Everything is wrong with me
Monday, November 08, 2004
another wonderful, wonderful wedding
Alas, another wedding is in the books, this time my friends Matt and Katie's. This one was in Trumbull (or Monroe or wherever - one of those sleepy, quaint CT towns, where everyone is white and pretty and fit and wears Brooks Brothers or J. Crew or Abercrombie & Fitch and listens to Dave Matthews or Three Doors Down). And, sadly, I was kind of a pussy at this wedding.

Well, not entirely. Let me explain.

Like I wrote on Friday, this one had an afternoon reception. I was interested to see how this would turn out: would the drinking stop when the open bar closed at 5:30? Or would it continue until my heart stopped beating? How late would I stay out? How many appetizers would I be able to eat before throwing up? Would I be able to pocket any of said appetizers for private after-hours consumption in my hotel room? Which bridesmaid and/or groomsman would I try to seduce? You get it.

The church ceremony was at 11am, and it was lovely. One thing that pisses me off about the church part of the wedding is the whole communion bit (indulge me here). Not all of my friends are Catholic, and those who are Catholic are not very good Catholics. Still, these people go up to receive communion at the mass because they don't want to be the only one left behind sitting in the pew, looking like some terrible sinner who hates god and regularly burns down churches and has same-sex love on the weekends.

I am a terrible Catholic. God and I are not on speaking terms right now, for reasons I don't want to get into at this juncture. While walking into the church and noticing a huge baptismal font, my buddy Joe said, "Hey Jay - do you think if you touched that holy water it would singe the skin of your fingertip?" I touched it, and, wouldn't you know it, it did.

According to the Catholic faith (and, admittedly, despite 18 years of Catholic education, this may be wrong), one cannot receive communion if one has a mortal sin on one's soul (I really should have used the second person "you" in this sentence instead of "one"). Mortal sins include but are not limited to: murder, passing bad checks, missing Church on Sunday, arson, having sex out of marriage - you know, shit I do on a fairly regular basis (well, except that last one).

(I'm feeling very parenthetical today apparently)

So therefore I do not receive communion while at wedding masses. I'd rather be a bad Catholic than a hypocrite, so I'm the only one left in the pew at weddings while all my Catholic and non-Catholic friends go up to receive the body of Christ. I don't think I really have a point to this (am I trying to stress that I am strong in my convictions? do I want to impress you with this? am I trying to attack my friends who receive the communion? why is relish so fucking perfect on hot dogs?), but I thought it was something worth mentioning.

Back to the wedding. The reception was a blast. I started with beer, but it wasn't sitting right, since I was a little hungover from the night before and it was still only 12:30 in the afternoon. So I went with my old stand-by: vodka cranberry.

Four hours and more than a few vodka-crans later, I was in the middle of the circle on the dance floor ripping through my repertoire of dances: the Sprinkler, the Cabbage Patch, and the Running Man, but also some Jason Mulgrew originals: the Cement Mixer, the Flamingo, and My Baby's Crying. Also, I'm pretty sure the bride and groom's families know me now as "Matt's gay friend", because I was doing the dance where you mime lassoing someone, pull them close to you and then dance all up on them. I could have chose anyone to do this to: perhaps the bride, who I know well, or a bridesmaid, many of whom I know well, or any of the countless women on the dance floor. Instead, of course, I chose the groom. Not a good choice. And yes, there is a video. And yes, I will do everything within the realm of the power bestowed on me by being an internet quasi-celebrity to make sure this video never sees the light of day.

The good news is that I discovered a pretty funny thing to say to people when you're playing the catch-up game ("Where are you now? What are you doing?"). Matt (the groom) was one of my best friends in college, but he wasn't in the core circle of my friends. See, unlike most of my friends, Matt's a nice guy: he doesn't get shit-housed because it's Tuesday afternoon and he doesn't have anything else to do, he doesn't spend most of his time writing anonymous hate letters to the bitch at Who's who spent all night dancing with him but left as soon as the lights came on, he doesn't grow marijuana plants in his closet, etc. So Matt and I maintained a friendship that existed outside of both our "inner circles" of friends.

The result is that there were a lot of people at the wedding from his circle who I kinda knew and had met maybe once or twice before, but didn't really know. So I had fun conversations like:

Person I don't really know: "So how have you been? I haven't seen you in forever!"
Me: [sighing] "Well, good, you know. I don't know how much you heard, but it was a little rough there for a while. But I'm clean now, and have been for over a year."
Person: [awkward] "Oh, well that's great. Great."
Me: "Yeah, you know what they say - 'one day at a time.' So, we'll see."
Person: [still awkward] "Well, I'm gonna run, but it was nice to see you."

When the reception ended at 5:30, everyone boarded the bus to head back to the hotel for drinks at the hotel bar. Within minutes of sitting down, I, along with at least half of the passengers/guests, feel asleep. I don't know how long we were in the bus for, but when we got back to the hotel my plan was to change and then head down to the hotel bar. I went up to my room, sat on my bed, and then passed out. Hard.

When I woke up, it was 10:11. I figured I would order a pizza, eat to recharge, and get ready and head out. The pizza took almost an hour to arrive, and by the time I had finished eating it (the whole fucking thing), it was almost 11:30. So I finished up some wine I was drinking, and passed out again. Hard.

(Lame, I know. I am still upset with myself, but it's very hard to stop a drunk, overweight person from falling asleep if they are so inclined.)

Still, it was a hell of a time. Anytime you mix free booze, old friends, and a celebration of love, you can't go wrong. Unless my Uncle Teddy is there and he's all coked up. Because then it can get ugly. Fast.

But fortunately, my Uncle Teddy was not invited. And fortunately, though they've been fun, I won't be going to a wedding for a long time (unless any of you invite me to one). I'm looking forward to getting back to my roots and spending all of next weekend in NYC, dropping $6 for each beer or vodka tonic I drink, ordering a $15 burrito for dinner, and generally rabble-rousing. Perhaps I may even go to a museum, or do something cultural. Or perhaps I will take in one of the various shows that this great city has to offer. Or perhaps I'll get drunk and pass out in the shower. Probably that last one, but you never know.

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