Aaron & Marlowe

11008617_941851562514661_8247007796602424096_o

It was April 13th 2013, but you could hardly tell it was Spring by the weather that afternoon. The day Aaron and Marlowe got married in Malibu, California it was overcast and chilly, and in addition to their beautiful ceremony, and amazing buffet spread, an extra redeeming quality for me was being able to gather with my west coast Philly sports family for a celebration that would include so much food, so much drink, and so much debauchery.

Tasha and I had been living together as roommates for the past 8 months. Within the four walls of my apartment all the time were me, Tasha, all of our stuff, my pet cat, and her pet rabbit.

IMG_20150507_072954

#bffs

We were kind of like one small dysfunctional family the last few months however during that time, Tasha and I had somehow worked together to write and produce 8 episodes of our award winning web series, Trent & Tilly. It was a small accomplishment in the grand scheme of things, but it was enough for us to gain some confidence moving forward as we tried to figure out how to make this little show into a much bigger show. The wedding couldn’t have come at a better time, as we both needed a little break to relax, unwind, and hang out with our big dysfunctional family, “The Nest of the West.”

I met Aaron at the bar one Sunday afternoon while we all were watching the Eagles game. Aaron loves his football, his wife, and yelling at Cowboys fans who try to taunt us.  Every Sunday it was usually me, Tasha, Shaun, John, Tim, Adam, Dave, Leland, Kerry, the Sinkler twins, our server Kym…. and the rest. We even harbored our friend Drew who is ironically a Redskins fan. Normally, I wouldn’t associate with the enemy on game day, but Drew gets a pass because I’ve known him since the 90s, he’s a good guy, and he takes the most amount of shit talk by sitting with us during the games. It’s great when we’re winning, but it sucks when we’re losing.  How would you like it if there is one guy sitting amongst you cheering loudly when your team fumbles the ball into the hands of the defense.  Sucks.  I always thought inviting us all to a wedding would be very similar to us all being at the bar, except we would all look a lot nicer, the food would be way better, and since Aaron and Marlowe provided transportation to and from the event, we would all be able to get a lot drunker, if that was even possible, but as I would find out later that, it certainly WAS possible.

Tasha and I parked our car at one of the valet pickup spots on Sunset Blvd. A few of us gathered into a pass van and made our way to the top of a mountain in Malibu wearing spring dresses and Calvin Klein suits. As the van climbed through the overcast skies into the upper stratosphere of this well known beach city, I stopped being able to see anything out the window than the road and the clouds. To be honest, it was pretty scary. The lanes going up the mountain were extremely narrow, and we had to pull over to let other cars pass us on the vertical trek to the house. Once we got there, it was pretty clear that we couldn’t see anything past the cliffs at the edge of the property. I had a few thoughts running through my head, one of them, was where the hell were we in relation to L.A., because none of us got any cell phone service up there. The other one was, just how much money did it cost to rent out a three million dollar mansion for the weekend, and how did Aaron get to know these people whose house he rented?

Aaron is a line producer and has worked on some big budget projects, and Marlowe is an exotic animal trainer, (hope I got that right) and she works at the L.A. Zoo, so I’m sure they have their connections. Still, I had been to Malibu before, but when we took a right turn off the Pacific Coast Highway and then headed up a steep road where I thought I was going to die a few times on the ride, I completely lost any sense of time and direction. Things would pretty much exist inside that bubble for the next 6 hours.

The location was decorated with black tablecloths, red roses, a stone patio, and a small set of chairs for the parents and the wedding party. We all gathered in the backyard of the mansion, and the ceremony took place just a few feet away from where we were standing. Most of us didn’t sit down for the ceremony, mainly because there weren’t any chairs for us to sit down in. I kind of liked the idea of Aaron and Marlowe having a wedding so quick and to the point, that within two minutes of them saying I do, and us all clapping and celebrating their union together, we were all at the bar, three feet away getting our drink on. It was just that kind of day. I knew from the start that this wouldn’t necessarily bring about any emotional revelations for me, nor would it bring me back to a time where I would reminisce about growing up with all these guys because for the most part, I had only known them for the last few years, but the people at this wedding are my west coast family, and I love them all, even if I don’t see them that much in between football seasons.

There was ahi tuna, steak, chicken, sushi, and other delicious food being passed around on server trays. Strong cocktails were being consumed all over the grounds, and a buffet was set up in the living room of the mansion where we could all gorge ourselves on many different types of meats, cheeses, salads and more apps. Aaron and Marlowe had what I called an “East Coast” California wedding. It wasn’t your traditional California wedding because there was so much bread and booze and food that you knew the Bride and Groom weren’t from California.  Aaron said that he wanted to keep the decorations and ceremony to a minimum, but he added one element we could all partake in that set this wedding apart from any other wedding I’ve been to. Gambling.

Not like real gambling where you lose your own money, however if we did run out of the fake cash in the perk pack we received at the start of the reception, we could pay for some more. I don’t remember if there were prizes or what not for the person with the most amount of chips, and I don’t recall any dancing or any other type of traditional wedding activities, although looking at this picture of Aaron and Marlowe below being held up on two wooden chairs, I could easily assume there was some traditional jewish element to it.

11154579_941854809181003_9097823379406104746_o

Before I made my way up stairs where the blackjack, roulette, and poker tables were,  I had a few drinks, took some pictures with my boys, and ate a good amount of food, or so I thought. I got to be honest, that’s where the pictures stopped for me. It was as if as soon as I got a little bit more drunk than normal, I stopped taking pictures, the sun set, or at least the hazy ominous light from the where the sun would be if I could tell what direction I was facing had set, and I went up stairs with my bag of chips and sat at a table with Kym, John, and John’s “not” date to the wedding, Zenobia.

20130413_183853

John is like my brother from another mother. I mean, people literally think we are related. He’s a good guy with an creative sense of pride and he’s very opinionated, so we get along fine.  Kym was our server at the bar on Sundays for the past 6 years, and it may be true that Kym and I had a love/hate relationship sometimes, but that could possibly be attributed to the fact that we may or may not have gone out on a date or two that didn’t quite pan out, or ended with us getting totally drunk and screaming at each other in a public or private setting. Hey, sometimes those things happen and when they do happen, that’s when you know that some things just aren’t meant to be. She’s a comedienne, and a good person at heart, and maybe she’ll write me into her stand up routine one day if she hasn’t already. Finally, there was John’s “not date” to the wedding, Zenobia.

I didn’t really know Zenobia, but she kind of came off a little snobby to me, however I’m sure that had everything to do with the first question I asked her that night which was….. “What the hell kind of name is Zenobia?”

I never really got an answer. She seemed kind of…privileged. I don’t know where she is from, but I assume she probably moved here to be an actress from some place in the mid-west, possibly. She was younger than us, and acted very “west coast”  meaning she was not that friendly, kind of stand-offish, a little vapid, and trying so hard to be cool. It’s not all her fault, because if you put her in a room with a bunch of guys and girls who’ve all known each other for years and who have no filter on their mouths who also like to get drunk at weddings and on Sundays and don’t really care about the consequences, you might pick up on some or all of those traits I mentioned earlier. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, maybe it’s just someone being a bitch. I don’t really know.  I kind of wanted to say…

We’re at a wedding, lighten up. Life isn’t that serious right now. Maybe have another glass of pink champagne and stop trying to be the coolest person in the room”

But look, I get that my group of Eagles boys and gals are an intimidating bunch, especially since we bust on each other a lot, and we all have big personalities. Regardless, I don’t really know or wanted to know what her deal was at this point, so after I blew all my money on roulette, blackjack and two hands of Pai Gow or whatever game we were playing, I made my way back downstairs to get myself another drink.

I traded in my empty glass for a full one. I was on my fourth, or maybe fifth vodka because at this point in the night, they just go down so easily. I turned around and started heading back into the house when I ran into Kristin. Kristin and I had hung out a couple times over the last few months, but we kept it really quiet because we both didn’t like people in our personal business. Of course, all of that is negated now that I am writing about her in a public blog.

I liked Kristin. She was a pretty, down to earth, and not like most of the girls in L.A. who think their shit doesn’t stink. She’s a tom boy, from the east coast, wasn’t an actress, nor confrontational, and she had a high level of self esteem. The downside was that she lived all the way in Venice, and I lived all the way in Hollywood, and shared a bedroom with Tasha which definitely complicated any and all dating scenarios that may have arose during that time. Kristen knew about my living situation and I guess she didn’t really care, at least not at this point in the night. So, without really saying much we started a self guided tour of the mansion and eventually disappeared somewhere inside that house.

“What about here?” I asked.

“The bathroom?” She stated. “Not going to work.”

We tried to make the bathroom work for a minute, but as it turns out, Kristin was right… that bathroom was quite cramped and way too bright, so on to plan B. Next, we did what anyone who was drunk at a wedding and looking to hook up would do, we found a bedroom in the back of the house that no one was currently using, we went in, and locked the door behind us.

I don’t know if anyone saw us but to be honest, the idea that somebody might have was kind of exciting. I mean, it felt like we were doing something wrong, even though technically we weren’t but morally we might have been, and in a certain sense I think that added a level of intrigue to the events that took place that night. It felt like we were getting away with something….for now anyway.

I did know that some people were staying over at the house that night as I could tell someone had claimed this room due to the fact that there was a bag of clothes and other personal belongings on the bed, like a hair curler and blow dryer. Oh shit…was this Aaron and Marlowe’s room? I kind of felt bad, but then I thought about the relationship Aaron and Marlowe have and how they probably would have encouraged two guests to hook up at their wedding, and since this bedroom was kind of small and located on the ground floor, the chances of this being the Bride and Groom’s suite for the night were pretty slim, so we continued with our carnal encounter.

Then, five minutes later, and before anything erotic or carnal could actually transpire, we heard a knocking on the door and a very agitated high pitched female voice asking who was in “their” room.

“Oh shit, who is that?” I whispered.

“I don’t know.” Kristin said. “But we better open the door.”

I so did NOT want to open that door. I kept wondering is there a window we could crawl out of? Is there a secret pathway back to the living room that we could escape into like the underground railroad? Let’s face it, we were trapped together and we were going to be found out. I just really hope it wasn’t Marlowe. To have the Bride find you getting it on in their bedroom not only would be embarrassing, it would be very disrespectful, and that’s the last thing I wanted to have happen.

“Get your shit together, I’m opening the door.” Kristin said.

I grabbed my shirt, my tie, and my suit jacket and then the door to the bedroom opened, and in marched the one person who I didn’t really want to talk to before, and who I definitely didn’t want to talk to or see at THIS point in the night. The one, the only, the unequivocally pissed off cockblocker of the night, Zenobia.

“What were you guys doing in here?” She stammered.

Just checking out the rest of the house.” I said with a shit eating grin on my face.

Yep, she hates me.  If she hadn’t before, she definitely did now and with that, we left Zenobia to wonder what had or had not just transpired in her room, and we made our way down the hall and back outside to the party, slightly embarrassed but also incredibly relieved. Once we were back in civilization, one of our friends was smoking a joint,  and we both decided to join in for a few puffs. If I hadn’t learned my lesson from getting stoned at weddings in the past, here’s where I had a crash course in reality, as everything finally became unravelled.

At first, I was overcome with a sense of giddy pride and accomplishment for almost being found out and the feeling that at some point in my life, I would be able to tell the story of what just happened and laugh about it, maybe years later. Then I thought about how good the food was at this wedding, but how I don’t really remember eating a lot of carbs or bread, even though there were plenty to go around. Then I started thinking about how many drinks I had drank that night which led to me getting the spins, and the uneasy feeling in my stomach that this was not going to have a happy ending like I wished it would have. Was there a double meaning in that statement? Probably, but all that was in the past right now and I was living in the present, the present where I could feel myself stumbling around in the darkness, trying to find a secluded place out of sight from the rest of the guests where I could do my dirtiest work of the night.

I’ve never gotten so drunk that I puked at a wedding before, let alone puked while wearing a suit and tie, but there’s always a first time for everything, right? Inevitably it happened, right there in front of what I think was the garage of this three million dollar house in Malibu. I ended up vomiting out the five or so drinks, and whatever ahi tuna, chicken or steak appetizers I had consumed in the hours before. For a minute, I couldn’t really tell where I was, or what was happening, but I knew I wouldn’t be feeling very good for awhile. And even though I’m sure she didn’t want to witness it, Kristin, like the sweetheart she is was there to help me up from the ground after my exasperating bout of regurgitating everything I had enjoyed eating at Aaron and Marlowe’s wedding.

We sat on the stones near the edge of the property and looked out into the dimly lit sky. I apologized again for having to put her through such a disgusting experience, and when she asked me if I was going to stay over, all I could think of was how badly I wanted to leave, brush my teeth, take off my puke suit, and go to bed. My head was pounding, my stomach was rumbling, and I just needed to find Tasha so we could catch the last ride back to civilization and go home.

Speaking of Tasha, where was she? I hadn’t seen her in what felt like all night. I went back into the house and walked around trying to find her, but to no avail. I asked a few people where she was, and they had said they had seen her in the back about an hour ago, but I still couldn’t find her. Then, all of a sudden I ran into John outside. He took one look at me and said…

“Dude, are you ok? You look like you’re about to puke.”

“Thanks John, but I already did that.” I replied.

Then I turned around and saw Tasha and Adam approaching us. There was something weird about them. I asked Tasha if she was ready to go and she said yes, but with a strange look on her face. Then I looked at Adam, and he had the exact strange look on his face too, as if they knew something I didn’t.

Did they hear about me and Kristin in the back room, or worse,.. did they disappear into a back room of their own?  Nah, I couldn’t see that happening. Don’t get me wrong, Adam is a good looking guy, and I always knew he and Tasha kind of liked each other, but I don’t think one of my friends would bang my ex-girlfriend at a wedding that I was also a guest at. This is my life, not Californication.

“Alright, well I just vomited all over what I think was the garage, so I’m ready to go.”  I said

“Great.” She said. “Let’s go.”

We said goodbye to whomever was within ear shot, and we grabbed our stuff and made our way down the dark and dimly lit driveway to the street where the last passenger van of the night was to pick us up. I wasn’t drunk anymore, and I was actually pretty happy we had a half hour ride back to the car from Malibu so I could rest my eyes for minute. We headed down the mountain via that creepy winding one lane road, and instead of looking out the window and fearing that we would tumble off the edge of the cliffs again, I just closed my eyes, and fell asleep. When I woke up thirty minutes later, I was cold, I was hungry, but it was time to get into the car and go home.

This was a strange wedding. I was happy for Aaron and Marlowe, the venue was apocalyptically beautiful, I got violently sick, and I feared for my life on the ride up to the house. I hooked up with another girl that wasn’t my date, and even though I thought I had a good time, if I had it to do over again, I think I might have done things differently. Mainly, I wouldn’t have gotten sick, I might have bet a little more with my head, instead of over it, and I would have tried to have a more traditional experience, but I live my life with no regrets, and I guess in some way it was part of the process.

I know Tasha and I weren’t together, but there was a part of me that still felt guilty about the events that transpired. I mean, just six months ago I was in Florida at P-Nut and Efia’s wedding and I was coming to so many emotional and grown-up realizations about life and love, that compared to this wedding I felt like I took a step back tonight. Maybe I was being too hard on myself, or maybe I just didn’t feel good and I was taking things too seriously. I’m allowed to have fun, and not every wedding needs to be a positive learning lesson, right? I guess when it comes down to it, I just feel like in my life I want to evolve, not digress.

I started my car and let it warm up a bit and I turned on some music and put on my glasses I need to see the road with, but still something was on my mind and I had to get it out in the most honest and blunt way I know.

Did you bang Adam?” I casually asked Tasha.

“What? No I did NOT bang Adam. How can you ask me that?” She replied.

“You made out with him though, right?” I said in a matter of fact tone.

“Adam is cute, so yeah maybe we made out.” She said.

“Ok that’s fine.” I replied.

Honestly, I was fine with it. I know Tasha is a pretty girl and Adam is a good looking guy and at wedding two attractive people will flirt and sometimes get drunk and maybe they will end up making out with each other. I mean, I certainly had no room to talk.

You sure you didn’t bang him?” I asked half jokingly.

“Shut up Christian, let’s just go home.” She replied.

And with that, I put the car in drive, released the E-brake and I drove me and my ex-girlfriend/roommate/business partner back to the one bedroom apartment in Hollywood we shared with my pet cat, and her pet rabbit. Just one “sometimes happy yet always slightly dysfunctional” family.

It would be a little over a year before Tasha and I went to another wedding together, but before I made my final appearance as a groomsman in a wedding on the east coast with all of my best friends from high school in attendance, something really big was about to happen in me and Tasha’s professional life. However as we would soon come to learn, in Hollywood, something is still really nothing, until it’s really something.

Last wedding: June 16th, 2015

Follow on Twitter @CMarc333

aaronmarlowecollage

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chad & Mary (Part 2)

27880_389964993993_7222115_n

I woke up the morning of August 21st 2009, the day my good friends Chad & Mary were to be married. Right off the bat, things were hectic. Tasha had lost her cell phone the night before sometime after the rehearsal dinner and before we took a cab ride home from the Pour House in Collingswood.  Tasha and “crazy bitch” Melissa left to go back to Philly where Melissa lived to get ready for the wedding, and I had to make my way over to Chad’s house with the rest of the groomsman to get dressed together in some sort of wedding day ritual. I also had to find a hotel room for the four of us to stay in the city that night. Turns out, I booked a wonderfully priced four star hotel room located in the heart of Center City, just a few blocks from the where the ceremony was going to take place, but across town from where the reception was being held. Thanks to Hotwire, there were absolutely no changes allowed to the reservation and no refunds given. Oh well I thought, I guess we’ll just have to find a way back to the hotel later that night. What I didn’t know was THAT particular ride would end up almost killing me, Tasha, “crazy bitch” Melissa and Parr, but we’ll get to that later.

Parr and I jumped the gun a bit and got dressed at his house before making our way over to Chad’s where we met up with the other seven groomsmen who were wearing shorts and tee shirts when we arrived. Chad was obviously nervous as hell and was waiting for his xanex to kick in, a mood altering pill he got from one of the groomsman Jason Kamieniecki, (Kam-in-NECK-ee) otherwise know to all of us as “P-Nut.” That’s P-Nut at the far right of the picture below, and his xanex would come into play later on in the night at the reception but for now, just remember to associate P-Nut with xanex and you’ll be fine. And now, in order from left to right, I’d like to introduce Chad’s groomsmen… Ronen, Me, Parr, Mike T, Chad, Adam, Chris Rock, Brian, and P-Nut.

groomsman

We looked pretty damn good if I do say so myself, but there was still so much more that had to happen before we got a chance to take such a great photo. Being a groomsman carries a lot of responsibility. Not as much as the best man, but being that Chad was impartial to the idea of singling out one of his best friends to put that label on, some of the best man duties fell upon the other groomsman who were somewhat responsible and close to him, or in me and Parr’s case, already dressed.

Chad gave us the task to bring the wedding rings over to Mary’s house to give to them to Amy Holt, the Maid of Honor. In classic Christian and Parr fashion, on the ride over we got a pretty funny idea into our heads and decided we just couldn’t hand the rings over that easily. Our plan was to show up kind of somber and sad, and tell Mary that Chad had decided that he couldn’t go through with the wedding after all. Albeit was a pretty bad joke, but one our friends would know to expect from me and Parr, so we went through it anyway. We pulled up to the house, got out of the car and walked up to the door. The door opened before we even got there, and then Parr and I put on our best game face and followed through with our ruse.

“Uhh, Can we talk to Mary?” I said.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Amy asked.

Amy was the Maid of Honor, a good friend of Mary’s and one of the only ones who was dressed at the time. She told us Mary was still getting her gown on and couldn’t come to the door. So we had to deliver the “fake” bad news to Amy.

“So, we just came by to let you know that uh……the thing is…”

Parr stuttered through his improved script, but I could tell he was about to laugh so I jumped in and said with a straight face…

“Chad can’t go through with it.”

Amy’s face went blank, and then she threw up her arms, and exclaimed in a “matter of fact” kind of tone.

“I knew it!”

That was all we needed to hear before we lost it and started cracking up and Parr had to inform Amy and the rest of the bridesmaids that had made their way to the front porch that we were just kidding.

“You assholes.” Amy said with a smile.

“I knew they were just kidding.” another bridesmaid said from the doorway.

With that, we apologized, handed the rings off to Amy, and made our way back to Chad’s house to get our shit together before the limo came to pick us up, but not BEFORE we decided to stop at TGI Friday’s in Marlton for a drink while still wearing our tuxedos.  That was classy.

All seven groomsmen and the Groom are riding in a long black stretch limo heading west on Route 70 towards Philadelphia. Chad looks like he’s about to puke. He’s pale and uneasy, and his nerves are not being combated by the dose of xanex from earlier. It’s at this point that Parr decides to tell Chad about our joke from earlier and that seems to ease his mind, but not before we decide to stop at a RadioShack along the way to pick up a cable we could use to plug Chad’s i-pod into the stereo of the limo so he could put on his favorite songs to hear on the way to his wedding. I was a little edgy too for some reason, but unfortunately the limo didn’t contain any beverages other than water to ease our pain meaning it did NOT contain any beer or alcohol, just some fancy glasses and a whiskey decanter that looked like it had something growing in the bottom of it from the last people who rented the car. Regardless, we eventually made our way over the bridge to Philly, rocking out to Refused and Avail and arrived at the church on time.

The ceremony was beautiful, and everyone in the room was enamored at how gorgeous Mary looked walking down the aisle. I got to say, I had known Mary for many years prior to this evening and she was always pretty, but there was something about her that day that just totally took my breath away. Not only could I feel the positive energy in the room, but she was beaming, and I knew this was the beginning of something wonderful for the two of them. I was really happy to be a part of it, and for the second time in my life I stopped to realize how much something like a wedding can really make us all believe in love again, even if some of us have never had the opportunity to find it. I knew their love was real and clearly, Mary and Chad did too. The whole wedding took about forty five minutes between the standing and the sitting and the procession and the reading of the Gospel from the book of John. Catholic weddings have a much needed religious element to them, and growing up in an Italian family, I’ve always thought that added a level of charm and tradition to a wedding. Mary and Chad had opted to write their own vows to each other which I kept hearing him recite to himself in the limo ride over. I like how couples now do this when they get married. It’s a way of making the wedding their own, and it resonated with me, and as I walked arm in arm down the aisle at the end of the ceremony with Dan Levy’s wife, I spotted Tasha in the crowd and gave a her a smile as she took a picture of us.

After the homophobic priest finished with his duties and the ceremony was officially over, we all had to congregate in the back of the church for the next fifteen minutes or so while everyone got organized about making their way over to the reception. I met up with my friend Gary, who I hadn’t seen in a long time and we caught up a bit with our friend Jenna who we had known since high school and was now living in Maryland. Eventually, the groomsmen, plus Mary with a cake on her lap got back into the limo, and we were driven to the Cescaphe Ballroom in Northern Liberties for the reception.

The first thing Parr and I did when we got out of the limo was what anyone would do when you are a member of the wedding party and had just witnessed one of your best friends get married….we headed straight to the bar for a drink. Ironically, as we were ordering our dirty Ketel martinis from the bartender, a server came around with a tray full of pre made drinks. Again, as anyone would do when you are a member of a wedding party who just witnessed one of your best friends get married, we grabbed two pre made martinis off the tray, downed them, then turned around to grab the two other martinis we ordered from the bartender before tipping him nicely. Then, within eight seconds of taking our first sip from our second drink, the wedding planner had to pry us away from the bar and corral us both into the hall to take pictures with the rest of the wedding party who looked shocked and a little jealous that we walked in with full martini glasses in our hands.

“Where did you fuckers get those?” One of the bridesmaids asked.

“From the bar outside.” Parr said with a smile.

We spent the next forty five minutes or so taking pictures with the Groom, taking pictures with the bridesmaids, taking pictures with the other groomsmen, taking pictures with the Bride, and then finally, after about 3000 or so pictures, we were eventually let loose into the reception hall where we had to be announced by name as we strutted through the banquet room onto the dance floor to pose with the Bride and Groom for, you guessed it…more fucking pictures.

By the time we got to our table for dinner, between the drinks and pictures, and the fact that I had no food in my stomach, I was little drunk. However, that didn’t stop me from ordering some more alcohol to celebrate the union of my two good friends with the rest of my table while I put my order in for a medium filet mignon. There was a lot of stuff going on during dinner. People were coming up and saying nice words to the Bride and Groom, the parents were applauding and crying and toasting and everyone in the place was having a great time.

At our table it was me, Tasha, Parr, Melissa, Gary, his girlfriend Desiree, (who Tasha would accidentally refer to as “Destiny” at another wedding three years later,) P-Nut, his girlfriend Efia, Steve, who had no date with him by his own choice, and Jenna and her husband Tim. Ronen, who was sitting at another table was currently in the middle of the dance floor with the microphone making a speech and toasting Chad and Mary. It suddenly hit me at that point that I needed to get up there and say something nice in front of everyone too. I was a little nervous at first, but when Ronen was done, I jumped up out of my seat and grabbed the mic.

I stood in the middle of everyone eating their chicken, steak or fish, took a deep breath, and in a slightly alcoholic state of mind I gave what I thought was one of the most heart felt speeches using the kindest words I have ever spoken to my friends on their special day. What was it exactly that I said you might ask? I have no fucking clue. Seriously. I got back to the table before the applause stopped and I turned to Tasha and I asked…

“What did I just say out there?”

“You don’t remember?” she asked.

“Nope.”

I replied as I grabbed my vodka diet coke and took an enormous swig. And the truth is, I really didn’t remember. I knew it was about a minute or less, which is the perfect amount of time for a wedding speech AND an actor’s reel, and I knew I said some nice things about Chad and Mary and some things that made people laugh, and I knew that there is this one picture of me making said speech in which I feel I look pretty genuine. Truth is, a picture tells a thousand words, and what this picture says to me in less than a thousand words is that I love Chad and Mary, and I wish nothing but the best for them.

27880_389966598993_3668866_n

“Well,” Tasha continued, “You did good, drunkie.”

She smiled, then we toasted our friends and then all of sudden the room got really quiet as Jason, aka “P-Nut” made his way up to the deejay booth to grab the microphone and make his toast to his best friend Chad, and his new bride Mary. Then, something terrible happened.

The next few minutes were probably the most awkward and uncomfortable amount of time that the guests at the wedding all shared that day. P-Nut, who I love and who is definitely a best friend of mine, but also definitely NOT one of the best public speakers I know, was rambling on and on with his curdling speech for what felt like an eternity. It’s funny how I can’t remember much of what I said when I was up there, but I definitely remember P-Nut starting his speech by reminiscing about that one time that HE and Mary had gone out on a date, which coincidentally also happened to be right around the same time in 2002 when Mary started to date Chad….and it just got worse from there, if that was even at all possible.

Clearly at this point, the xanex had taken over P-Nut’s mind, as the drug was currently forcing him to regurgitate one of the most agonizing monologues in the history of weddings, while simultaneously making all 200 guests bare audio and visual witness to the most uncompounded case of verbal diarrhea, EVER. Someone had to stop this kid, NOW!

I glanced around at the horrid looks on people’s faces and did the only thing I knew that could end this moment in time, while concurrently saving all the wedding guests from any more excruciating dribble. I stood up, and in what could have been the the middle of P-Nut’s elongated speech, I put my hands together, and exclaimed…

“Alright! Jason Kamieniecki everyone!”

All 200 guests in the banquet hall ripped up in applause with me. It was like I acted out the scenario of what they all wanted to do, which was put P-Nut and everyone else out of their misery. Come to think of it, perhaps their applause was more for me putting an end to P-Nut’s speech than it was for P-Nut’s speech actually ending? Perhaps they were one in the same? Regardless, P-Nut made his way back to our table and didn’t make eye contact with me for the next hour and a half. I love that kid, but believe me, it HAD to be done. In fact, I would do it again if I had to, and I’m sure Chad and Mary would be just as thankful to me a second time, as they were that night. Now, with the food and speeches out of the way, the music started playing and I grabbed Tasha’s hand and hit the dance floor.

The next hour was an absolute blur. I remember dancing with Tasha for a bit, then dancing by myself in what was later described to as me as a solo New Kid playing the role of a one man sweaty Backstreet Boy, cavorting and picking up change on the dance floor, while Tasha picked up my cuff links, tie tack, and other pieces of my tuxedo that were being flung off of me at a rapid pace. Even though I had opted for the damage waiver when I rented the thing, she still found every accessory of my tux and put them in a safe place for later. I was drunk, happy, and definitely sweating a lot, that’s for sure. There is one picture of me and Tasha someone posted on Facebook back in the day which I immediately untagged myself from because of the fact that I looked like a well dressed puddle of sweat. My face was flushed, and it looked like I had just gotten out of a pool while still wearing my $175 tuxedo shirt, tie, and jacket. I don’t remember the throwing of the bouquet or the garter, and I don’t remember the entire room of desserts that was just a short walk around the corner. Truthfully, my only regrets that night was that I never visited the dessert room, and I regret stepping on Tasha’s foot at some point in the night on the dance floor.  Sometimes the latter happens when you’re drunk, unaware of your personal space, and you wear size twelves.  Sorry Tash.

I do remember bumping into my old friend Bezanis. I remarked at how thin he was for someone in his mid thirties, and I would later come to find out that Bezanis “may or may not” have had a slight prescription drug problem at the time. That was neither here nor there. What I did know was that he was my only Greek friend back in high school, and before we all went our separate ways, me him and Parr used to hang out a lot. But, if you put me, an Italian with a short temper, and Bezanis, a greek with a short fuse in a room together for a long enough time, we’ll probably end up killing each other. He’s very loud and very boisterous, and due to our naturally competitive nature and cut-on-a-dime type personalities, it was no surprise that at one point back in 1996 we ended up getting into a fight over a game of Mortal Kombat. After I lost for the third time, I told him to “watch his back” and then I didn’t talk to him for a few days after that because basically, I was an idiot and had too much pride.

Regardless, after catching up a bit, and being as how none of us drove to this wedding, Bezanis offered to give us a ride across town to the hotel where the after party was going to take place. Angelo’s date had disappeared that night, which was good for us cause there would be more room in his Beemer since he was transporting me, Tasha, Parr, and Parr’s girlfriend at the time, “crazy bitch” Melissa to the hotel. The car ride that followed was the most tumultuous twenty minutes of the whole weekend. It poured rain, he hit a curb, almost hit a car in front of us, drove up on the sidewalk by accident of course, and yelled the entire time. It was definitely crazy, but still funny in the end mainly because of the sole factor that we did not die. Tasha, who was riding in the backseat of the car and who luckily had my cell phone with her, ended up shooting about a minute of this nightmare car ride after all of the bad stuff had happened, but before the arguing and poking fun had yet to happen. You can see the video here.

As you could tell in the video, I was pretty drunk, but what you couldn’t tell from the video was that I was also extremely thankful to be alive. When we arrived at the hotel, Mary sat there in the lobby with the ghost cake from earlier and this is when she told me about how her and Tasha both had picked up all of the pieces of my tuxedo while I was sweating and dancing an hour or so earlier.

“Thank you two so much.” I slurred.

Hey Hayden, watch me ruin these tuxedo pants.” I said to one of the bridesmaids.

“No Christian, what are you doing?” Tasha exclaimed.

“Relax, I got the damage waiver.” I replied.

And with that statement, I decided now would the perfect time to dip my finger into the cake, and then proceed to wipe said finger which was now covered in butter cream icing onto my $175 tuxedo pants, just because I could. (Take that, Men’s Warehouse.)  In my defense, I was pretty drunk, and I didn’t really care about the pants now that the wedding was over, plus I feel like the night was coming to an end.  Eventually, and without the help of Bezanis, we made our way back to OUR hotel and passed out for the night.

I woke up at 6 in the morning in a pool of sweat. The sheets on the bed were soaked with a subtle mix of perspiration, vodka, and diet coke. Tasha literally thought I wet the bed. I  thought I pissed myself, but then I realized that it was just the remnants of the night before being flushed out of my system naturally. I decided to walk around Philly for an hour before everyone else eventually got up and we checked out of the hotel. It was raining, it was cold, and I was hungry. We stopped at a Chik-Fil-A back in Jersey before dropping off Parr and his crazy bitch, then we took it easy for the rest of the night before we had to catch our flight back to L.A. the next morning.

At the airport the next day, Tasha and I had a couple beers and waited for our flight to board. We talked about all the events that had happened, and reveled in the fact that this was probably one of the best weddings we had ever been to. We also talked about the state of our relationship, and how neither one of us really knew where we stood with each other. I was still happy to be able to introduce her to my mom and my sister, and I was elated that my friends accepted her and really took her in as one of our own. I was grateful to her for coming out to the East coast and taking care of me when I was wasted and couldn’t fully take care of myself, and I was happy for my friends Chad and Mary as they embark on a new chapter of their life together, and I knew that it wouldn’t be the last time we were all together for a wedding.

As for me and Tasha, we had been with each other for a couple of years, but the last six months had been extremely difficult to endure. Where we stood after this trip, we didn’t even know. We did know, however that less than two months away we were invited to the wedding of Shaw and Heather, two good friends of mine who I had worked with at the Grill on Hollywood back in Los Angeles, and of course, Tasha was my date. Just then an announcement came over the loudspeaker at Philadelphia International airport.

“Now boarding United flight 643, nonstop service to Los Angeles.”

Tasha and I grabbed our bags, and headed back to the west coast.

Next Wedding: Wednesday May 6th, 2015

Follow on WordPress

Follow on Twitter @CMarc333

C&M wedding collage2

The top:  The Bridesmaids, The Groom, The Bride

The middle: Mary, The Guys ( Me, Adam, Ronen, Gary, Parr, Bezanis, P-Nut (kneeling) Me & Tasha

The bottom: Parr & me, Desiree “Destiny” & Gary, Mary and the Ghost cake

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chad & Mary (Part 1)

27880_389965258993_1729480_n

It was the summer of 2009, and one of my best friends from high school was getting married back on the east coast where we all grew up. Not only was I invited to the wedding, but I was also invited to be a groomsman, which equated to my first real level of responsibility at a wedding. Being a groomsman isn’t easy. First of all, there is the additional cost of having to rent a matching tuxedo to the tune of around $175, plus the damage waiver which we will get into later. Also, you need to be present at the rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and then you get paired up to walk down the aisle with a bridesmaid you may or may not know. All of these factors change the dynamic of the wedding immensely. However, I was looking forward to it because it gave me and Tasha an opportunity to get out of Los Angeles for a week, and for us to have a mini vacation which we both desperately needed. We had been going through some tough times, but the wedding was acting as a break from the norm, and gave me the opportunity to introduce her to all my friends and family. No pressure, right?

Speaking of Tasha and I, by this point, we had dated for two years, lived together, broken up, lived separately, then lived together again in a small studio apartment in Los Feliz where we reconciled our differences and became a couple again…kind of. Yeah, our relationship was a little white trash if you put a magnifying glass over it, but then again she is from Virginia and I am from New Jersey. Seems kind of normal to me when you factor those two details into it.

We flew into Philadelphia on the 13th of August 2009. There was a lot to do in the week ahead considering she had never met my Mom or most of my friends, the Phillies who were were just coming off their World Series win in 2008 were in first place and had a three game home stand against the Diamondbacks, and my friend Parr had a shore house in Wildwood N.J. where we spent a couple days relaxing before the wedding. Not to mention the fact that the Eagles were in the middle of preseason games so we had plenty of things to occupy our time BEFORE the wedding. However, this is a wedding blog, and because a lot of funny and interesting stuff happened during this whole trip the truth is, Chad & Mary’s wedding could be a whole blog in itself.

At this point, I’ll have to forgo telling the story of how I got pulled over on the Atlantic City Expressway after we just finished smoking pot in the rental car, and how the NJ state trooper (who are known for being extremely rigid) let me off with a warning, despite the fact that I had a California driver’s license, and was driving 80 miles an hour in a 60 mile per hour zone. I’ll have to skip the part in Wildwood where me, Tasha, Parr and Parr’s dad won the trivia challenge at Owen’s Pub even though they originally didn’t want to let Tasha and I in at first because we didn’t have a local I.D. From either NJ, PA, DE, or NY. (what?!) And unfortunately, I’ll have to only quickly mention the time we spent at Citizens Bank Park where the Phillies beat the Diamondbacks 8-1 and where we tailgated in the parking lot and I worried that they would run out of the free giveaways that night. So, of course as I entered the gate, the woman handing out the “Brad Lidge” bobblehead told me with a straight face I was too old to get one. Turns out that was a joke played on me by my friends Parr and Steve, which for a moment, I fell for. So let’s fast forward a few days later to Thursday August 20th, 2009. The night of the rehearsal dinner.

One of the greatest things about this trip with Tasha was that she immediately was loved and accepted by all my friends and family back home. That’s a really big asset when you’re dating someone, especially someone who you’re traveling with to other parts of the country. A few months after we started dating back in 2007, Tasha and I took a road trip to Seattle to attend the Bumpershoot music festival for her birthday. We spent 16 hours in the car each way, and we only got into a fight one time. Pretty good odds if you ask me, so I was not worried in any way, shape, or form that there would be any issues with this trip.

The rehearsal dinner was in Haddonfield, but Chad and Mary were getting married at St. Peter and Paul’s Basilica, right over the bridge in Philadelphia. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the same place where Rocky and Adrian got married in Rocky II. Pretty amazing place to have a traditional Irish-Catholic wedding if you ask me. We got to the church, and met up with the other groomsman, one of which happened to be another close friend of mine from high school, Ronen who I hadn’t seen in almost 9 years. Ronen was there with his wife Starr and as it turns out, much like Mary and Chad, (although much more obvious) they were expecting their first child in a few months. I introduced Tasha to both of them, and then Ronen introduced me to his wife. His pregnant wife. Keep in mind I had NEVER met this woman before, but for some reason when Ronen said to me “this is my wife Starr, and she is having my baby,” I decided it would be a novel idea to greet her by shaking her hand, and then placing my OTHER hand on her stomach directly on her baby bump where Ronen’s unborn son was currently incubating. To this day, I have no idea why the fuck I did that. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Parr and I had taken a few bong hits prior to the trip over to Philly for the rehearsal. I mean, really….what the hell was I thinking? When is that action ever an appropriate response to just meeting one of your friend’s pregnant wives?

Tasha rolled her eyes and Parr started cracking up laughing at my rookie mistake, so afterwards sheepishly I went over to Ronen and apologized for my inappropriate behavior. Luckily, he was totally fine with it, and in fact the ONLY reason I think that happened was for me to be able to write about it six years later to make me, and all of you laugh out loud at my unseemingly ill-timed choice of salutation. However, it wouldn’t be the last time that night that I did something inappropriate to someone I did not know…but that comes later in the story.

Tasha and Parr’s girlfriend Melissa…(who later turned out to be a crazy bitch) took a seat in the pew with the rest of the guests who were technically not in the wedding party. The rest of us groomsmen were all paired up with bridesmaids and by some stroke of bad luck, I was paired up with a woman named Melissa, not “crazy bitch” Melissa, but ANOTHER Melissa that just happened to be the wife of a guy named Dan Levy who I wasn’t really good friends with back in the day. Alright, who am I kidding, I didn’t like him. I used to call him “Skeevy Levy” because it rhymed and I thought it was funny. I don’t think he liked me either, so OF COURSE in some sick and twisted conspiracy as life would have it, I was paired up to walk arm in arm down the aisle with HIS wife during the ceremony. I hadn’t spoken to him in years.  During the practice run, I must have accidentally made eye contact with him for a micro second, and immediately I could feel his disapproving, menacing glare, pierce me in the sides and the back of my head, all the way down the aisle to the alter. Jesus Christ, someone save me.

I thought about asking Parr if I could trade partners with him just to avoid any future death stares from Levy, but that would just fuck everything up as to who stood where and what not. As I would eventually find out, in the wedding party, the order in which you stand behind the Groom/Bride denotes who is the closest friend to said Groom/Bride. For example, most wedding processions start with the least important friend first, building in to the most important friend from the outside. So it goes something like…groomsman & bridesmaid 1, then groomsman and bridesmaid 2, then 3, then 4, and sometimes 5 and 6 or 7, (depending on how big the wedding party is) Then I think it goes the Best Man and Maid of Honor who are undoubtedly the closest friends to the Bride and Groom, being that they are next to last in the procession, and their title denotes a level of capitalization that is missing from “groomsman” or “bridesmaid.” The Groom is next to proceed down the aisle, and then finally, here comes the Bride. (pun intended) Somewhere in there is the Father of the Bride and the Mother of the Bride, I just don’t know where because I’ve never been either of those yet. Maybe I’ll turn into the Father of the Bride one day, but what I definitely know is that I will NEVER be the Mother of the Bride. That’s for sure.

After all of the explanation, and the direction, and the standing, and the kneeling, and the sitting, and the clapping and the walking outing, we get to my favorite part of the evening, and what everyone was looking forward to, the rehearsal dinner. I was really excited for this because I had never been to one before, but I had heard all of these cool, crazy stories that my older friends had told me about where family members get drunk and give toasts that are totally inappropriate, or that one guest who had too much wine and decided to make a pass at the bride the night before the wedding. I admit it, I kind of love drama, as long as I’m not a part of it. I love being an onlooker of drama. It makes for great conversation, but ultimately, I like the idea that it’s this exclusive dinner party with some of your closest friends and relatives that you get to attend for sharing a camaraderie and being there for them through the good and the bad for over twenty years.

This wedding was really special to me because Chad was the first one of my best friends to get married. There was me and Parr, P-Nut, Chad and Gary. You know that scene in Goodfellas where the camera shows Henry’s view as he goes through the list of people he hung out with the most? That’s us. I’ve known those guys since high school, and I can say that regardless of what happens, I’ll always know them for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

So, we all headed back over the bridge to take part in the celebration dinner of my Irish friend Mary, and my French, British, Scottish, German, Irish and Swiss friend Chad, at “Tre Famiglia” an Italian restaurant in Haddonfield New Jersey. We’re all sitting at nice tables with bottles of wine and bread and we all have a choice of different Italian dishes we can order. Everyone is smiling and talking and drinking and eating, when all of sudden, someone realizes that the whole dinner party has just run out of wine. What a horrific thing to have happen at a rehearsal dinner, right? I mean thank GOD Chad’s dad went out to the liquor store and got another ten bottles of red and white wine because clearly, with these alcoholics, two bottles per table was ultimately not enough.Chad and Mary opted to serve the beer and wine the night BEFORE the wedding. Smart choice, because tomorrow, shit’s gonna get real and you need the “hard A” for that.

With two new bottles of wine on the table, the only thing missing was a wine opener. We all looked around the restaurant but couldn’t find anyone to help us. Luckily, I spotted a bus boy talking to this other table nearby, and he was within my reach so I figured I’d just reach out and tap him on the shoulder to get his attention and ask for a wine opener. Here’s where things got a little weird….

I turned to my right to put my hand on his shoulder which I thought for some reason was on the same level as MY shoulder, as if we were both sitting down. Unfortunately, when I went to tap him on the shoulder, due to the fact that he was standing and I was sitting, I inadvertently ended up tapping him on his butt. This poor kid who couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen years old was probably shocked and shaken up by the incident, but to his credit, he played it off pretty cool.

“Oh, sorry dude.” I said after I grabbed his ass. “Would you happen to have a wine opener we could use?”

“Uhhh, yeah I’ll go find one.” He said, as he scurried off back to the kitchen and was never seen or heard from again.

“Did you just grab that kid’s ass?” Parr asked me.

Ok, technically yeah I did, but it was a total accident. Regardless, Parr announced to everyone within earshot what just occurred, and the whole table (and some other guests whom he called over to tell the story to) started laughing and making fun of me. We were cracking up so hard at what had just happened, and as it turned out, there was no need for me to grab that kid’s butt at all because there was already a wine opener on the table in the basket that contained the wine. Just none of us looked there.

Tasha then decided to bring up the fact that this was the second time in two hours I had put my hands on someone in an inappropriate manner in the same day. My track record on making people feel uncomfortable was steadily rising, so I decided this would be a good time to head outside for some fresh air. Sure enough, there outside waiting for me like in a episode of Beverly Hills, 90210 was the husband of the woman Melissa who I was paired up to walk down the aisle with, my not good friend from high school, Dan “Skeevy” Levy.

He wasn’t really skeevy at all back then, it’s just that the word skeevy rhymes with Levy so it flows off the tongue really well. This wasn’t the first time we put two words together to poke fun at someone either. We used to have rhyming nicknames for all of our moms such as “Janet the planet”, “Fajita Anita”, “Messy Bessie,” and sometimes they didn’t even have to rhyme to be funny, as we just used alliteration to make a joke such as” Lazy Linda” and “Hefty Helena.”

Regardless, Skeevy Levy came up to me and started the passive aggressive small talk. I didn’t know what to say to him and I don’t really remember what he said to me, but I’m sure it went something like “just be careful with my pregnant wife.” As if to suggest he was seriously afraid that I would somehow injure her by walking her down the aisle arm in arm. (Also, Jesus Christ, why is EVERYONE’s wife pregnant at the same time?) I guess he was just being protective of her, which I could totally understand, so I went on to mention that I had been with Tasha for two years, and I didn’t really think he had any reason to feel threatened by me. That changed his tune a bit.

I guess he always saw me as a wildcard, or someone who wasn’t very stable, and to some extent he may have been right about me back then. He went on to mention what he had been up to the last few years and how he’s really looking forward to tomorrow, and I couldn’t agree with him more. I looked inside the restaurant and saw Tasha looking back out at me. She gave me the “Do you want me to come out there and take care of him” look, to which I just smiled and turned back around to Dan and shook his hand. Tomorrow was the big day, and if the night before the wedding was any clue as to how the actual wedding would turn out, I think we were in for a hilariously funny and inappropriately fueled ride.

Chad & Mary Part 2: Wednesday April 29th

Follow on WordPress

Follow on Twitter @CMarc333

rehearsaldinnercollage2.1

Top middle: Me, Tasha, “crazy bitch” Melissa, & Parr

Middle left: Mary & Chad

Bottom left: Me & Tasha right after I pinched the bus boy’s ass

Bottom middle: Ronen & Chad

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Christine & Joey

candj

The first wedding I ever went to started out with a bang. Well, a bang of mental sorts if you will. I was traveling with two co-workers of mine to a co-workers wedding somewhere on a ranch in Carlsbad California. Please pardon my lack of memory for the exact location, because at the start of the car ride down to the wedding, I decided it would be a good idea to take a couple hits off of my friend’s joint and then settle in for the hour and a half ride. What I didn’t plan for, of course, was the panic attack that ensued as soon as my car started heading south on the I-5 freeway. To this day, I don’t know why it happened, but I didn’t say anything to my friends in the car, I just sucked it up and drove through the shuttering sounds of tractor trailers and commuters whizzing by my Honda Accord, while I tried to sing along to the Killers in an attempt to confuse the part of my brain that was telling me to pull over immediately and take a few deep breaths. Somehow, I got through it unscathed, and eighty five minutes later we arrived at our hotel, safe and sound. If the journey down was any kind of a window into what the next few hours would bring, I knew I was in for a bumpy ride.

Christine and Joey got married on June 9th, 2007. It was a beautiful outdoor ceremony, followed by a reception in a lavishly decorated backyard of this southern California ranch. I remember Christine walking down the make-shift aisle to the song “You’re So Cool” by Hans Zimmer, which you would instantly know if you’ve ever seen the beginning or end of the movie “True Romance.” I remember blurting out how I knew what movie this song was from, maybe a little too loud, and I remember their loving vows, the perfect weather, the bowls of pistachios on every table, and of course, the open bar. What I have come to realize at each wedding I go to is that there are usually two options when it comes to alcoholic beverage choices. When planning both events, the “marrys” have to decide whether to choose between beer and wine, OR the open liquor bar at the reception and rehearsal dinner (if you are lucky enough to be invited to the latter) Being that there WAS no rehearsal dinner, or at least none that I was invited to, Christine and Joey opted for us to get liquored up with an open full bar at the reception of what appeared to be about 150-175 people. A wise choice if ever there was one. You want to get your guests loaded the night OF the wedding, not the night BEFORE the wedding, right? Right.

After dinner, I had found myself spending the next hour a little inebriated on the dance floor, shaking and shimmying all while eyeing this one intriguing brunette girl in a green dress. I didn’t know her name, but I knew I NEEDED to know her name. When I saw her for the first time, it was kind of like those “love at first sight” scenes you see in the movies. I went deaf, the action of people dancing and singing was suddenly projected in slow motion around me, and the camera panned up towards her as she looked back at me with a subtle smile and a look on her face that I found openly endearing. I danced my way over to her and without saying a thing, I spent the next fifteen minutes in my head reveling at how bright and full of life her eyes were, and how great she smelled. Was this what I thought it was, and if so, what happens next? There I was, dressed in black pinstriped pants and a pastel blue and pink button down shirt that my ex girlfriend from 2004 had bought me. I kind of looked like an human Easter egg, and I was still kind of reeling from an excessive mentally taxing relationship that had ended over a year ago, but had still left its proverbial scars on my body. I wasn’t really sure of myself, and it kind of sucked to be me at this time in my life so I did what anyone who has low self esteem and had just had a panic attack does at a wedding, I drank a lot. I figured I would need this liquid courage if I was going to make my way over to talk to this girl in the green dress, that is until the deejay played some lame ass song that no one really seemed to like and we all wondered aimlessly off the dance floor and back to the bar.

This was a co-workers wedding, and one of the first ones I had ever attended. I didn’t really know how to act because I knew I had to eventually work with these people again. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the people I’m going to have to see face to face again on Monday, but at this point, who the fuck really cared? So I took a few moments to discuss what I was feeling with my friend Craig and stepped out of sight to finish that panic attack joint in my pocket from earlier. I told him about what had happened and he convinced me to relax and have fun and of course, have a other drink which is exactly what we did next.

So there I was on my fifth or sixth cocktail of the night, sitting on the stones which bordered the sidelines of the dance floor, talking with another friend from work. My dinner was settling in, and excuse me for not knowing specifically what we ate because the truth of the matter is, I just don’t remember. I’m sure it was steak, and I’m sure it was really good, but somehow all I can remember was being punch drunk and engaged in watching that beautiful exotic girl in the green dress strut her stuff to the sounds of 80’s and 90’s pop music while my friend, Shaw nudged me in my elbow and in so many words, calls me a pussy and tells me to go get her.

“She just danced her way over her and flashed you her ass.” He said.

You think that was on purpose?” I ask in a tone of naivety.

Of course it was, idiot.” He said with dry sarcasm.

She DID do that, didn’t she?” I stated.

Yeah man. What are you waiting for?” He replied.

And with that, I put my drink down, and danced my way over to her again, to start a non verbal conversation with my hips. She immediately engaged me with a smile and before I knew it, we were cutting a rug where there was no rug to be cut. I kind of got lost in the moment for a bit. If you give me a few drinks at a wedding, and give me some music with a good beat, I can fucking dance. I don’t even need a partner, although at this point in the night, I was more than happy to have one. And she was a good dancer, and she was pretty, and she had this life to her that I hadn’t seen in the eyes of anyone else in a long time. I found out her name was Tasha which to me was such a glamorous name to even have in the first place. She fascinated me immediately, and at the same time in the middle of everything that was happening, I could feel these eyes on us from off the dance floor. I didn’t really pay attention to what was happening on the sidelines, but I knew people were looking at us as if somehow WE were the center of attention. I liked that about her and I, and I immediately gravitated more towards her as the sun was setting.

Next up, was the obligatory tossing of the bouquet and garter part of the wedding. All the single ladies crowded around the dance floor, and then Christine turned around and tossed the handful of flowers into the air towards a group of beautifully done up and very “motivated” women. I watched as the bouquet bounced around a few hands before landing in the palm of one girl, who I think dropped it, for it only to be instantaneously snatched up by another girl who screamed and jumped up in the air with excitement and as if she had just won the lottery. Off to the side, I could see what appeared to be her date take a very large swing of his whiskey and coke, knowing full well that her catching the bouquet was all a part of a plan. Now it was time for the men.

All the single gents stood there looking at each other clueless, as if to suggest none of us really wanted to catch this thing in the first place. I on the other hand did NOT come with a date and did NOT have a girlfriend on the side who was coaching me as to where the perfect spot to stand would be to catch such a small accessory. Still, when Joey flung that garter up into the air, I thought to myself…I’m just going to innocently jump up with about 50% effort, put my hand out, and whatever happens, happens. Apparently, half an attempt was all I needed as the garter magically landed in my left hand, which was strange because I’m totally a righty. Simultaneously, every other bachelor in the crowd immediately breathed a sigh of relief. I smiled and took their “good lucks” unknowingly to heart, but in reality I kind of didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I just thought…”yay, I caught it, let’s take a picture and get on with the drinking and the dancing part of the night.” What I didn’t realize is that I would spend the next ten minutes trying to apply the garter to the thigh of the woman who had stolen the bouquet from someone else without the option of using my hands. So, I used my teeth, because what else was I going to do, and because honestly feet really gross me out. Even my own feet are weird to look at. I’m sure there is a video out there somewhere of me putting this garter in it’s place, but I’ve never seen it, and I’m sure hoping that someone NEVER shows it to me if it does exist.

It was right about the time when I was on my hands and knees in front of everyone that I realized because of all the dancing and sweating and garter applying I was doing, the shitty zipper on my pants decided to completely fail me, which left anyone in sight of my crotch with a clear view to an open window to my underwear. I luckily found a way to secure said zipper with a safety pin that I got from the bride herself. Crisis adverted, but now the evening was winding down and it was getting late at the reception of Christine and Joey’s wedding. People were tired, the bowls of pistachios were almost empty, and the deejay was making the announcement that this would be his final few songs of the night. I looked around at the lay of the land, spotted Tasha at the bar upstairs, and made my way to where she was so and I could walk up to her with my zipper intact and convincingly say….

“Your presence is requested on the dance floor.

A few minutes later, I saw Tasha make her way over to me for the final song of the night. After the music had finally stopped, and while all the guests were milling about trying to figure out what to do next, I took the initiative. I approached Tasha and complimented her dancing, her name, and her beautiful face. Then I did what any single man at a wedding would do at the end of the night after they had spent all this time dancing with a pretty girl, not knowing if they would ever see her again. I asked her for her phone number so I could take her out when we got back to L.A.

“I can’t do that.” She said with a mischievous smile on her face.

What? This didn’t make any sense to me what so ever. What did she mean she “can’t” do that? Was that code for something? Did she have a boyfriend? How are you going to dance with me all night and make googly eyes and smell so goddamn good only to never want to see me again!? I had to find out why.

“Why is that?” I asked.

And then, I heard the six words that totally changed the energy at the reception, and brought me and everyone else who witnessed this debacle back down to earth in an instant. From behind me on the dance floor, I heard a male voice combatively exclaim..

“Cause I’ll kick your fucking ass!”

I didn’t flinch one bit, and I stood my ground and said to Tasha without missing a beat….

“Did I just hear what I think I heard?

She was giving me the most uncomfortable smile, and I couldn’t even turn around, but I knew I had to. I knew what this was. This was her boyfriend verbally pissing all over his territory in front of a crowd of about 30 onlookers who were just waiting to see what happens next. So I took a deep breath, and like a gentleman, I turned around and extended my olive branch of a hand, and with a shit eating grin on my face I said

“Sorry man. I didn’t know she was taken.

Well, now you do.” He replied.

He was about six foot something with blonde hair and a crazy look in his eyes. I don’t remember much else about him, other than the fact that I didn’t want any trouble, and apparently according to the last two minutes of my life, that’s exactly what this girl was. It got a little tense after that point. People started talking, and the gossip started building and I retreated to my group of friends who had seen everything that went down and who were more than willing to “get my back” in case anyone tried to jump me. Luckily, nothing like that happened. The bride, who saw everything came over to me and apologized, and I apologized back telling her that I hope this little incident didn’t ruin her wonderful night. I told my friends that it was ok, and even though I had a great time, a little part of me was disappointed. My heart was still beating a mile a minute, and I associated that feeling with the onslaught of drama and emotion that was in the air, and the three or four red bull vodkas that were in my blood stream. However, I was suddenly sober, a little bit bit heavy hearted, and totally ready to go back to the hotel. A few minutes later, and right before I was able to gather my friends and head back to the car, Tasha came up to me and apologized.

“Sorry about that. He’s my ex boyfriend.” She said. “He’s a little bit crazy.”

Yeah, I could tell. It was good to meet you.” I said. “You’re also a really good dancer.”

She was beaming a little bit and she apologized again but I told her that it was ok. We said goodbye, and I drove my two friends and I back to our hotel room to get some much needed rest and sleep off the rest of this unavoidable hangover. Back at the hotel, I went out to get a non alcoholic drink from the soda machine and to smoke my last cigarette. My friend Craig and I were standing in the parking lot when we saw Tasha and her ex boyfriend sitting in a dark blue Scion XA, engaging in what appeared to be an argument that I’m 100% positive was fueled by the events of that night. Turns out they were not only staying in the same hotel as us, but their room was literally across the hall. The irony.

When I got back to L.A. the next day, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I felt like even though there was so much drama surrounding that night, there was something about her that I needed to get to know more of. I told my friends Chad and Mary about what had happened last night at the wedding, and after a little speculation and a possible warning from Chad who flat out said that this is girl is probably trouble, we did exactly what people did back in 2007 when we wanted to find out more information about someone…. we looked her up on MySpace.  I sent her a message proclaiming that “I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a little crush on you.” Feeling satisfied that at this point I did everything right, I put my heart on my sleeve and I put the ball in her court and awaited her reply.

We went out on a date a few days later, and yeah, it was pretty awesome. We went to The Roost, my favorite dive bar in L.A. where we conversed about growing up on the east coast and what life hacks we had learned in our time out west. We drank about 8 Newcastles and munched on about two bags of popcorn, and then I took her to the 101 Cafe at one in the morning for a late night snack. She ordered the chili cheese fries, and for some reason, that really turned me on. We started talking about the events of the wedding and how beautiful Christine looked, and how perfect the weather was, and how ironically as it turned out, Tasha was the one who “dropped” the bouquet. That’s funny I thought. It could have been her leg that I had to apply the garter to with my teeth. I’m sure her ex boyfriend would have loved that.

I dropped her off that night without kissing her, but believe me, I really wanted to. I suppose it turned out alright because we ended up dating for the next two years and spent almost every day with each other. After that night, Tasha and I were inseparable.

Next wedding: Wednesday April 22nd

Follow on Twitter @CMarc333

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.