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Column 4 – Part 1

It’s finally said and done.

The wedding has come and gone and I wholly agree with the popular opinion that it was an amazing day. I can’t truly how enamored I am and now that it is a memory, I only want it back.

I am sorry for those of you who missed it. But you are in luck. I am going to chronologically walk you through the most timeless moments of the day as well as the honeymoon. So sit back as I give you some G rated visuals. You can fill in any holes I leave with the usuals. The “I do’s”, white dresses, black tuxes, and hordes of crying people.

Warning: If you are reading this and are under the age of 13, the following article uses strong words such as naa-ked, nookie, and sex. Parents, these would be fun terms to try to explain to the little goobers, so lets not. Now is your chance to usher your little ones to the primary colored play room to watch those Christian vegetables that talk and wear mustaches. Silly greens.

I know I promised last week that I would give some insight into why people don’t like me, that one is still coming my friends.

Number One: Crying Men

That is right. Not once but twice. I bawled until my collar was damp at both the rehearsal and the big day.

When I needed to calm down I scanned the first pew looking for the strength, the pillar, the stronghold in our family, my father. Holy crap! He had that snot-down-the-upper-lip-thang going on and it was about that time that I wished I would have bought stock in Kleenex. I couldn’t see his eyes his glasses were so fogged up. Seriously, get that man a face squeegee.

I looked at both of the mothers and then my fiancée and they are the ONLY ones in the whole stinkin’ church not crying. What the heck! Might as well have taken Sarah, slapped a dog in one hand and a beer in the other, put some grease on her cheeks and programmed her to say a couple of catchy phrases such as “Did the Wanhh bus arrive?” or “My little sister cried less during her tongue tumor removal!” Once and for all I knew who wore the pink Victoria’s in this relationship. I spent most of Friday night debating if a size six meant I could only fit one enormous butt cheek or two into the wedding dress.

Number Two: High pressure water never go out of style

I envisioned, on this very website, a flurry of wet greetings to relatives I had never met. Hordes of screaming women in fancy dresses reenacting mad cow disease as Sarah and I just laughed and sprayed them all with increasing amounts of water.

Alas, I was too caught up in what the good Lutherans would think to see it through. It took a five year old friend of mine to realize, “Hey, I’m a jerk. This is totally something I would do.”

Shout out to my tiny brother Joel, a young, thirty inch tall scallion that I babysat this past summer was kind enough to provide the proper tools to live out my dream.

It innocently started outside the church, with our photographer recreating the image that I made on the website. I playfully sprayed light mist at my bride’s wedding dress, tilting my head with my evil smirk, but no real preconceived intentions. My playful volley of water was returned with a giggle and a crisp stream to my face.

Sometimes Sarah doesn’t think before she acts. She forgot that she was inside of the largest human handkerchief and I have freakishly long legs. Long quick strides, dash and roll will always fool even the best woman. I returned her timid mist with directs blows to the upper face, chest, veil and dress. “Yes!” I pumped my first triumphantly, once I was out of sight of course. Although a moment to cherish, this would have warranted a week on the couch, and since my legs start at my nose, that would have made for some long uncomfortable nights.

Number Three: Hey, Jeff, try some of Jerry’s “water”

If you have known anything about me in the last six to nine months, it is that I have been stricken with a longing for my seemingly lost college life. I have had short reminders of it at home. However, drinking a 24 oz. Smirnoff and watching 40 days and 40 nights on the couch in my parent’s basement is hardly equal to sorority girls, keg stealing, and three o’clock pizza runs. Hell, everything closes down in Grand Haven at 10 pm on a Friday night.

I slipped away from my new bride to go and sit with my old friends for a minute with my new friends, Mr. Cheesecake, and Mr. Nameless brand beer in a clear plastic cup. I apologized to all of my Ann Arbor friends, “I just wanted to say, sorry for being the first A-hole to go down the nuptials road.”

Immediately Chip Cullen, my art school friend that I met way back in orientation, said in his dirty Mexican voice, “Eh! Try some of my punch.”
I knew Chip, and I knew in his opinion that anything he drinks, from milk to Canada dry, is miles better with Vodka. I was hardly surprised when the red liquid in his glass was sixty percent Absolute.

Then my other friend Jerry Davidson, who I met mid freshman year, said, “Eh! Wanna try some of my water?” I had also forgotten that Jerry’s drink of choice were glasses of Vodka, topped off with an eighth an inch of sweet and sour. I took a healthy scorching mouthful, downed my beer, and jammed my whole slice of soft, moist cheesecake in my piehole, and smiled. It was good to remember. I felt like Dustin Hoffman’s Peter Pan when he remembered his past via a thimble. My thimble was booze and my lost boys were my friends. Pictures ensued, and that was the 5 minute making of a colorful memory.

Number Four: Beer Butt

Since I only heard about this story, I am taking the creative responsibility of retelling it with the maximum amount of embellishment. The dance floor at Terra Verde was like any typical college party dance floor. It was an off-white linoleum floor and beer was being served, so the ground had a certain slickness to it.

I was doing my share of running and coasting, and I was not the only one. My surprisingly social sister got the same idea. She ran, slid, and hip checked my best man precisely at the same time he returned the favor. Our sweet and innocent maid of honor, young Brenda Chapman saw this and thought “Hey, if the big kids are bumping butts, so can I.” So she attempted the same. But Justin was drinking like a fish, and he didn’t remember doing this to my sister less than five minutes ago. He said, “I saw her coming, and I wasn’t sure what to do, she seemed like she was slipping so I just stood firm and put out my chest.”

Brenda hit him like a wall and fell on her arse. Remembering the floor was wet with all kinds of fun stuff, Brenda said, “Yeah! Let’s make beer
angels as she flailed her arms and legs about.” Everyone on the dance floor spread out and made a circle around her and threw their hands in the air, “Go Brenda, it’s yo birthday, were gonna sip Bacardi…” Ok, so maybe it didn’t happen just like that. But she did fall like a brick, and girls in dresses falling down sure is funny. My sister said it wasn’t the only time, that throughout the night she would spontaneously fall over, sometimes in mid conversation. That silly Brenda, she’s always good for a laugh.

Continue to Part 2…..

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