?
(Explanation to follow)
The Grooming
The first "official" wedding activity was at 1pm on Friday afternoon, when the groom (my buddy Joe), his dad (my buddy Joe’s dad), the best man/better man (me), and the two other groomsmen (my buddies Bill and John) planned to get haircuts and shaves. But because Bill got stuck at work and John sucked across the board in the groomsman category, neither of them could make it. Instead, our friend Griff, in town for the wedding from Seattle, joined the three of us.
Around Christmas, I was complaining of the nastiness of my beard and how if I tried to grow it long I looked like a Canadian meth addict who also really, really loved pudding. Then my favorite and loyalist reader of this site Lisa wrote in and suggested I treat myself to a nice beard trim at a old school gentleman’s barber shop. I thought it was a tremendous idea, but didn’t pull the trigger because I was intimidated. Even though I have always loved luxury, I couldn’t quite bring myself to walk into a fancy barber shop and get the male equivalent of a spa treatment. That indicates a level of concern in one’s appearance that I simply am not comfortable with. So I remained looking like a Canadian meth/pudding addict.
But Joe’s wedding provided the perfect excuse for a nice beard trim/hot lather shave/haircut. Though the barber shop, State Street Barbers, was certainly gentlemanly, it was not stuffy. I walked in wearing a t-shirt and jeans and was promptly offered a beer (!). I was introduced to my barber, a guy nicknamed Denver who was only a few years older than me, and we got started.
I say the following as a man who, if possible, would eat hot dogs every night for dinner, but the whole experience was awesome. Again, it was not at all what I thought it would be; instead of being stuffy and making me feel poor, Denver was a cool dude who shot the shit while he gave me the best haircut I’ve gotten in years. He also had a bunch of tattoos, which made me comfortable. (Though I don’t have any tattoos, my dad does. Also, once I had sex with a girl with a lot of tattoos, and it was pretty sweet.)
Then my beard was trimmed, I was shaved up and looking spiffy and ready to go. I now plan to go to this place every time I’m in Boston to get my haircut there. Supercuts has officially lost a customer.
It was a great thing to do the day before the wedding, the day of the rehearsal dinner. Just a couple of gentlemen who enjoy luxury and luxurious things, paying other men to make them handsome. The way life should be.
The Hotel
Joe’s wedding is probably the last time I’ll ever be a best man; my brother is bisexual and increasingly leaning toward that big fat 6 on the edge of the Kinsey Scale and Brian may never get married, as the damage the booze has done to his sexual organs is irreparable (never mind that we’ll probably have a falling out before then, since he recently declared that I am carrying out a "steady and consistent character assassination" upon him on this site). Since this is my last go-round as best man, I wanted to splurge a little bit on the hotel room.
I decided that we would stay at the Park Plaza. I wanted to stay at the Four Seasons, where the wedding was held, but didn’t book my room until the special rate had expired and $600/night was a little out of my reach. It was possible through Expedia to get a standard room at the Park Plaza for $200/night, but I wanted a little more than standard.
So I dropped, um, considerably more for a "Concierge Level Tower Room" at the Park Plaza. I had no idea what this meant and didn’t bother to read the description of the room, probably because I was very tired or hungover. But this fancy room was a major bargaining chip in the negotiations Johanna and I had about her attending the wedding with me; while I could not promise that the experience or my company would be very pleasant, at least we’d be staying in a nice hotel room.
Unfortunately, "nice" is a highly subjective term. On the one hand, the room was perfectly nice – it had a marble bathroom, dual showerhead, good view, etc. On the other hand, it was exactly the same as the other rooms that Griff and his wife Katie and my buddy Kyle stayed in. The difference was that my room cost significantly more money than theirs. Why? Apparently, the extra (substantial) amount of money got me (and Johanna) 24 hour access to the concierge (because we needed that), priority reservations at the hotel’s restaurants (every meal was planned), a room on the top floor of the hotel (so we’d be the first to die in a fire), and bathrobes (because Johanna really needed me to walk around in a robe all weekend saying, "What? It’s natural and beautiful. Man is meant to walk around in a robe. With nothing on underneath. And the robe should be loosely tied. Just embrace it. Would you like some wine?").
I mean, no one loves spending money unnecessary as much as I do, but my love of frivolous spending is surpassed only by my love of hotels and luxury. To have spent all that money and not have a properly matching luxurious hotel room, well, it got me a little upset. But of course, I was not going to let it get me down on such a celebratory weekend.
(Fucking Park Plaza cocksuckers.)
The Rehearsal Dinner
The rehearsal dinner on Friday night was held at the BC Club in downtown Boston. I had never heard of this place before, but I learned that it’s a place where BC alum, mostly rich Massholes, get together in dinner jackets to drink scotch, eat fine foods, and discuss serious and intelligent matters in horribly thick Masshole accents. I can see a table full of rich guys who grew up in Natick and Framingham saying, "That fahking Chavez dude – what the fahk is his fahking problem?"
The place itself is very classy, though. The dining room was on the 36th floor of the building, looking west over Boston from downtown, so it was possible to see Fenway Park and the Citgo sign and all the way out to Newton. Well, since it was rainy and foggy on this night, we could see the downtown buildings and sometimes the Citgo sign, but it was still nice.
The food was delicious (quail – very underrated) and the drinks were flowing. Joe’s dad gave a little speech that featured a multimedia component that was embarrassing to Joe, Danielle, and even me (I don’t want to get into it, but let’s just say that 1997 wasn’t my best year).
Afterwards, we went out for drinks, but all the while kept it low key, especially me. I had a big day of sweating on Saturday.
The Ceremony
I have never been to a more perfect wedding ceremony, methinks. The ceremony was held in Unitarian Universalist Church (motto: "Eh, love God. Whatever.") and was not a full mass. Just a few readings, some vows, a kiss, and everyone cries and applauds – exactly how I’d like my wedding to be. Only my dad will certainly be smoking in church.
I had to stand on the altar with Joe and Dani and Dani’s sister Abbey, serving as maid (matron?) of honor. I’m happy to report that I neither fainted nor cried, the latter being a real concern, and was able to hand the rings to the minister when prompted without being nudged or threatened.
I don’t have to say that Danielle looked beautiful and Joe looked…clean. Which, really, is all you can ask from a groom.
The Cocktail Hour
The party portion of the wedding was held at the Four Seasons in Boston and, frankly, was the balls. There was a margarita bar during the cocktail hour as well as mini-cheesesteak appetizers, which rocked my fucking world. I knew about these mini-cheesesteaks heading into the wedding and they had a lot to live up to. But boy did they deliver, to the tune of me eating roughly nine of them. Fucking dynamite. My friend Conor actually had to shake me back to reality when he saw me in the corner rubbing one all over my face and whispering.
I spent most of the cocktail hour huddled in a corner re-writing my best man speech. Because I’ve known Joe and Danielle for so long, I have tons and tons of material about them. I had a speech prepared, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it sounded too rambling and tangential. Also, I said the n-word way too many times. So at the last minute, I decided to scrap almost the whole thing and write it over. I think it worked out well for everyone.
(Well, everyone except Johanna.)
The Speech
After the cocktail hour, we filed into the reception hall to get the party started fo’ serious. While Danielle’s parents were speaking, I was getting nervous about my speech. After all, my humor is more appropriate for the back booth at Blue & Gold than it is for the grand reception room at the Four Seasons. Instead of making jokes in front of my low-life friends, I had to speak in front of 150 people, many of whom were very successful and could easily pay for someone to kill or otherwise hurt me. One of the few things I’m proud of about myself is my nerves of steel in such situations, but I was nearly crapping my pants.
Not only that, but Danielle’s sister Abbey brought it with her toast. It was classy, funny, touching, and most damningly for me, did not rely on overuse of the word "feces." Fuck.
Soon I was called up to speak and it was too late to turn back. After thanking the parents of the bride and groom and introducing myself, I started. This was my opening joke:
Famous French philosopher Blaise Pascal once wrote, "There is only love in life. Love that knows neither time, nor place, nor limit. Only love. All the time. Love." And of course – I just made that quote up. But I feel that that quote – fictional as it may be – best describes the relationship and the love that I have watched develop and grow over the past ten years…between Joe…and Dana.
I’m sorry – it’s Danielle, isn’t it? Jesus. Well, you can bet my researcher can start looking for a new job. Sorry about that.
I was concerned that some people might think I was serious messing up the bride’s name, but everyone seemed to get the joke. I then went into how Joe and I met back in high school, how Danielle showed up one month into college and stole him from us, how I’ve been a third wheel since the beginning, and then did a little sentimental bit.
To close the speech, I used a joke that I had used previously at my buddy Steve’s wedding with much success (I also let Ace Cowboy of Slack Lalane use the joke at Don Fiedler’s wedding, where it also went over quite well). It’s a little bawdy, especially for the Four Seasons crowd, but I went with it anyway. I was in the zone.
In closing, I wanted to offer the newlyweds some marital advice. But the problem is, I’m not married. However, I don’t have sex very often, so that’s kinda like being married.
As the crowd laughed at this, I turned to Johanna, and said:
How you doing, Johanna? You doing good, babe? We’ll talk later.
Now, Johanna and I, to my knowledge, have never slept together (can’t say for sure though – we’re both very boozed every time we hang out). Moreover, she did not know that I was going to use her as a prop in the speech. After dropping that line, everyone in the room turned to look at Johanna, who sat at the table, red-faced and mouth agape, completely shocked and horrified. In front of 150 strangers, I said that she wasn’t doing me enough. Wow.
After the speech, I sat down next to Johanna, who couldn’t say a word for a solid ten minutes. When she finally was able to talk, she said, "What…was…that?" I responded by saying the same words I’d been using all weekend: "Would you like some wine?"
The Reception
Fortunately, Johanna "got over it" (read: she didn’t get over it, but realized if she were to murder me then and there, there’d be too many witnesses). I’ve written before that I am just about the best wedding date ever, and I think I proved this at the reception by dancing the night away. Remember, for a man my size, I’m a surprisingly agile dancer. I was once ranked #4 in the world in my weight class, but because of last year’s weight loss I’m in a new weight class and ranked somewhere around #260. Such is life.
However, no one – and I mean no one – can dance like my buddy Bill. He’s built like a bowling ball with arms and legs, but my god can he dance. He was out there from the moment the band struck their first chord until they said, "Thank you – good night!" Watching Bill do a split in the middle of the dance floor is something that will alternatively haunt and pleasure my dreams for as long as I live. God bless him.
The dinner was unbelievable. Lobster three ways (claw meat, in a spring roll, and in a bisque that was so good that if used properly could easily win us the war in Iraq), followed by a filet mignon that was one of the top five steaks I’ve ever had – despite the fact that it was produced for 150 people. Unreal. Just plain unreal.
Then the sundae bar…goodness gracious. I don’t even know if I’m ready to get into what that was like, but I can’t think of a more perfect evening than one in which I drink a dozen Manhattans, eat one of the best meals of my life, inhale a giant sundae, and dance the night away.
(I just want you to know that as I’m writing this, I have an erection. I’m that worked up right now.)
The Post-Reception
We knew the reception was ending at midnight, so earlier in the day we were trying to figure out a bar to go to afterward. We checked with the bartender in the Four Seasons, who told us point blank that if our reception was ending at 12, then they were closing at 12, so afraid were they of us coming down drunk and rowdy. Fair enough, and probably the smartest decision.
What we didn’t realize is that after the reception was over, there was another room set up for us where we could continue drinking until 2am (!). Not only that, the room was stocked with the best drunk foods: sliders, mac and cheese, fried chicken, and these little lobster sandwiches that tasted exactly like love (!!). Also, there were snow cones made with tequila (!!!).
I mean, were Dani’s and Joe’s parents trying to kill us? I am genuinely surprised that no one died at this wedding, either from too much booze or by choking on a slider or in some sort of hari-kari incident, since I’m pretty sure my life will not get any better than it was at the moment, holding a slider in one hand and a tequila snow cone in the other, with a belly full of the finest food and drink. Again, for the record, I’m erect right now. Worth nothing.
Joe, the groom, got so drunk that he was actually cut off at the bar – not a small feat at one’s own wedding. I had to help Danielle take Joe back to the room, as at this point he was screaming gibberish and running around the halls of the Four Seasons at 1:45am. I put him in the couch in their room and his head lolled back as he let out a constant stream of non-sense, something something like Russian spoken by a black person. I’m not a betting man (lie), but I would guess that Joe and Dani did not exactly set the night to music on their wedding night.
As for me, I got home, put on my robe, and fell asleep in bathroom for a few hours. Man, I love love.
************
The wedding was, obviously, a huge success. Not only did everything go off without a hitch, but everyone had a blast. Since returning, I’ve had a miserable week, in large part because I just want to be up in Boston, eating those mini-cheesesteaks, drinking Manhattans. I was almost offended when my boss asked me to do work on Monday.
I learned many things at this wedding. One, I love love. Two, I love luxury. Three, if you’re going to intimate that you’re having sex with a girl – when you’re not - in front of 150 people that she doesn’t know, you might want to at least give her a heads up about that.
More: on the drive back to NYC, I got a call from another of my best friends. Just a few hours after watching one of my best friends get married, I learned that my other best friend and his wife are now expecting. Wow.
So, so much love around me. Then there’s me in the center, a true black hole, a loveless void that smells of cheap whiskey, worn boxers and Thousand Island dressing. While my best friends are getting married and having children, the closest I feel to love is when I masturbate in front of my bathroom mirror: I feel happy, then I feel flushed, then there’s semen on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. That’s kinda like love, right?
…
I should probably get a dog or something.
(And luxury.)
That’s what it was all about this past weekend in Boston, where I traveled to celebrate the wedding of my friends Joe and Danielle. And friends, it was magical.
The Date
Before I get into a description of the wedding, I must give a huge thank you to my date, my dear friend Johanna. I am not an easy person to travel or spend a weekend with, what with my casual racism and spending upwards of three hours a day in the shower and my barely (barely) legal sexual aggression, but Johanna was a real trooper and held up very well. Sure, we had some rough stretches – it got pretty ugly on Friday morning when I learned that the Cracker Barrel in Sturbridge, Massachusetts did not have creamed chipped beef and some pepper spray was not quite employed but definitely bandied about and threatened – but we pulled through. Somehow.
And what thanks did I give her for being such a wonderful date? How ’bout morbidly embarrassing her in front of 150 people?
(Explanation to follow)
The Grooming
The first "official" wedding activity was at 1pm on Friday afternoon, when the groom (my buddy Joe), his dad (my buddy Joe’s dad), the best man/better man (me), and the two other groomsmen (my buddies Bill and John) planned to get haircuts and shaves. But because Bill got stuck at work and John sucked across the board in the groomsman category, neither of them could make it. Instead, our friend Griff, in town for the wedding from Seattle, joined the three of us.
Around Christmas, I was complaining of the nastiness of my beard and how if I tried to grow it long I looked like a Canadian meth addict who also really, really loved pudding. Then my favorite and loyalist reader of this site Lisa wrote in and suggested I treat myself to a nice beard trim at a old school gentleman’s barber shop. I thought it was a tremendous idea, but didn’t pull the trigger because I was intimidated. Even though I have always loved luxury, I couldn’t quite bring myself to walk into a fancy barber shop and get the male equivalent of a spa treatment. That indicates a level of concern in one’s appearance that I simply am not comfortable with. So I remained looking like a Canadian meth/pudding addict.
But Joe’s wedding provided the perfect excuse for a nice beard trim/hot lather shave/haircut. Though the barber shop, State Street Barbers, was certainly gentlemanly, it was not stuffy. I walked in wearing a t-shirt and jeans and was promptly offered a beer (!). I was introduced to my barber, a guy nicknamed Denver who was only a few years older than me, and we got started.
I say the following as a man who, if possible, would eat hot dogs every night for dinner, but the whole experience was awesome. Again, it was not at all what I thought it would be; instead of being stuffy and making me feel poor, Denver was a cool dude who shot the shit while he gave me the best haircut I’ve gotten in years. He also had a bunch of tattoos, which made me comfortable. (Though I don’t have any tattoos, my dad does. Also, once I had sex with a girl with a lot of tattoos, and it was pretty sweet.)
Then my beard was trimmed, I was shaved up and looking spiffy and ready to go. I now plan to go to this place every time I’m in Boston to get my haircut there. Supercuts has officially lost a customer.
It was a great thing to do the day before the wedding, the day of the rehearsal dinner. Just a couple of gentlemen who enjoy luxury and luxurious things, paying other men to make them handsome. The way life should be.
The Hotel
Joe’s wedding is probably the last time I’ll ever be a best man; my brother is bisexual and increasingly leaning toward that big fat 6 on the edge of the Kinsey Scale and Brian may never get married, as the damage the booze has done to his sexual organs is irreparable (never mind that we’ll probably have a falling out before then, since he recently declared that I am carrying out a "steady and consistent character assassination" upon him on this site). Since this is my last go-round as best man, I wanted to splurge a little bit on the hotel room.
I decided that we would stay at the Park Plaza. I wanted to stay at the Four Seasons, where the wedding was held, but didn’t book my room until the special rate had expired and $600/night was a little out of my reach. It was possible through Expedia to get a standard room at the Park Plaza for $200/night, but I wanted a little more than standard.
So I dropped, um, considerably more for a "Concierge Level Tower Room" at the Park Plaza. I had no idea what this meant and didn’t bother to read the description of the room, probably because I was very tired or hungover. But this fancy room was a major bargaining chip in the negotiations Johanna and I had about her attending the wedding with me; while I could not promise that the experience or my company would be very pleasant, at least we’d be staying in a nice hotel room.
Unfortunately, "nice" is a highly subjective term. On the one hand, the room was perfectly nice – it had a marble bathroom, dual showerhead, good view, etc. On the other hand, it was exactly the same as the other rooms that Griff and his wife Katie and my buddy Kyle stayed in. The difference was that my room cost significantly more money than theirs. Why? Apparently, the extra (substantial) amount of money got me (and Johanna) 24 hour access to the concierge (because we needed that), priority reservations at the hotel’s restaurants (every meal was planned), a room on the top floor of the hotel (so we’d be the first to die in a fire), and bathrobes (because Johanna really needed me to walk around in a robe all weekend saying, "What? It’s natural and beautiful. Man is meant to walk around in a robe. With nothing on underneath. And the robe should be loosely tied. Just embrace it. Would you like some wine?").
I mean, no one loves spending money unnecessary as much as I do, but my love of frivolous spending is surpassed only by my love of hotels and luxury. To have spent all that money and not have a properly matching luxurious hotel room, well, it got me a little upset. But of course, I was not going to let it get me down on such a celebratory weekend.
(Fucking Park Plaza cocksuckers.)
The Rehearsal Dinner
The rehearsal dinner on Friday night was held at the BC Club in downtown Boston. I had never heard of this place before, but I learned that it’s a place where BC alum, mostly rich Massholes, get together in dinner jackets to drink scotch, eat fine foods, and discuss serious and intelligent matters in horribly thick Masshole accents. I can see a table full of rich guys who grew up in Natick and Framingham saying, "That fahking Chavez dude – what the fahk is his fahking problem?"
The place itself is very classy, though. The dining room was on the 36th floor of the building, looking west over Boston from downtown, so it was possible to see Fenway Park and the Citgo sign and all the way out to Newton. Well, since it was rainy and foggy on this night, we could see the downtown buildings and sometimes the Citgo sign, but it was still nice.
The food was delicious (quail – very underrated) and the drinks were flowing. Joe’s dad gave a little speech that featured a multimedia component that was embarrassing to Joe, Danielle, and even me (I don’t want to get into it, but let’s just say that 1997 wasn’t my best year).
Afterwards, we went out for drinks, but all the while kept it low key, especially me. I had a big day of sweating on Saturday.
The Ceremony
I have never been to a more perfect wedding ceremony, methinks. The ceremony was held in Unitarian Universalist Church (motto: "Eh, love God. Whatever.") and was not a full mass. Just a few readings, some vows, a kiss, and everyone cries and applauds – exactly how I’d like my wedding to be. Only my dad will certainly be smoking in church.
I had to stand on the altar with Joe and Dani and Dani’s sister Abbey, serving as maid (matron?) of honor. I’m happy to report that I neither fainted nor cried, the latter being a real concern, and was able to hand the rings to the minister when prompted without being nudged or threatened.
I don’t have to say that Danielle looked beautiful and Joe looked…clean. Which, really, is all you can ask from a groom.
The Cocktail Hour
The party portion of the wedding was held at the Four Seasons in Boston and, frankly, was the balls. There was a margarita bar during the cocktail hour as well as mini-cheesesteak appetizers, which rocked my fucking world. I knew about these mini-cheesesteaks heading into the wedding and they had a lot to live up to. But boy did they deliver, to the tune of me eating roughly nine of them. Fucking dynamite. My friend Conor actually had to shake me back to reality when he saw me in the corner rubbing one all over my face and whispering.
I spent most of the cocktail hour huddled in a corner re-writing my best man speech. Because I’ve known Joe and Danielle for so long, I have tons and tons of material about them. I had a speech prepared, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought it sounded too rambling and tangential. Also, I said the n-word way too many times. So at the last minute, I decided to scrap almost the whole thing and write it over. I think it worked out well for everyone.
(Well, everyone except Johanna.)
The Speech
After the cocktail hour, we filed into the reception hall to get the party started fo’ serious. While Danielle’s parents were speaking, I was getting nervous about my speech. After all, my humor is more appropriate for the back booth at Blue & Gold than it is for the grand reception room at the Four Seasons. Instead of making jokes in front of my low-life friends, I had to speak in front of 150 people, many of whom were very successful and could easily pay for someone to kill or otherwise hurt me. One of the few things I’m proud of about myself is my nerves of steel in such situations, but I was nearly crapping my pants.
Not only that, but Danielle’s sister Abbey brought it with her toast. It was classy, funny, touching, and most damningly for me, did not rely on overuse of the word "feces." Fuck.
Soon I was called up to speak and it was too late to turn back. After thanking the parents of the bride and groom and introducing myself, I started. This was my opening joke:
Famous French philosopher Blaise Pascal once wrote, "There is only love in life. Love that knows neither time, nor place, nor limit. Only love. All the time. Love." And of course – I just made that quote up. But I feel that that quote – fictional as it may be – best describes the relationship and the love that I have watched develop and grow over the past ten years…between Joe…and Dana.
I’m sorry – it’s Danielle, isn’t it? Jesus. Well, you can bet my researcher can start looking for a new job. Sorry about that.
I was concerned that some people might think I was serious messing up the bride’s name, but everyone seemed to get the joke. I then went into how Joe and I met back in high school, how Danielle showed up one month into college and stole him from us, how I’ve been a third wheel since the beginning, and then did a little sentimental bit.
To close the speech, I used a joke that I had used previously at my buddy Steve’s wedding with much success (I also let Ace Cowboy of Slack Lalane use the joke at Don Fiedler’s wedding, where it also went over quite well). It’s a little bawdy, especially for the Four Seasons crowd, but I went with it anyway. I was in the zone.
In closing, I wanted to offer the newlyweds some marital advice. But the problem is, I’m not married. However, I don’t have sex very often, so that’s kinda like being married.
As the crowd laughed at this, I turned to Johanna, and said:
How you doing, Johanna? You doing good, babe? We’ll talk later.
Now, Johanna and I, to my knowledge, have never slept together (can’t say for sure though – we’re both very boozed every time we hang out). Moreover, she did not know that I was going to use her as a prop in the speech. After dropping that line, everyone in the room turned to look at Johanna, who sat at the table, red-faced and mouth agape, completely shocked and horrified. In front of 150 strangers, I said that she wasn’t doing me enough. Wow.
After the speech, I sat down next to Johanna, who couldn’t say a word for a solid ten minutes. When she finally was able to talk, she said, "What…was…that?" I responded by saying the same words I’d been using all weekend: "Would you like some wine?"
The Reception
Fortunately, Johanna "got over it" (read: she didn’t get over it, but realized if she were to murder me then and there, there’d be too many witnesses). I’ve written before that I am just about the best wedding date ever, and I think I proved this at the reception by dancing the night away. Remember, for a man my size, I’m a surprisingly agile dancer. I was once ranked #4 in the world in my weight class, but because of last year’s weight loss I’m in a new weight class and ranked somewhere around #260. Such is life.
However, no one – and I mean no one – can dance like my buddy Bill. He’s built like a bowling ball with arms and legs, but my god can he dance. He was out there from the moment the band struck their first chord until they said, "Thank you – good night!" Watching Bill do a split in the middle of the dance floor is something that will alternatively haunt and pleasure my dreams for as long as I live. God bless him.
The dinner was unbelievable. Lobster three ways (claw meat, in a spring roll, and in a bisque that was so good that if used properly could easily win us the war in Iraq), followed by a filet mignon that was one of the top five steaks I’ve ever had – despite the fact that it was produced for 150 people. Unreal. Just plain unreal.
Then the sundae bar…goodness gracious. I don’t even know if I’m ready to get into what that was like, but I can’t think of a more perfect evening than one in which I drink a dozen Manhattans, eat one of the best meals of my life, inhale a giant sundae, and dance the night away.
(I just want you to know that as I’m writing this, I have an erection. I’m that worked up right now.)
The Post-Reception
We knew the reception was ending at midnight, so earlier in the day we were trying to figure out a bar to go to afterward. We checked with the bartender in the Four Seasons, who told us point blank that if our reception was ending at 12, then they were closing at 12, so afraid were they of us coming down drunk and rowdy. Fair enough, and probably the smartest decision.
What we didn’t realize is that after the reception was over, there was another room set up for us where we could continue drinking until 2am (!). Not only that, the room was stocked with the best drunk foods: sliders, mac and cheese, fried chicken, and these little lobster sandwiches that tasted exactly like love (!!). Also, there were snow cones made with tequila (!!!).
I mean, were Dani’s and Joe’s parents trying to kill us? I am genuinely surprised that no one died at this wedding, either from too much booze or by choking on a slider or in some sort of hari-kari incident, since I’m pretty sure my life will not get any better than it was at the moment, holding a slider in one hand and a tequila snow cone in the other, with a belly full of the finest food and drink. Again, for the record, I’m erect right now. Worth nothing.
Joe, the groom, got so drunk that he was actually cut off at the bar – not a small feat at one’s own wedding. I had to help Danielle take Joe back to the room, as at this point he was screaming gibberish and running around the halls of the Four Seasons at 1:45am. I put him in the couch in their room and his head lolled back as he let out a constant stream of non-sense, something something like Russian spoken by a black person. I’m not a betting man (lie), but I would guess that Joe and Dani did not exactly set the night to music on their wedding night.
As for me, I got home, put on my robe, and fell asleep in bathroom for a few hours. Man, I love love.
************
The wedding was, obviously, a huge success. Not only did everything go off without a hitch, but everyone had a blast. Since returning, I’ve had a miserable week, in large part because I just want to be up in Boston, eating those mini-cheesesteaks, drinking Manhattans. I was almost offended when my boss asked me to do work on Monday.
I learned many things at this wedding. One, I love love. Two, I love luxury. Three, if you’re going to intimate that you’re having sex with a girl – when you’re not - in front of 150 people that she doesn’t know, you might want to at least give her a heads up about that.
More: on the drive back to NYC, I got a call from another of my best friends. Just a few hours after watching one of my best friends get married, I learned that my other best friend and his wife are now expecting. Wow.
So, so much love around me. Then there’s me in the center, a true black hole, a loveless void that smells of cheap whiskey, worn boxers and Thousand Island dressing. While my best friends are getting married and having children, the closest I feel to love is when I masturbate in front of my bathroom mirror: I feel happy, then I feel flushed, then there’s semen on the cold tile of the bathroom floor. That’s kinda like love, right?
…
I should probably get a dog or something.
