Weddings: an excuse to get all your college friends together in one place to pretend like they’re at a college formal and act like idiots for an entire weekend. Also, to celebrate the beautiful love of the couple getting married…yes, that too. My last college wedding was two falls ago, so it’s been a year and a half since I’d seen most of the guys, and it’d been months since I’d seen some of the girls too. So despite the fact that Minneapolis was like 40 degrees and rainy and less than conducive than running around in small dresses and open toes, it was pretty much my favorite place on earth from Friday to Sunday morning. Bless the Mall of America, bless indoor roller coaster, bless pretzel dogs, bless the Holiday Inn.
§ Phone rings on Saturday morning. It’s a breakfast call from ladies of 916. But more importantly, it’s a message to inform us that Wil peed all over Frou’s luggage around 4am. But don’t worry, Wil, “she likes golden showers.”
§ It was good to see that Freds maintains rare-form. Ian was forced to remove her mumbling self from the premises by around 10pm. I don’t really know what she did when got back to the hotel, but I bet it involved peanut butter or screaming to the bitches that she was back.
Eating in excess:
§ The hors d’oevres guys weren’t giving us the service we needed upon our arrival at the reception. I finally called one over and explained to him that 1) we were seriously hungry, and 2) we plan to drink seriously and need stomach padding. He was our devoted servant for the remainder of cocktail hour, he even left his last plate on our table.
§ Our friend told us that we could eat the orchids that decorated the plate. We didn’t, but someone told the men of table 4 that the orchids were edible. Not only did they sample the orchids, but they continued on to sample petals from all the flowers on the table. That’s pretty much like regressing to when you’re like 3 and you try dog food.
Hooking up shameless sly, and frequently incestuously:
§ I think I was supposed to hook up with Tarr. We declared ourselves married on Saturday night and exchanged some serious text messages during dinner. I was all set to have a bunch of Jewish babies for him. Moe also highjacked my phone for a period – those texts involved exposed nipples and lack of panties, and that is all I have to say about that.
§ At the same time, Veeve is Tarr’s white whale. I am fairly certain a threesome would be his ideal. But, forgetting that, Veeve did not sleep in our room on Saturday night. Hmm.
§ Hupp and Frou hooked up on the dance floor at the wedding. I think no more is needed here.
§ Quote, from Yedi to Ads: “Look, I can’t put any more bar time in with you. But can I book you for later? Room 213. I’ll leave the door open.”
Being obnoxious assholes (if you’re Reed):
§ From Reed to Jami, in discussion of boobs: “…Has great tits. Linderman doesn’t have great tits.” (thank you)
§ From Reed to me: “So you live with Veeve. That’s awesome. Do you get to see her tits a lot? She has great tits.”
§ Seen at bar on Saturday night: Reed, licking (literally) Ads’ boobs.
§ And…Moe is not Reed, but she did steal Bart’s camera and take one million cleavage pics. Weird.
Acting like retards on the dance floor:
Every sentimental college song was on the play list for the evening.
§ I have seen a bride do such a great Jane Fonda to Footloose (everybody go Pi Phi…) or the running man to Ice Ice Baby.
§ A group of grown women swaying and crying to Tiny Dancer: Is this sexy?
§ Will we be on our (literally) on our knees as we clasp our hands during Like a Prayer when we’re like 80 years old?
§ Will Tarr still be sequestered to the center of the dance floor to dance his (apparently classic?) moves for Billy Jean and Thriller?
Inappropriately removing clothing:
§ Last but not least, someone had to actually pull Tarr’s boxer shorts down during the boxer shot. I don’t think by any means this is appropriate wedding behavior. But it does keep it real…
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