There seems to be a commonality of late… events in pairs. A week ago it was the Fourth of July disruptions, this weekend we had a pair of weddings to go to, back- to- back.
The first ceremony took place in Westlake. It’s Friday, early afternoon and traffic was the primary concern so I relied on my years of driving experience to this area to get us there on time…we were early. There is a first for everything.
The ceremony itself was serene, but the blistering sun produced a few uneven tans and one heat stroke. Inside we went, only to be ushered to the outside patio…did someone say open bar!? Before we could even make it to the bar we were greeted by a tray of Captain Morgan and Coke – I’m so glad I didn’t pick this night to be the designated driver- this is the best wedding ever! About an hour into hors d’oeuvres and idle chit-chat, about a dozen of our friends (all from the same area) casually made it to the same table in the back corner.
My wife blurted out, “No one puts Baby in the corner!” we all laughed, but in all honesty-and for the bride’s sake, the furthest away from our peanut gallery the better. Unable to hear the DJ, we were all caught off guard when the bride and groom made their entrance to begin their first dance. It was Blonde Demi Moore dances with the pool man- the lessons paid off.
Although I was happy to see some food, I noticed we were the first table served salad and bread; I think they were sending us a message. Along with the bread came a huge plate of butter balls!
“Please pass the butter balls,” someone asked. Then someone had to say they were too salty and the conversation turned smutty.
“Oh, I like my balls salty!”
“I have the biggest and the saltiest balls of them all!” note: If you have to tell everyone how big your balls are…it just makes us believe the opposite.
And then the plate of butter is passed to my usually modest wife. Everyone is laughing hysterically. There are two balls of butter remaining on the plate, so what does she do? She pulls the plate to her face and places her tongue between the butter balls. Someone from our table was fast with their camera…can’t wait to see where the photo will appear.
It took about five minutes of clinking the wine glasses before they could get our attention; it was time for the best man speech. It was really more like a long roast and sadly, no Christopher Walken impression (for those of us that know him). The bride’s maid continued the oration and I watched an elderly guy slowly fall asleep.
Earlier, the bride’s maids had passed out room keys to the bachelorettes at each table to be returned to the groom (when prompted) as a joke. Well, the single women at our table wanted no part of the prank. Unexpectedly, I found both keys on the table in front of me…what the hell, I’ll do it! One of the girls took a rose from the centerpiece and shoved it over my ear, (it still had a thorn) I winced, grabbed my wife’s shawl and sashayed my way up to the head table.
I slammed the keys down in front of the groom –I took the rose from my ear and threw it against his chest, simultaneously shouting, “Take your keys back you bitch!” I sauntered back to my table and received a series of high-fives and a few astonished expressions – mainly my wife. Later I found out the bride was not amused.
The muffled speaking started again, but everyone was on their way to hammered town, so we all just continued our own subject matter, of which one I overheard. It was about poker odds and bad beats in a tournament… one out of four wedding guests surveyed said… boring!
The temporary dullness made way for a food fight, or should I say, toss the bread into the cleavage. I’m not sure who won, but from my vantage point, I feel the victor. There was only one party-foul during the ambush, someone threw something wet and was a bit off target – the embarrassing result was that she appeared to be lactating. The evening came to a close with some dirty dancing and a he loves me, he loves me not flower shared between two of my macho buddies.
Day 2
We’re off to Irvine for another wedding. I was both excited and apprehensive; this was my first Jewish wedding, but we didn’t know anybody except the bride and groom. We exited the freeway and turned down synagogue row – I named the street that because we turned into the first synagogue by mistake. The ceremony was about to begin and I was handed my first yarmulke (it’s pronounced yamaka and is also called a kippah).
I turned to my wife and said, “Do they know I’m not Jewish?”
“If they couldn’t tell by how tall you are then they certainly could tell by the fact you’re wearing the kippah on your forehead.”
After the ceremony we walked out into the adjacent reception hall to find our themed table. Our centerpiece was a picture of their dog with a story of how the groom proposed in a dog park. What they didn’t say was how they were both kneeling in dog-do during the momentous occasion. They really area cute couple, mazel!
Now comes the dancing, and I spot a well endowed woman in a strapless dress three sizes too small. I could have sworn someone whispered in my ear and said, “Welcome to Hooters, what can I get you?”
I leaned over and advised my table buddy, Lisa, to arm herself with her bazooka sized camera and get ready for a photo op. When the band began to play the next song, I’ll stop the world and melt with you – all the attention from our table was aimed at the dance floor. When the band sang the lyrics “o-pen wide,” it happened. Wardrobe malfunction! Her boob sprang out like a jack-in-the-box and without a second thought she pulled up her top and kept on dancing. There were more occurrences but it just seemed like she was doing it for the attention and the bit was losing its appeal. The way I see it; there was no five drink minimum and I didn’t have to break out a roll of singles. When the song was over my applause went to the blonde Janet and the band.
Overall, it was an entertaining weekend… and I got a free hat!
Conversations of a Cul-de-sac 