For the background of this epic tale, go here, here, here, here, here and finally here. The man getting married is Dead Man Walking (DMW). For the rest of the name abbreviations you’re just going to have to read the links.
I arrive at the wedding ten minutes early, thinking I might have difficulty finding a seat. The church was not crowded, which surprised me because DMW comes from a well connected family.
Having been to enough weddings in my life, I have to wonder why they become such a time absorbing activity for women. Yes, yes, I know its the big day when you’ve got your sucker, but they’re all pretty much the same kind of event:
- Bride in white dress.
- Bride with freshly coiffed hair and nails.
- Men in tuxedos.
- Brides maids in hideous dresses.
- Invitations.
- Shit that ain’t rice anymore to throw when they leave because God forbid a little bird dies.
- Minister, Preacher, Priest, whatever giving the same beta advice in his sermon.
- Two rings.
- The same passages out of the Bible: “If I don’t have love, I don’t have squat.”
- Flowers.
- A cake. (well a nice cake and a piece of crap cake for the “groom”)
- Food and drink to give people.
- Music.
- A photographer.
That’s about it. Why it takes so much time, money and effort is beyond me. The crap is fungible.
I think I should sell myself out as a wedding coordinator. I could get everything done in a day, dole out little bits of information to the bride and her family every week or so and charge a ton of money.
Anyway, back to the wedding at hand. Typical music you hear every time. DMW is standing at the altar area waiting for his bride. The bridesmaids all dutifully and slowly walk down the aisle. Like walking slower than molasses lends some kind of solemnity to the affair.
I scan the audience for prospects and get depressed really fast. The cougars are the best of the lot. At least they’re thin, but there aren’t many of them.
The groom’s sister marches down the aisle looking like she’s about to throw up. I glance at the program and notice that all the bridesmaids are friends of “the couple” the best man is a “friend of the groom.” I remember reading somewhere that men have a harder time getting divorced because they “abandon” their friends over time in the marriage.
That is not the case. There is a slow psychological battle that occurs where the wife slowly alienates the husband from his friends.
The preacher makes a few introductory words that are meant to be humorous about the bride and “her lists and questions” and how much free time he’s going to have after the wedding.
No one laughs.
The sermon is filled with all sorts of advice: Remember anniversaries, put the other person first. A marriage isn’t 50/50, which gets closer to the truth. He makes a comment about brides leaving God at the altar and brides keeping score when he appears to be talking to a singular bride.
I notice during all this that BB got stood up by his date. At least he tried.
We get to the point where the bride and groom kiss. Now, I want to stop right there for a minute and if you have gone to any wedding, imagine what happens at that moment. How does the audience react?
O.k., got that image in your head?
That didn’t happen. No applause. No intake of breath. No collective sigh, even from the women in the audience. Nothing, nada, zilch. A marriage has got to be a terrible idea when even the women attending have no buy in. Afterward, a woman described the kiss as exciting as watching the signing of a business contract.
It ends, the bride and groom march out and all I can think of looking at the two of them is that I am somehow at a muppet wedding. The lack of facial expression is disturbing.
The idea that all brides are beautiful on their wedding day is a lie. I don’t care how ugly the bridesmaids are, how hideous the dress, how pretty the wedding gown. Some brides are not beautiful or pretty even in contrast
People stand around a little bit. There is actually a betting pool on how long the marriage will last.
I piss off one woman by referring to DMW as a mangina.
“That’s insulting. I have a vagina. You should say he’s a penis.”
“No. He’s lacking that.”
She glares at me, I smile back. Later that night she’ll buy me a glass of wine and dance with me.
We head to the reception. The first person I run into is the mother of the bride, and she is very touchy feely. “I’m so glad you’re here.” One side effect of touching just about everyone, is that everyone touches you back.
I am not saying that I make passes, or grope people or anything like that. I touch them, perhaps lightly on the shoulder to get their attention, or a nudge when they tell a joke, or a pat on the arm or hand. Men and women.
People need touch. They are starved for it and our society cuts out so much of it that any touch is something people crave on a subconscious level. It is why we have pets. Why grandparents love their grandchildren so much.
If you touch people, they will never say anything, but they notice and they will touch you. Even people you haven’t touched will touch you. You have made it an invitation and the need for it is so great that when they have the opportunity, they will take it. They will like you because of it.
DO NOT GROPE PEOPLE OR TOUCH THEM INAPPROPRIATELY.
You will get the reverse reaction. You have been warned.
I get various women to buy me drinks. I am sitting at the table and UMG comes over and asks me to hold a bottle of crown royal for him. I still have no idea why he needed me to hold it, but I happily obliged myself to the contents which makes him agitated but I deflect it by asking him to introduce his wife.
The wife of UMG is thin and does not smile. UMG has bragged about the size of her breasts. If they are huge, she must tape them down and hide them in a vicious corset of some kind. I notice throughout the night that UMG and his wife mainly ignore each other the whole evening.
She is not happy. She is not actively flirting with the desperation of a woman in a loveless relationship that I have noticed. I wonder if she is discrete, or already has someone on the side that she’s in love with.
I am sitting at a table when the buffet starts. AB, the best man, comes back in the room with two plate fulls of food. The chubby woman (CW) next to me (sadly she would be a knock out if she lost a good amount of weight) says, “I hate AB, that guy can eat and eat and stays so skinny.”
“He doesn’t work out either.” I reply.
CW glances my way, “He has a weight set at home.”
I’m thinking, AB you dog, but I answer, “You have a treadmill at home and you don’t use it.”
CW, “I do not! I go to the gym and use the treadmill everyday.”
“You need to use it more.”
“Asshole.”
“Part of the public service I provide.”
I leave and work the room a little bit. I keep the bag of Crown Royal with me because UMG has been hovering around trying to take it back. I set the bag down once while taking to someone and shaking their hand and UMG sneaks in behind me and grabs the bag and runs off. Ah well, there is more free booze to be had.
I get to the wedding table and talk to AB. AB did not bring a date. The bride was pissed off about that. She said it wasn’t right to go stag to a wedding. He just laughed at her.
The bride is two seats away and says, “You and my maid of honor should get together.”
I glance over at MoH and say, “I don’t think so.”
MoH says, “The first time we met, you called me a fake bitch.”
“I did?” I say with a frown, “I don’t recall using the word fake.”
The bride interjects, “My brother says that fat women are more fun in bed.”
Now the bride isn’t fat, but her maids are and I almost laugh at this, but it also sobers me in a way. On the face it’s an insult to MoH in front of her, but the sad reality is being fat is becoming something acceptable in our culture. It was said like, “My brother says that blonds are more fun in bed.”
Now, I noticed that the woman her brother brought as a date to the wedding is the hottest woman here and she is not fat, so I doubt her brother said that.
“They are?”
“Oh yeah, they’re willing to do more in bed.”
I laugh. “It doesn’t matter if they’re fat or skinny. they’ll all do what I want.”
A secretary I have flirted with in the past, comes over. She touches me all over. I notice her husband across the room. The guy is so stiff that if I didn’t know better I would guess that he had rods surgically placed in his back.
He sees the two of us and walks as fast as a stiff backed, uptight insecure man can to interject himself between us. For the rest of the night he hovers around her, mate guarding. Good luck with that, you’re already losing.
The meal is done. Toasts are made. AB talks a lot about his friendship with DMW and how he would trust the man with his back.
I wouldn’t. The man’s a coward. I’d rather have a complete dick that would do what needed to be done, than a nice coward guarding my six. There’s a sheriff deputy that I know that was in a stand off with three other deputies against a man with a gun.
Instead of guarding his partner’s six, he was no where to be found. Really nice guy. Why the Sheriff gave him a desk job instead of canning him I will never know.
AB finally gets to praising the couple, saying the two deserve each other. That their marriage will be a symbol for all of us. It goes over well. It was better than the MoH’s speech, probably because he had to put a lot more thought into it.
Cake time. There are cameras on all of the tables for memories. I grab the camera and get as close as a can as the bridge cuts a piece of the wedding cake. The angle is just right and I focus on the knife. I looks like she’s taking the knife to DMW’s groin. *click*
Neither party shoves cake in the mouth of the other. DMW seems actually afraid of that. I run around and get women to show their cleavage as I take their picture on the camera. They are all to happy to comply.
The dancing starts. DMW walking and the bride dance some kind of unintentional zombie waltz. It is awkward, and stiff and has no flare.
There’s the buy a dance with the bride or groom and I dutifully get in line, like the fine upstanding man that I am. I take my turn with the bride and the first thing she says to me is, “I don’t know how to dance.”
I sigh, “For once, just follow the lead.”
We twirl a little bit and she says to me, “Did you have fun on the bachelor party.”
“When I ditched your husband.”
She laughs, “He’s a stick in the mud.”
“Oh yeah, I suspect I would have more fun going to Vegas when you and your friends go next February.
He smile widens, “You would.”
The dance ends.
There is more dancing. DMW kind of shuffles around without moving his arms. I notice the secretaries husband has the same dance moves. The undead are all around us.
AB gets falling down drunk. After the wedding several people head to a local bar. The MoH finally runs off with a guy sporting a mullet that doesn’t have a problem fucking fatties and at least a couple husbands think I’m a threat.
All in a good nights fun.
