8am
"What time does the pool open?"
This may seem like an inappropriate question to ask the wedding planner at breakfast, I imagine she would prefer people NOT to jump into the pool in the middle of the reception. But I had this idea in my head that I would jump in and a full blown pool party would ensue.
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| If you don't recognize this scene, I don't know what you have been doing on Christmas Eve for the last 20 years. |
"Um, 930?"
"In the morning?"
"At night."
I poured a whisky into my coffee and wandered around the house. It was 8am, through nothing short of a Herculean effort, we had stayed in the night before. I felt this fact excused my mid morning cocktail.
None of us had slept particularly well. The movie theater that we typically sleep in had been co-opted by over 100 cakes. This pushed ten grown men into one bedroom. Three in a queen size bed, one on a couch, one on a bench, one in the bathtub, four on the floor.
Renting a few rooms in a hotel was never mentioned.
In the backyard there was a large tent set up for dinner. The ceremony and ensuing reception were to take place in the front parlor. Food trucks were scheduled to show up around 5pm. I had never been to a wedding thrown at a house, but I imagined this was about par for the course.
10am
We were sent to the grooms house to 'get ready.' I'm not really familiar with this tradition. Was I supposed to roll over there in gym shorts and then put on my suit or just go over there in my suit and drink. I opted for the latter. Also there was a foosball table. Just as Tyrion 'drinks and knows things' I drink and fuck people up at foosball. At about 10:20am I had already sweat through my first shirt of the day.
After a while of shotgunning beers and rummaging around the house shaking hands with people whom I instantly forgot we decided to head back to our flop house. In sticking with the tradition that you can't get a DUI during the day, we piled six people in a small Lexus and drove back to the venue. I took my beverage to go.
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| I promise I'm not 16. |
12pm
Upon returning the the house/venue we were told that we had no responsibility for the next five hours. Future wedding planners of the world: THIS IS A BAD IDEA. We had played through the entire Justin Bieber catalogue on my phone by 12:45. I think that is about the time we broke Paul's bed in half.
The bed-breaking proved too much for some of the less fratty individuals that had stopped by the room to take some shots. I overheard this as a few fled the scene.
"Those guys were jumping on that bed like 12 year old girls and listening to a song aimed at 12 year old girls."
"Did you see them high five each other when they shattered the bed frame? Like it was some sort of amazing achievement?"
"Too much bromance in there!" I overheard one of them say, I can't say I disagreed.
Flashback sequence
Let's back up a bit and start where I was and why I was there. I'll do some light name dropping but be intentionally vague to protect the innocent and guilty.
Once upon a time there was a frat guy named Dave. He lived in a now extinct fraternity house in Indiana. One night some guy in jean shorts and a flat bill knocked on the door and said he had just transferred from the Occidental Chapter and wanted to hang out. His names was Paul. Dave invited him in and they had beers.
That summer Dave and this Paul lived in Wrigleyville and routinely skipped their shitty internships to black out at Cubs games and hit on chicks at Coldplay concerts. One day that summer, Paul introduced Dave to his sister, Liat, and her boyfriend Jake. Dave ordered an appletini at dinner and still gets made fun of for it.
Cut to years later, Dave moved to Los Angeles far far away from his northeastern Indianapolis suburban home. Not wanting Dave to be alone on holidays such as Thanksgiving and Passover, Paul forced his family to adopt Dave on a part time basis. Dave became a hit at the holidays and was always welcomed back with open arms.
So now I roll up to Sacramento with an assortment of Granite Bay kids a few times a year. This time was for Jake and Liat's wedding. Got it? Great!
Where were we...
Ah yes, too much bromance. Well there is never too much bromance. Look at this anecdotal evidence from 4 in the morning.
2pm
We decided to tailgate the wedding in Paul's room, but somehow we had nothing but liquor. You can imagine how this turned out.
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| Studs |
4pm
We run out of Jameson. The youngest person there is forced to uber to the grocery store to get more. Respect your elders.
5pm
It's finally showtime. I might have been so drunk that I needed to be propped up by my buddy Matt, but God dammit was that a beautiful ceremony. I love when they break the glass and shout Mazel Tov! I wish we could just do that on like random Saturday nights right before we go to the bar, it really kicks the energy into a positive direction.
5:30pm
It might be the three 5 hour energies I drank, or perhaps all of the booze, but I am overwhelmed with all of the love in the room and I am legit crying.
6pm
Someone has decided that I need to get some food in my stomach (yes!) and that I need to change my shirt again. We stop by the food trucks and then back to the room so I can change again. I'm out of button downs so I will be wearing a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t shirt to dinner.
The bar is now officially open. Which thank God there is finally some beer that I can drink to sober up. The wedding placemat has both an adult coloring element AND a Crossword puzzle. I spend most of dinner trying to unbreak my brain and do the crossword. I finally realize that the communist that designed it used spaces for multiple word answers.
I am simultaneously furious but also thankful because I haven't actually drank myself retarded.
730pm
Dance floor is open and I dance to a One Direction song with the bride's mom. I'm pretty sure 90% of the wedding attendees think I am actively hitting on her. Clearly they don't understand our mutual appreciation of boy bands. It's time for the lifting chair thing. I LOVE THE LIFTING CHAIR THING.
8pm
Someone just beer showered the dance floor. Thank God it wasn't me. There is a 5 minute break in the action. I am still pouring sweat. I approach the wedding planner and ask if we can open the pool early. I think she says something along the lines of...
"Whatever will get you to stop sweating on me."
8:11pm
I do a half gainer into the pool wearing a suit jacket, suit pants and a teenage mutant ninja turtle shirt.
Seriously, I was just like that Canadian ass clown on the Bachelorette last night but worse.
This sobered me up and I was able to return to the reception, the only problem was, I was so drunk and so sweaty, I had ruined every shirt I had brought. Paul's mom clocked me at about 5 wardrobe changes throughout the night.
So what do you do when you keep sweating through shirts but the dance floor is open?
You ditch it of course.
That's right, I spent about 90% of the reception, dancing shirtless and without shoes on the dance floor. Somehow, no one seemed to mind. In fact, I was dare I say, a hit? At least seven times throughout the evening, I demand the y cable from the dj so I can play more 'Sorry.' It slays every time.
11pm
I have been drinking for 15 hours at this point and the dance floor is starting to thin. I figure now is a good time to get a good sleeping spot. I head to the cake room and see that there is a couch stacked on top of another couch. Naturally, I ascend the summit and try to sleep.
I figure I have had a good night. I danced with all of the grandmothers, the bride, the groom, the wedding planner and a 49 year old woman that I was convinced was 28. Somehow, magically, no one is mad at me. I feel pretty good calling it a success.
11:17pm
"What the fuck are you doing?"
This is the last thing I hear before something is shoved into my mouth. It takes me a few seconds to realize it is a bottle of whiskey. I imagine this is what waterboarding feels like, only this is way worse.
I choke up a half shot of Jameson.
"I'm going to bed you asshat."
"The hell you are!"
Matt, the one that propped me up at the wedding has now turned the corner on sobriety and is shaking the bottom couch of my throne, threatening to topple me onto a half dozen cakes.
"WAKE THE FUCK UP!"
I slink off the couch and take a pull from his bottle. Apparently I am summoned back on the dance floor.
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| Some of the cakes that rudely stole my bedroom. |
1130pm
Dance floor 2.0 rages on for about 2 hours. I don't remember a lot of it, but I know there were bubbles involved. Like the bottle breaking thing, bubbles should be utilized more.
130am
I am now hiding in a storage closet. I know that my couch bed is no longer a safe space. I realize for the first time that I haven't seen my phone or wallet in quite some time. Whatever, as long as I can fall asleep in the next few minutes everything should be fine.
141am
"Found you fucker!"
Oh no, it's Matt again. He keeps finding bottles of Jameson somehow. It's like some fucked up kind of superpower. Why won't he let me live.
2am
Jesus, dance party 3.0 is in full effect. There are literally bodies on the floor. Someone is bleeding. "Best Song Ever" is playing. Somehow a dozen people or so are jumping up and down on couches. The bride, groom and ALL OF THE PARENTS are somehow still awake.
I stumble to the speaker and turn on some Eric Prydz before going on a quest for a bottle of water.
I fail, the closest thing I find is a light beer. It will have to do.
4am:
Inexplicably every room in the house has some sort of music blaring. There is a Venice Beach-esque drum circle going on in a bathroom. My buddies are belting out "Sweet Caroline" in the distance and I find that the hot tub has been turned on. It seems like the only place to get some peace and quiet. I hop in. I'm soon joined by the bride and groom.
"MVP performance Moel Man."
"How the hell are you guys still awake?"
Then again, it is one of the greatest nights of their lives, I suppose I would stay awake pretty late too.
Eventually there are 10 people in the hot tub, unwinding the night. It seems like after 20 hours of drinking, most of my buddies are ready to call it a weekend.
8am
Everyone has now realized the carnage of what went down last night. Things are missing, people are missing, all hope is lost. I have a 6 hour drive ahead of me and am not sure I can make it
The parents of the bride are in the kitchen cooking everyone breakfast. Did they sleep?
I walk outside to the pool and I see half of my wardrobe sopping wet. My phone is plugged into a bose speaker, still lightly playing 'Call Me Maybe" on repeat. I unplug it and go collapse onto a chair.
"What a weekend."
It's Paul. He puts a luke warm IPA into my hand. I lightly protest, but realize resistance is futile.
"Did you see the thing where they hand them up in the chairs?"
"Ya, that shit was dope."
"We should do this every weekend."
The house is wrecked, but with the help of a village we restore it to somewhat respectability. There is a pair of Ray Bans at the bottom of the pool. We make the youngest kid dive in to reclaim them. Respect your elders.
I take a long glance around at the devastation and can't believe we are almost thirty. My parents owned a house and had me by 30. I have a negative bank account balance and no job at 29.
I'm starting to go to a very dark place when something flips.
I look at the family, the new married couple; my friend Paul, his brothers, his parents. They are all beaming ear to ear.
This may not be how most families roll, but it's how they do it. To the outsider it may seem like one night of all out debauchery, but as every tribe has their own customs and traditions, I think this kind of lunacy is ours. I'm not sure anyone would have it any other way. I think back at the beautiful speeches made and all the love shown. I think back to those guys that said 'too much bromance.'
They were literally off put by the overabundance of love.
Sure it may be a bit strange to see overgrown man-children hugging and jumping up and down to songs aimed at middle schoolers, but I guess that's just our thing. I really do love these people. And if we show each other love by performing wrestling moves on one another and jamming bottles of whisky down one another's throat, well so be it I guess.
An official statement came down from the family Monday morning:
Gents, thanks for making the wedding a night my family will never forget. The family could not have appreciated your love and support more. Your ability to bring the festivities (and noise) to the next level made the experience special for everyone involved. Hope to see you all at Thanksgiving/Sedar or sooner. Much love, until next time, See ya...
Then there a bunch of videos attached of us acting like idiots. And then a smattering of replies.
"The pregame bedbreaker really set the tone."
"Some teams get carried by superstars NOT US. Once in a generation an unstoppable dream team comes along. FYI in this metaphor, I am a pre HIV Magic Johnson."
"Very solid performance. It's hard to believe people expect me to help them today when I can't even help myself." (this dude is a paramedic)
Honestly, things aren't going great for me, but with friends like these I always know everything is going to be ok.
So ya, that's just how we do, for better or worse, it is what it is.
To the beautiful bride and the handsome groom, Liat and Jake, we wish you a lifetime of happiness...and if you ever need the wrecking crew for whatever reason, we'll only be one call away.
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