The Wedding’s Rockin’ Eve
The ride to Pennsylvania went relatively smoothly. No tickets, very little traffic and being Mr. classy I consumed a bottle of Chateau St. Michelle Riesling from a Gatorade bottle. Sometimes it really is hard to believe that I’m 37 and not 17.
Anyway, we arrived to find everyone out on the patio drinking like it was nickel beer night at a frat house. We were at a golf resort, so one of the non-wedding attendees stumbled over to our table. Obviously, unaware of how much the family likes to fuck with people, he struck up a drunken exchange with our group.
By the end of the conversation we knew that his name was Paul, he was from south Buffalo, he liked Amy’s cousin’s legs and the blacks in Buffalo were only good for emptying garbage cans. In turn, the grandfather of the aforementioned cousin with great legs, informed Paul that she had five kids by five different fathers and that one of them would qualify for emptying garbage cans in south Buffalo. Feeling a little embarrassed, he bought us a pitcher of beer and stumbled back inside. Then, we all laughed and laughed because we totally lied to him, she only has four kids by three different fathers and they were all Hispanic, not black. High-larious!
Our little party started to break up, leaving just a few of us guys to finish off the beers. As we were about to call it a night, he showed back up with his buddies, whom he must of told there were a bunch of hot chicks on the patio. The look on Paul’s face when he realized that it was just a bunch of dudes at our table was priceless. His buddies started crushing him as if they’d caught him on his knees in the men’s bathroom.
The Wedding
Trying to contain my two year old in a big church during the ceremony, was a lot like wrestling a midget covered in baby oil, only my daughter didn’t have the stubby sausage fingers and oversized head to grab onto. In addition to being uber-squirmy she also took the opportunity to test her outside voice by constantly yelling, “I see Kenny! I see Kenny!”
I think I spent approximately eight minutes inside the actual wedding, and the rest of the time I was in the lobby trying to keep my little anti-Christ from desecrating everything sacred that was below four feet high. Honey, please take Mickey Mouse out of the holy water. Yes, I know he’s dirty but that’s not a bath. C’mon baby, please stop pounding on Jesus’ feet like you’re taking part in his crucifixion. Sweety, it’s cute how you sang happy birthday before blowing out all of the candles, but those are prayer candles and beloved Uncle Steve is probably not going to survive his motorcycle accident thanks to you. Darling, I know you’re a big Kathy Griffin fan, but this isn’t the place to be yelling “Suck it Jesus!”
After we went up and down the church steps 19 times, I marched her into the men’s bathroom, so that I could shake the dew off the lily. As I was taking care of business, the anti-Christ walked up to the urinal next to me and proceeded to grab the urinal cake. I screamed NOOOOOOOO! Then, I zipped up and turned around to see her putting a goldfish in her mouth. I immediately turned into an audience member at the Apollo. “Ooooh damn baby, no you di-int just do that. Ohhhhh snap! Yo mamma’s gonna kill me.” I immediately took her to the sink and scrubbed her hands like I was Lady Macbeth, but by then the damage was done and I could only pray that the confessional upstairs was open for business.
Maggie, Someday you will be on your therapist’s couch and you’ll have this nagging memory about something bad happening to you involving a father and a church basement bathroom. For the record I want you to know that you weren’t touched inappropriately by a priest. You gave yourself First Communion using the water and a deodorizing cake from a urinal while your father stood next to you pissing and screaming at you like a little girl. Um, yeah, good luck with that.
I’ll give you all a minute to choke down that little bit of throw up in your mouth before we move on.
The Reception
The Crown was flowing and the band led by a cross between Patrick Swayze and Richard Dean Anderson AKA MacGyver, was pumping out your standard list of wedding favorites. After the festivities started to wrap up the party moved to the patio where a man sporting an accordion got the Polish version of the reception underway. Standing across the way was a woman who had one of those disposable cameras and she was just cranking out the pictures of her accordion hero.
Like J.D. in scrubs, I had one of those cutaway moments in my head to the drug store photo counter, where the sarcastic teenage clerk was like “It’s Monday, here comes Alice again. I’m guessing it was another crazy weekend. Wow, what a shocker, 24 glossy prints of a man playing an accordion. These are going to look great in her scrapbook next to the other 685 photos that we’ve processed this year of her musical idol.”
Also, I’m pretty sure someone said the guys name was Jim, so for the rest of the night the phrase “Accordion to Jim” was running through my head. For the record, how has that show been on the air for eight seasons? I don’t know a single person who watches it, yet every week I flip through the channels and there’s Jim Belushi saying something not funny and collecting a nice fat paycheck. Hey Jimbo, I bet you’re glad that your much more talented brother did himself in. Now you and Joaquin Phoenix can toast to your success at your brothers expenses. What? Still too soon?
Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go give my daughter her penicillin bath, while saying a few Hail Mary’s.
Here's your moment of zen. Mr. classy rockin' the Pens jersey at the reception:
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