The Bridal Shower (wait for it...) FROM HELL (part 3)
At some point during the commotion, the doorbell rang once again, and this time it was Lauren and Katie's brother Ted and a friend. At the time, we were rather amused that every time the door opened, it was someone's little brother. I'll be honest, the novelty has since worn off. But I like Ted, and his friend seemed cool, so I offered them a beer, which they readily accepted. The friend actually told an amusing anecdote, which I hope I can do justice; he and his friends were out drinking, when for no reason he punched one in the face, and then his friend hit him back, and so they brawled for a little, just for shits and giggles. Hi, I'm Steve, I know quality people.
But once again, I digress. With the fight having ended (Mayweather TKO 10, if memory serves), my attention was now free to focus on the unfolding disaster in the kitchen. Apparently, at some point during the evening, Pam and Jill had gotten into a huge fight, one which threatened to tear their friendship apart. Pam was in the kitchen either screaming, crying, or both, repeating the phrases "that's it" and "we're done" over and over again. For example: "That's it, after this wedding is over, we're done! I'm fucking done with her!" Of course, the smart thing for me to do at this point would have been to run, or perhaps to place a plastic bag over my head and breath deeply, but for some reason I stayed, and got to hear the story. The crux of the fight was that, after Pam had Paul drive nearly an hour to come pick up the presents, Jill banned him from coming out, claiming it was a "girls night out." She then proceeded to call the guy she was seeing (for under a month) and invite him to the bar. Now, before I go further, I need to explain something. Pam is a great girl, very sweet, and as loyal as anyone I've ever met. Get a few (dozen) glasses of wine in her though, and she turns into a pushy, argumentative, screaming mimi. I'd known her for years, but this was possibly the first time I thought her argument was valid (albeit shrill).
Of course, while this particular incident may have been the straw that broke the looney's back, it was not the only point of contention. There was also the matter of friction between Jill/my sister and Pam's sister (not the last we'd hear of this), and then another matter about which, if I felt so inclined, I could probably wax rhapsodic for pages and pages.
It seems that Jill's brother (wayyyy too many siblings involved in this story), who lives with his parents, had a not insignificant quantity of marijuana hidden in his bedroom. The same bedroom which was used as the coat room for the bridal shower. At some point, said brother returned to said room for said ganja and lo and behold, it was gone. This led to histrionics on his part (I have to admit I'm curious how you complain to your family that your drugs are missing), which in turn led to accusations. I guess Jill told Pam that Jen (another bridesmaid) must have stolen it, which Pam vehemently denied. Somehow, this turned into Pam thinking Jill had accused her sister, which makes little sense to me (suffice to say, Jen would have had much more use for the contraband in question than Pam's sister), but then again, I'm not (and never have been) an irrational, drunk, girl. Later that week, when everyone was calm (relatively speaking), they seemed to pretty unanimously agree that the brother smoked it and forgot. Wrong wrong wrong. Say what you will about potheads; if there's one thing they (uh, "we") can and will keep track of, it's our stash. Personally, my money says his mom found and tossed it. Either way, there's a lesson to be learned here: if you're 25, live at home and store weed in your room, it's probably best not to let your room be used as the coatroom for a bridal shower. Hmm, I think I got that in a fortune cookie once.
Sorry, that's something that's been bothering me for a while. Had to get it off my chest. So yeah, Pam is pissed, hissing and snorting and screaming and generally making as big of a ruckus as is humanly possible for a 110 pound woman. At some point, someone (most definitely not me) decided that Jill must be made to stand before justice. Of course her phone wasn't working, because that would have made things even remotely easy, so the question was, how could we contact Jill? The answer (not my answer), of course, was send me to the bar to bring her back. I should point out that the bar in question is only a few blocks away, so I was not going back on the roads. I wouldn't have, any way, because I only do stupid things like that for selfish reasons like buying beer, not to help people by attempting to rescue a 20 year friendship.
So there I am, just trying to sit home and get passing out drunk, but no, Pam thrusts $5 in my hand and tells me to go buy myself a beer, and bring Jill back from the bar (cue the obligatory "if she doesn't come back here, we're done"). Being the loyal soldier I am, and wanting to escape before the vile mixture of hate, cheap white wine, and estrogen consumed me whole and stripped the flesh from my body, I shuffled my way to the bar. Sure enough, there was Jill and her new man, Brett. I grabbed myself a beer and strapped on the seatbelt. Nothing erases the sting of listening to furious drunken ranting like hearing the furious drunken counterpart. And what was her opening salvo? "We're done. Steve, we're fucking done. After the wedding, we're done." Did they script this beforehand? I don't get it, I seriously do not get it. Once we got past that initial burst, I got the other side of the story. Pam was wrong about this, she was being a baby about that, she misunderstood this. Just between you and me, I really didn't care, but Brett bought me a beer and we talked football for a while, which was infinitely better than my other conversational options.
After finishing my two free beers, I returned to the apartment without Jill, partly afraid for my life and sanity, but mostly just drunk and bemused. I don't remember the next half hour or so, but I'm sure it involved Pam yelling and me drinking. I'm sure you can guess what happened next; that's right, Jill arrived. If I'd had the score to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly I absolutely would have played it. Seriously, I do things like that. She headed for the kitchen, which was my cue to depart for the living room, which in retrospect, was a key decision on my part. You see, had I not been in the living room, I would not have been in position to see Pam storm out in tears, saying she was "going home." Granted, she lives a 45 minute drive away, and was attempting to walk it, but it was no time to point this out. Seeing that help was not on the way I waited for a commercial (okay, I made that part up) and went out in hot pursuit. She was moving at a pretty good pace, but I have surprising quickness for a big man, so I was able to catch her about halfway down the block. I won't go too into detail as to what went down then; suffice to say there was much emotion, my shoulder dampened with her tears (and probably a little drunken crying-snot, but I've gotten past that), because as we know, any good bridal shower ends with the bride to be crying on the brother of one of her bridesmaids.
Once we were back inside, I tactfully asked if I was going to be invited to the wedding (sadly, that part I am not making up), the girls ordered an obscene amount of diner food, and I ate and continued drinking until consciousness left me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you throw a bridal shower.
But once again, I digress. With the fight having ended (Mayweather TKO 10, if memory serves), my attention was now free to focus on the unfolding disaster in the kitchen. Apparently, at some point during the evening, Pam and Jill had gotten into a huge fight, one which threatened to tear their friendship apart. Pam was in the kitchen either screaming, crying, or both, repeating the phrases "that's it" and "we're done" over and over again. For example: "That's it, after this wedding is over, we're done! I'm fucking done with her!" Of course, the smart thing for me to do at this point would have been to run, or perhaps to place a plastic bag over my head and breath deeply, but for some reason I stayed, and got to hear the story. The crux of the fight was that, after Pam had Paul drive nearly an hour to come pick up the presents, Jill banned him from coming out, claiming it was a "girls night out." She then proceeded to call the guy she was seeing (for under a month) and invite him to the bar. Now, before I go further, I need to explain something. Pam is a great girl, very sweet, and as loyal as anyone I've ever met. Get a few (dozen) glasses of wine in her though, and she turns into a pushy, argumentative, screaming mimi. I'd known her for years, but this was possibly the first time I thought her argument was valid (albeit shrill).
Of course, while this particular incident may have been the straw that broke the looney's back, it was not the only point of contention. There was also the matter of friction between Jill/my sister and Pam's sister (not the last we'd hear of this), and then another matter about which, if I felt so inclined, I could probably wax rhapsodic for pages and pages.
It seems that Jill's brother (wayyyy too many siblings involved in this story), who lives with his parents, had a not insignificant quantity of marijuana hidden in his bedroom. The same bedroom which was used as the coat room for the bridal shower. At some point, said brother returned to said room for said ganja and lo and behold, it was gone. This led to histrionics on his part (I have to admit I'm curious how you complain to your family that your drugs are missing), which in turn led to accusations. I guess Jill told Pam that Jen (another bridesmaid) must have stolen it, which Pam vehemently denied. Somehow, this turned into Pam thinking Jill had accused her sister, which makes little sense to me (suffice to say, Jen would have had much more use for the contraband in question than Pam's sister), but then again, I'm not (and never have been) an irrational, drunk, girl. Later that week, when everyone was calm (relatively speaking), they seemed to pretty unanimously agree that the brother smoked it and forgot. Wrong wrong wrong. Say what you will about potheads; if there's one thing they (uh, "we") can and will keep track of, it's our stash. Personally, my money says his mom found and tossed it. Either way, there's a lesson to be learned here: if you're 25, live at home and store weed in your room, it's probably best not to let your room be used as the coatroom for a bridal shower. Hmm, I think I got that in a fortune cookie once.
Sorry, that's something that's been bothering me for a while. Had to get it off my chest. So yeah, Pam is pissed, hissing and snorting and screaming and generally making as big of a ruckus as is humanly possible for a 110 pound woman. At some point, someone (most definitely not me) decided that Jill must be made to stand before justice. Of course her phone wasn't working, because that would have made things even remotely easy, so the question was, how could we contact Jill? The answer (not my answer), of course, was send me to the bar to bring her back. I should point out that the bar in question is only a few blocks away, so I was not going back on the roads. I wouldn't have, any way, because I only do stupid things like that for selfish reasons like buying beer, not to help people by attempting to rescue a 20 year friendship.
So there I am, just trying to sit home and get passing out drunk, but no, Pam thrusts $5 in my hand and tells me to go buy myself a beer, and bring Jill back from the bar (cue the obligatory "if she doesn't come back here, we're done"). Being the loyal soldier I am, and wanting to escape before the vile mixture of hate, cheap white wine, and estrogen consumed me whole and stripped the flesh from my body, I shuffled my way to the bar. Sure enough, there was Jill and her new man, Brett. I grabbed myself a beer and strapped on the seatbelt. Nothing erases the sting of listening to furious drunken ranting like hearing the furious drunken counterpart. And what was her opening salvo? "We're done. Steve, we're fucking done. After the wedding, we're done." Did they script this beforehand? I don't get it, I seriously do not get it. Once we got past that initial burst, I got the other side of the story. Pam was wrong about this, she was being a baby about that, she misunderstood this. Just between you and me, I really didn't care, but Brett bought me a beer and we talked football for a while, which was infinitely better than my other conversational options.
After finishing my two free beers, I returned to the apartment without Jill, partly afraid for my life and sanity, but mostly just drunk and bemused. I don't remember the next half hour or so, but I'm sure it involved Pam yelling and me drinking. I'm sure you can guess what happened next; that's right, Jill arrived. If I'd had the score to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly I absolutely would have played it. Seriously, I do things like that. She headed for the kitchen, which was my cue to depart for the living room, which in retrospect, was a key decision on my part. You see, had I not been in the living room, I would not have been in position to see Pam storm out in tears, saying she was "going home." Granted, she lives a 45 minute drive away, and was attempting to walk it, but it was no time to point this out. Seeing that help was not on the way I waited for a commercial (okay, I made that part up) and went out in hot pursuit. She was moving at a pretty good pace, but I have surprising quickness for a big man, so I was able to catch her about halfway down the block. I won't go too into detail as to what went down then; suffice to say there was much emotion, my shoulder dampened with her tears (and probably a little drunken crying-snot, but I've gotten past that), because as we know, any good bridal shower ends with the bride to be crying on the brother of one of her bridesmaids.
Once we were back inside, I tactfully asked if I was going to be invited to the wedding (sadly, that part I am not making up), the girls ordered an obscene amount of diner food, and I ate and continued drinking until consciousness left me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you throw a bridal shower.
posted by skygoblue at 6:32 AM
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