|My "I'm available" face. Also why I should never be a Bridesmaid.|
Alcohol and I have always had a natural proclivity towards salacious behavior, so for me, weddings were like the Serengeti: full of tasty Gazelles ripe for my inner lioness to devour. At least, that's how I like to recall them. Realistically, I was probably more like a wounded Zebra (no where near as majestic or graceful as a Gazelle) in a room full of Cheetahs (or the likes of any other unfaithful animal).
Weddings are similar to Halloween in the sense that they're both comprised of parties filled with drunken sluts; the obvious difference being that at weddings the girls start out pretending to be pure as the driven snow, but at the end of the night, the line separating the two is indistinguishable. Now, at the time, I thought I was "getting lucky" - I had the kind of track record at weddings that would put John Beckwith and Jeremy Grey to shame.
I retract that statement, because it just makes me sound like a dirty, filthy whore. I was no where near the number of weddings they were in attendance of. Nor was I as smooth. (Or as fictional, for that matter). Regardless, four particular instances come to mind, which I will share with you now:
*For the record, a "real wedding" consisted of one at which copious amounts of alcohol was consumed (on my part). I have since attended weddings, sober, and they are a nothing more than arrogant, braggadocios snooze-festivals. But I digress.
1) The first wedding I attended as an adult was at a winery. Theoretically, this would be very convenient for me. What was inconvenient, however, was the ignorance of youth - I was 20, new to alcohol, and hadn't yet mastered the elusive "maintenance." If there was a "line," I blew right past it. As luck would have it, this was the Holy blissful nuptials of my parents' best friend's daughter, so mom and dad were right by my side to peel me off the ground and drive me home. Literally. I was so wasted by dinner my parents had to escort me out the back in an attempt to hide me (aka: their embarrassment), and take me far away from any discerning guest. Their biggest mistake was leaving me to stand on my own while they brought the car around, because by the time they pulled up, I was making out with the gravel parking lot.
How is kissing the ground getting lucky? Technically I wasn't unlucky. Moreover, this incident sets a tone for future weddings to come; a) that I was drunk and b) that my parents were in attendance. It just unravels from here.
2) The next wedding I went to was much more "successful." It was the ceremony of my mother's best friend's 19 year-old son, and I was inspired to act just as dumb as they apparently were for pissing away their youth. I caught a lift with my parents and made the three hour drive to the event - a responsible move on my part because I knew I'd be imbibing in a few dozen celebratory libations.
I made it through dinner (yay!) and thank God I did, otherwise I wouldn't have seen him cuttin' a rug on the dance floor. Not only did he have moves that would put Jerry's kids to shame, he had a British accent - a real panty dropper. I'm painting a Monet for you, cuz from far away (and through beer goggles) all of this looked really good, but up close it was a big 'ol mess.
Ironically, it was the 19 year-old groom (sober - by default, because he wasn't old enough to drink at his own wedding - and clear headed) who handed me the red flag: "Stay away from Roger. All he wants to do is f**k you." First off, I eat red flags for breakfast. Second, DING DING DING! Thank you Captain Obvious, that's what I was going for. Not all of us are trying to get married, you little freak. (His bride wasn't even pregnant at the time. They got married young cuz they were "in love." Weirdos.)
The part where I showed real class was when I told my mom and dad that I would not be needing a ride home with them, cuz I would be accompanying my new friend.
3) Moving right along, I found myself in Pismo Beach a few years later at a wedding I was invited to by my best friend (who later made me a bridesmaid in her own wedding. See above pic.) She asked me to be her wing woman, and I never turn down an opportunity to be of service. Her cousin was getting married, or something like that, and all I cared about was that it was far the hell out of town and an opportunity to hook up with someone I'd most likely never see again in my life.
A bit of back story: my high school boyfriend and I kept up a "friendly" relationship that extended into my twenties. Now, there's really no good way to spin this, so I'm just going to say that at his behest, I may have shared a certain skill set I possess for oral copulation with a friend of his.
Fast forward to Pismo, where as fate would have it, this "friend" just happened to be a wedding guest. (To say "it's a small world" is the goddamned understatement of the century.) I felt cockblocked, to say the least. Not to mention a little dirty. How was I to proceed without looking like a total hooker? The logical answer, of course, would be to hook up with him again. Though, what a fucking bummer, cuz I was really looking for something new. After all, variety is the spice of life. What a waste of mileage.
4) My favorite wedding conquest, to date, was with "Clark Kent." That's what I called him, because he had steely eyes, dark hair and black-rimmed glasses, a muscular build beneath his suit, and also because I have no idea what his real name is. I met him at the wedding of the brother of the bride from wedding #1, so the pressure was on for me to keep it together. There would be NO gravel parking lot debacles this time.
By now I had a few weddings under my belt, and knew that my plus one had to be a friend who was fun, but didn't upstage me. I wasn't interested in competing. I needed a Best Supporting by my side, and she really pulled through. If there was an award I could have bestowed upon her, I would have, because this bitch snuck into my bedroom the next morning as Clark and I laid in bed to CLEAN MY ROOM so he wouldn't be repulsed by my pig pen when he woke up. Now THAT is a fucking good friend. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Clark had me at double windsor knot - that is to say, using his tie, he placed it around my neck and taught me how to tie one - and that's where it stayed all night, long after I lost every other article of clothing.
Of course because he was the only wedding hook-up I was interested in ever having call me again, he never did. My karma finally caught up with me. Sure, there would be other weddings, but they all fell short of my sordid evening with Kent. I searched phone booths before resigning myself to the insides of bars, and found other action figures to spend time with, but never a super hero. Booze will betray you more than men, but it took a while for me to piece that together.
|Compliments of the Bride. I'm so grateful I have friends willing to remind me of how classy I was.|