The Wedding: And/Or How I Murdered 1,000 People in 1,000 Days: Part Seven.

So, I went to a wedding this past weekend.

Not interested?

Fine. Uh…

So, I went on a violent murdering spree this past weekend…

Yeah, now you’re interested.

It was a horrible mess. A lot of people dead.

I just hate old folks homes.

So, yeah, I was at a wedding this past weekend. One of my best friend’s. And I was the best man. So I had a lot of responsibilities. Like making sure I had the rings. I didn’t. But that’s not my fault. The morning of the wedding, I asked where they were. The groom told me I didn’t need to worry about them. Ok. So, I didn’t. Fast forward five hours later when he and I are about to follow the priest out to the alter. He asked me where the rings were? Uh, are you fucking kidding me? You told me not to worry. “They’re back at the hotel.” The bride’s mom chimed in. “We forgot them.” The priest shot me a look like, you’re the worst best man in the goddamn world. Everyone ignored me for the rest of the night. A little girl ran up to me and punched me in the dick. An old man tried to fight me.

He was part of the murdering spree.

Some of that happened. A lot of it did not. I might not have even attended a wedding.

I did. And it was one of the best weddings I’ve ever been to. Mainly because I was the best man so everything centered around me. Kind of. It should have. But mostly because it involved two people who really are supposed to be together. I was there when they first met. During a lot of their fights. And now for one of the most important days of both their lives. Nowadays it seems that marriage is as flighty as quitting your job or trying out a new city. If I don’t like it, I’ll just give up and try something new. But there is still hope for “till death do us part”. And that’s just what it’s going to take to rip these two apart. Nothing else will.

During the rehearsal dinner, it sort of hit me. I should have ordered the ribs. And what life is really about. Most of us don’t realize this growing up. The meaning of life. And I doubt I do now. But I might have caught a glimpse of it while the groom’s mother was opening up her gift from the soon-to-be newlyweds: tickets to a Broadway show where she would be joined by the groom, the bride and the bride’s parents. Because the in-laws get along with each other. Just one big happy newlywed family. I stared at that Broadway ticket and at first thought about ripping it from the groom’s mom’s hand and then running like hell to god knows where because really, what the hell would I do with it? Show up. Yeah, remember when I did this and now I’m here?

No.

But another thought crossed my mind. One not so destructive. Growing up, we want to be rich. Famous. Rock stars. We want to own the world. But that’s not what life’s all about. And I saw it that night. I’ve seen it 1,000 times before. But it became clear that night. The little things. Family. Friends. Love. That’s not a little thing actually. It’s an almost impossible thing. But my friend found it. And it’s obvious in the way they act towards each other. Look at each other. Talk to each other. Impossible looks so easy when it’s so obvious. But what they’ll get out of it will be the little things: coming home to each other. Starting a family. Even attending a Broadway show with the family. They’re surrounded by love every minute of the day. More love than what most people have in three lifetimes, these two have in this one. They prove that the little things really do mean everything. And I hate both of them for it…so fucking much.

Why do I have to ruin every beautiful moment with an explosion of obnoxious gas? Why? Because that’s just how I am.

The little things seemed to the farthest thing from a select few’s minds shortly after the reception. There was a lot of roaming the hotel hallways. At five in the morning. A lot of people locked out of their rooms. For various reasons. My reason was because the bride’s step brother was having sex on the bed I was supposed to be enjoying at that particular moment in the night. Five in the morning. Did I mention that? I wanted to be exhaling in utter ecstasy after a long night of drinking and being nice, but instead I had to yell through a crack in the door at a man who puts out fires for a living and could put me out with one punch. Yelling to get his dick out of that vagina and his ass out of my bed. His only response was with thrusting. So, a group of us left and made our way down to the second floor. That’s when we ran into the other members of the locked-out club.

They both just so happened to be the sister’s of the man who was dousing my bed with semen just a floor above us. One of them was wearing a t-shirt of mine along with my famous pair of green shorts. Famous because of the gigantic stain of puke they once held from another one of my best friend’s who decided to get completely annihilated ten minutes before the stroke of midnight one New Year’s Eve, thus sending him into an intoxicated coma of cross-eyed puking, chocking, gagging and the look of a retard after being told he is in fact a retard. And he was wearing my green shorts. And a polo shirt. And I was with him, watching him slowly die in front of me. All this while my girlfriend at the time was screaming at me from the other room to get my ass in there and fucking kiss her already because it’s almost midnight and whatever my friend was doing could wait. Uh, no, he could be dead by midnight. This could be the last time we see each other. Grant it, I think he was legally blind by this point, but still, if he was going to die, I wanted to be there to watch. He didn’t die. The girl and I broke up and now some other girl was wearing my green shorts.

I got side-tracked. Just a little.

She was locked out because her sister was choosing five in the morning, the night of her other sister’s wedding, to break up with her boyfriend of over nine years. I hear it was because another sister stormed in there and told the boyfriend that he was hated by everyone including his girlfriend. Just, knock knock, “Oh, hey, what are you…?” “You’re a fucking piece of shit. No one likes you. My sister hasn’t liked you for years. Get the fuck out!” At five in the morning. Drunk. Because timing means nothing to some people. So the one sister’s locked out because the other sister is breaking up another sister’s relationship and that sister is locked out because her wife was mad at her for reasons none of us could get a straight answer on and I’m locked out because their brother is using my bed as a porno set. And I just wanted to get some goddamn sleep.

I eventually did. On the pull out couch. While another one of my best friends (I have a lot) slept as close to me as two hetero guys can sleep without legally being married in the state of California.  I woke up twice to the brother fucking the chick. Once to my friend giving himself a hand job. And then I spent the rest of the night crying.

It really is the little things that tug at your heart strings.

This blog is dedicated to the following people: Stryper, Stand-Up HandJob, Sack Back, Scorpion, S-Beard and…Shrimp Dick.

Oh, and Vickers. Who is and always will be…rivickulous.

And loves Snickers. Like, a lot.

Oh, and Kristen. For keeping Tyler from fighting that pregnant midget.

But not Kara. Yes, Kara. Of course Kara. Who keeps me strong. My heart. My soul. My everything.

And of course…Newt. Because really, I’ve never seen a man own more pairs of sunglasses than this man. I think Kara even asked me how many pairs he actually owns. I lost count after day three.

Oh, and of course, Tara. Without whom there would be no wedding. Well, maybe, but not this one and the girl would probably suck and we’d all stand around and go, man this girl really sucks. Why is Jon marrying such a sucky sucky girl such as this one? And then we’d stop and be all fake and hug her and tell her she looks beautiful even though she looks like a sack of mistake dangling from a warthogs diarrheaed asshole. A fucking horrible human being whose attitude fucking sucks and goddamnit Jon, why’d you marry this bitch? Is it because she’s pregnant. There’s ways out Jon. You didn’t have to put all of us through this. You don’t have to tangle yourself up inside such a loveless, depressing, suicidal marriage.

But he didn’t do that. He married Tara. So the hugs were sincere. And the only bitching was really from Robinson who just wanted to get some fucking sleep but couldn’t because of Fuckstar the Fireman. Two for two Fireman. Two for two.

Oh, and Peeps. The cutest kid in the world. Besides me when I was her age. And her sex. Before the doctors told me it would be better if they just flipped it open and turned it into a penis.

Oh shit, that reminds me. Sophia for being Greek. I was right. And Thomas, who wore my green shirt the night of the great hotel lock-out. And I also forgot to mention that the sister who broke up the other sister’s relationship was wearing Robinson’s shirt and shorts so it really was just a bastardized night of what the fuck is going on.

God bless you Richard Marx. God bless you.