Happily Ever After

It's taken me quite a while to get around to actually finishing this monstrosity, primarily for two reasons. First, things went rather smoothly. The overall tone of this thing has (fairly obviously) been the build-up to a disaster, and I am happy to say that the wedding went well. The bride and groom were both beaming and looked as happy as I have ever seen two people look, and believe it or not, I was overjoyed for them. For that reason, I've been wrestling a lot with how exactly to portray the whole evening. The second thing? Well, I don't really remember the whole evening. In fact, by the time I woke up the next morning I had already forgotten much of it. But the people have demanded more, and I am, if nothing else, a man of the people, so it will be done. Just give me a few days to see what I can remember.

The Guest List

I pondered how best to describe the motley crüe -excuse me, "crew"- who will be attending, and ultimately I figured a list would be the best way to go. I'd like to point out that I do not have a problem with anyone on here, and actually like them all. I'm just calling 'em like I sees 'em. And praying none of them ever sees this.

Actually, perhaps it is best to start with the people who will not be attending.

• Joe: Joe is the groom's first cousin, and Jill's ex-boyfriend from high school. Joe will not be attending because Joe is in jail for a violent crime.
• Luis: Luis is one of the groom's very good friends. He was also Joe's codefendant, that is until he pled guilty and testified against Joe in exchange for a lesser sentence. Luis is out. Joe is not. Joe's family will be at the wedding. Luis will not.

And those individuals who will be present (unless noted, all attended our high school).

• Phil: A rare upstanding individual (seriously), Phil testified against Joe, though not necessarily because he wanted to. Joe's younger brother, who is widely considered a chip off the old block, will be attending and is apparently not a huge fan of Phil's. This is one of multiple potential conflagrations amongst the wedding guests. Also of note is that Phil dated Katie for many years, and they in fact lived together at one point. Then she cheated on him and sent the other guy naked pictures. Did I mention the other guy is from the same town as the rest of us?
• Katie: See above. Katie is bringing her boyfriend Timothy, who is not from our high school. The first time she introduced him to us, before they had gotten together, she warned us prior to his arrival that she thought he was gay. They are now approaching the one year mark together.
• Becky: Though interesting in her own right, Becky will be attending with her boyfriend Sean, who bears far more discussion. Sean is signifcantly older than Becky and the rest of us, though I could not say exactly how much. Some of the girls in the group find this "icky" (I don't know if they used that particular word, but considering how juvenile they've been about it, they might as well have). I like Sean. The problem is, Sean has stated with no uncertain terms that he is going to fight Derek, one of the groomsman. Why? Because of something Derek posted on MySpace.
• Derek: Sean is a pretty tough dude, and ordinarily I'd be concerned. Except that Derek is about 6'4, 250, and I think I'm being conservative on the weight. Though I believe he has since stopped, he used to compete in bodybuilding competitions. Derek was campaigning for us all to get the master suite at the hotel, complete with 20 person hot tub. I told people that this was probably so he could bang his girlfriend with everyone there. I also told Derek that I believed this to be true. He did not in any way deny it. Just to illustrate the interconnectedness of the group, it's also worth pointing out that Derek at one point had a restraining order against Joe.
• Jill: I don't even know what to say. For scheduling reasons, she's bringing her friend Alex instead of her boyfriend. I like them both, but Alex is much quieter and has a nearly zero percent chance of causing trouble. Not that Brett would; in fact I sincerely doubt it. Not altogether impossible though.
• My sister: No comment. Just safer that way. Actually I guess my only comment is a loud, lamenting sigh.
• Dan: I was glad to hear Dan was coming. He was in my graduating class in high school (I'm two years younger than Pam and Paul), and was a genuinely good guy. Partied and all, but was a smart kid, VP of the class, and just a nice dude. I ran into someone from high school recently. We chatted about classmates we'd seen recently. He said, "I saw Dan...he's turned into a giant cokehead." Fuck. I mean seriously, fuck.
• Jen: Jen is another bridesmaid. After she was appointed bridesmaid, but before the shower, there was an extended period during which she and the bride were not speaking (I guess "they were done," hahahaha), largely due to Jen's blatant and extreme drug use. I don't know if it was true or not, just what I heard. I guess things are better now, or they're ignoring the problem, or it was blown out of proportion in the first place. My guess is "D," all of the above. She's bringing her husband; I don't know his name, which I guess doesn't really matter since I'm making those all up anyway. My sister told me I should like him because he smokes a lot of weed. Apparently, he also talks freely about his past lives, but "he probably won't do that around people he doesn't know."
• Me: I graduated from a nice college in four years. I have a nice white-collar job where I sit miserably in a cubicle. Most of my friends come from similarly traditional backgrounds. Among them is my date, one of my best friends. We will make a very nice looking pair (okay, so she'll be great looking, I'll settle for nice) of normal, middle-class Americans. I have no idea what the fuck we're doing there.

I am Going to Hell

Are you the type of person who panics about things? If there is ice on the road, are you sure you're going to crash your car? If the media is hyping some disease, do you sit at home, cowering from the unseen germs waiting to infect you? Me personally, I don't. Until yesterday that is. Yesterday, you see, I knew I was fated to be struck by lightning. There was an incredible thunderstorm last night, the lightning coming fast, furious, and close, jagged streaks visible throughout the sky. I, of course, realized just as it was reaching a crescendo, that I needed some things from the store. Why not wait it out? TV schedule, of course. As I opened the door and set foot outside, watching the preternaturally black sky light up again and again, I realized this was my moment of judgement. I'm not a particularly religious man, but I do believe in something, and I was sure that right then, that something was lining me up in his (yes "his") sights to drill with a million volt bolt of judgement. You think I'm joking, but no; as I walked from my car, I resigned myself to the fact that my life would end, ignominously enough, in a Target parking lot. Why was I so sure my time was nigh? And what does this have to do with the wedding? Allow me to explain.

A few days earlier, in (literally and figuratively) sunnier times, I was preparing to leave for a weekend trip to Boston. I was really looking forward to it; visiting a good friend from college for a nice weekend of booze, bud, and of course Ultimate Fighting (yes, once again the timeline for the wedding is intertwined with my viewership of combat sports). Scant moments before I was to walk out the door, the phone rang. My sister answered and immediately her face and her gasped "Oh my God!" made it clear that this was not someone calling to chat. I wanted to stay and offer emotional support, but I had a bus to catch, so I callously got up and headed for the door. Before I set out though, I read her hastily scribbled note: "Paul had/is having a heart attack!" And with that, I left.

To be fair, I did take this seriously. I mean, damn, that's insane. This guy is only 28. Me taking something seriously is not the same as a normal, caring-and-feeling human being taking it seriously, though. All weekend, I told people about this craziness, the concern in my voice genuine. But I also made a point to add "...I've met his fiancee though, and trust me, I unerstand" pretty much every time. (It should be noted thatI did show sufficient restraint, at least up until right now, not to correlate it to the circumstances of the proposal.) And for that reason, my mocking of what was nearly a horrific tragedy, I was sure that God was going to smite me yesterday.

Postscript: I feel compelled to mention that the groom-to-be, at least in the big picture, is doing okay. He's out of the hospital and the wedding will continue as planned.

You Knew There Had to be a Bachelorette Party

After the bridal shower, the next disastrous hurdle –excuse me, that’s a typo, it should read “celebration” – was the bachelorette party. There are typically three ways to go on a bachelor/bachelorette party. One is to take the groom/bride somewhere (Vegas, Miami, tropical island) for an unforgettable weekend of alcohol, nudity, alcohol, alcohol, and nudity. Option two is typically a scaled down version of option one; the focus is still alcohol and nudity, but it’s a one night celebration, typically in one’s local metropolitan area. Option three is to come up with something creative and different. Personally, I feel if the marrying party is under 30, the first two options are really the only two, unless you have something ridiculously good planned (You don’t. Trust me. You’re not that creative.) Due to general financial concerns, I knew that there was no way these bachelorettes would be traveling. This terrified me, since as has been established, my apartment is the nexus of these girls’ social universe, meaning that the party would probably either begin, end, or take place entirely in my domicile. On the heels of the shower I could just picture it: thinking ahead, I would plan to spend the evening elsewhere, only to return the next day to an apartment covered in hair, menstrual blood, and shredded stripper thong, with nary a living soul in sight.

Fortunately, I had an unexpected ally in Operation Keep Your Psychotic Friends the Hell Away from Where I Live. As I mentioned earlier, some friction had begun between Pam’s sister Kim and the dynamic duo of Jill and my sister. In retrospect, it shouldn’t have been that big a shock; after all, though I don’t know Kim that well, I’ve gathered that she, like the other two, is a stubborn, catty, opinionated woman (is that redundant?). The original plan, which is to say, the plan Jill and my sister had before talking to her, was your standard dinner/strip club/bar shenanigans style bachelorette party. Kim however had other plans. There is a hotel/spa near Pam’s house, and her idea was for the bridal shower to join Pam in a full spa treatment, dinner, and a night at the hotel. Being women, my sister and Jill were obviously both enticed, but neither was necessarily in a position to pony up for what would certainly be a pricy evening

-Side note: I realize a spa/hotel stay is expensive, but how cheap do they think a strip club-inclusive night out on the town is? If you’re doing it right, it’s probably nearly the same, if not more.-

After hearing my sister bitch about the various small skirmishes that were going on between Kim and the team of her and Jill, I anticipated a long, brutal, conclusion, not unlike the Battle of Antietam. Imagine my surprise then, when my sister came home one evening and reported in no uncertain terms that she had “lost.” It was amazing. I’ve won arguments with her before using a shock-and-awe blend of volume, profanity, and moral superiority, but for a waif-like girl to have so clearly dominated her, well, my hat is off. If I may resort (as I so unfortunately frequently do) to a sports metaphor, she had the look of a heavy favorite who just got blown off the field by a heavy underdog. Basically, Kim told the rest of the bridal shower that they were doing the spa thing, and not only that, but they were paying whether they went or not. A brilliant gambit, if I so say so myself.

Obviously, I had no contact with the motley crew during the bachelorette party, but all reports are that it went as well as could be expected. Upon returning, there was much whining about the massages being scheduled at 8pm, after they had already begun drinking (were shitfaced), and before dinner. As a result, by the time they had showered and were ready for dinner, most places were closed (and they were losing their buzzes) so their only option was some horrifically local dive. I diplomatically neglected to mention that they spent most of ages 21-25 in the same.

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.

The Bridal Shower (wait for it...) FROM HELL (part 2)

I'm not sure if you saw the Mayweather-Judah fight, but it is perhaps best known for a near riot breaking out in the ring as a result of a vicious low-blow. The cool thing about this night was, I got to see that pandemonium on TV, and after the fight was over, experience even greater bedlam all around me. It took interactivity to a whole new level.

Before all that went down though, the doorbell rang. It was Joe, Becky's younger brother. I haven't really hung out with Joe much, but he seems like a good guy. He's very quiet, sort of plays it cool. Becky, another of my sister's friends, is neither of those things. I like her, but when drunk, she's a bit of a loud, sloppy drunk (actually, that's sort of a theme of this evening. check that; it's a theme of these people's lives). Tonight, she was very drunk. In her defense, Becky had had a rough go of it over the course of the evening. Apparently, the other girls chose this moment to tell her that none of them liked her boyfriend, who she was either living with or moving in with. And then she called him and got in a fight with him (more on him later). Or maybe it was one and not the other. It didn't involved highly-skilled athlete's beating each other bloody, so it received a mere fraction of my attention. Either way, Becky was feeling some stress, but had drank enough wine that she was not feeling much of anything else. All she was really doing was cursing. At some point, she was sitting on the couch next to me. Then she was on the floor; I'm not really sure how it happened, but it surely did. Her brother was going to take her home, which I found to be very thoughtful. How did she thank him? Well, when he went to help her up (and I believe help her put her shoes on; I think that's what she was trying to do that led to her falling off the couch) she cursed at him and pushed him, before essentially being physically dragged/carried out of the house. On any other night, this might have gone down as a classic performance, but tonight it was little more than an opening act. After all, this was a bridal shower; truly, this was Pam's day.
[to be continued, again]

The Bridal Shower (wait for it...) FROM HELL

You may be wondering how it is that I go from the proposal directly to the bridal shower. What about all the other stuff? Well, there's two main reasons for the gap:

1. I am male, I do not care about wedding planning crap, so it did not register with me
2. I drink

If I think of anything that happened during that time, I'll add a post, or possibly insert it stream-of-conscience style in the middle of another story. But back to the bridal shower.

The bridal shower was to take place April 8th. The reason I know this is that it was the evening of the infamous Floyd Mayweather, Jr. - Zab Judah fight. Y'know, as I write this, I'm mildly concerned about the fact that I remember events in life based on the boxing matches that took place on the days in question. Ah well, que sera. Anyway, the bridal shower. The plan was for the shower to be a fairly informal, pot-luck event. Hosting it would be the parents (okay, the mother) of Jill, best friend to both my sister and the bride-to-be. I share an apartment with my sister, and was concerned the shower would be at our place, so finding out it was not was a huge relief. Knowing that they would be occupied with that crap -excuse me, with "planning the shower"- I figured I would celebrate by coming to Hoboken and getting sloppy drunk during the day, before returning home to a blessedly empty apartment and watching the fight on pay-per-view.

Part one of the plan went down without a hitch, and as I staggered up my front steps, I was relieved to see that the living room light was off. Yes, the plan was for the shower to be elsewhere, but I wouldn't truly believe it until I saw the empty household.

It turns out, I'm pretty damned smart. Upon opening the door, my ears were greeted by a chattering cacophony, much as one hears upon walking into an aviary at the zoo or the parakeet section of a large pet store. Through the darkness, I could see a girl passed out on the couch, curled in a sated looking fetal position. The kitchen, the preferred socializing spot of my sister and her friends, was brightly lit, a thick haze of smoke emanating from it. Naturally, being the rational, sober individual I am, I handled this unexpected hurdle with calmness, grace and dignity. I can not remember my exact words, but I recall saying (yell-slurring) something along the lines of "All I wanted to do was watch the Goddamned fight but Lauren is passed out in there--" At this point, my sister cut me off.

"Go ahead, she's fine." Hmm. Then the passed out girl's sister chimed in. "Turn on the lights, turn on the TV, she won't notice. Hell, you could sit on her head and she wouldn't wake up." Tempting, but I was really looking forward to the fight and wanted to devote my full attention to it. I turned on the fight, and was about to settle into the couch (it sags a bit; "into" is, in this case, a completely literal phrase) when I realized something: I needed beer! I checked with the hens, and they suggested buying a full 24, just in case, even though they had already gone through (and this is an exact measure) a whopping shitload of wine. So I hopped in my car (hmm, guess if I was driving I must not have been that drunk...hahahahahahaha) and drove to the liquor store, returning with my 24 bottles just in time for the first undercard.
[to be continued]

He Did it How?

As you may have imagined, Pam's birthday came and went without a ring, as did her next one. Sadly, I have no Brazilian movie/Tyson fight mileposts to tell me the exact date. Eventually though, the word came though; Paul had popped the question. And the people rejoiced; there was much rejoicing. I however, as a male and a fringe character in this whole drama, did not immediately find out. Rather I overheard things, caught lone halves of phone conversations. "We're so excited...well she was very close to her...no I think it's romantic..." "Oh God no, I would be so pissed...creepy...I KNOOOOW!!!!" Naturally, I was intrigued, but my naturally apathy took hold and I opted not to pursue the issue. Not to worry though; this was not the sort of thing that could stay hidden long.

Yes, it was inevitable that I would hear the news, and when I did it was quite an eye-opener. It seems that Pam was very close with a family member who had passed away. Paul, knowing this, wanted t0 make sure that this family member was involved in what would be one of the most memorable days of their respective lines. So.......he proposed at the cemetery. On the person's grave. Seriously, I'm not kidding about this. I was told second- or third-hand that it was because he knew Pam would want this relative's approval, and this was his way of trying to make that happen.

-Okay, I gotta take a step back here. It's not that I'm judging. Well no, that's a lie. I think it's really weird. But that's not a moral judgement; everyone's gotta do their own thing, y'know? I don't know the specific circumstances, so I guess this could've been the perfect way for this to go down. Definitely not for everyone though. Sorry, didn't mean to get sappy; just didn't want to seem like that big of an asshole.-

So Pam and Paula were finally engaged, and it happened in a cemetery. Let's see Reese Witherspoon and random-handsome-white-actor make that look cute.

It Begins

At first, I planned to start the story at its natural beginning, with the marriage proposal itself. As I thought about it though, I realized that there was an even better starting point. Do you have any memories where, it's not something overly important, but for some reason you can remember the intricate details of an event? That's how this day was for me. It was February 2003, a week or so after Valentine's Day. Perhaps it stands out in my mind because I went and saw City of God in the theatres that afternoon, a movie which may possibly be my favorite of all time. But I digress.

Anyway, after returning from the movie, I called my friend Pam.* Pam was really my sister's friend, but I'd gotten to know her and her boyfriend Paul somewhat through my sister. We weren't really on a calling basis, but on this day, there were special circumstances. Like myself, Paul is a huge boxing fan, but unlike myself, Paul had a black box, which meant that Paul and Pam's place would be showing the Mike Tyson-Clifford "The Black Rhino" Etienne fight (we have now established the date at February 22nd, for those who were curious). I spoke to Pam, and headed through the pouring rain over to their place, an apartment a few towns over to which I had never before been.

Now, I don't know if you're a boxing fan, but if you are, you'll recall that the fight was absolutely terrible. Tyson basically knocked Etienne down the first time he hit him, Etienne's leg bent a little funny, he spit out his mouth piece, collected his check, and went home. But the fight was not the highlight of the evening. Not even Tyson's terrific post-fight interview (with the infamous "broken back"/"spinal" comments) was the highlight. No, that was the crowd. Among those in attendance was Mikey, a close friend of Paul's and a fellow alumnus of our high school. Mikey was somewhat of a legend amongst people I knew for being the "blackest" Eastern European white boy anyone had ever met. Three quick Mikey stories, possibly apocryphal:

1. As a young teen, Mikey crossed the GWB to go into Harlem to buy weed. On a bicycle. His sister's bicycle.
2. When asked what he would do if he was ever mugged, Mikey said he would immediately begin yelling incoherently and stripping naked. Once he was down to his boxers, he would take his belt and begin spanking his ass with it. Why? Because no mugger wants to screw around with a crazy person.
3. After leaving the club on a particularly "snowy" night, Mikey was overcome by his stomach and opted to just drop trou and go. On the street.

On this night though, Mikey was not buying weed, getting mugged, or having the coke shits; no Mikey was with his 9 months pregnant wife, who if memory serves, was due the next day. Being himself, of course, Mikey had married a Mexican immigrant and was living with her, and her family, in an apartment in Paterson. This girl seriously looked like she was about to burst. Pam, being a nice host, got her some cantaloupe, which (having never been pregnant) she knew pregnant women crave. The poor woman didn't want it, but Pam rubbed it under her nose saying in a baby-talk voice "can-teloupe, you want some can-teloupe?" until she eventually ate it, either succumbing to the fruit being waved inches from her face or possibly out of fear for her life. Hmm, this going a lot longer than I expected. Well, I'll leave out the part about searching for beer with Mikey, half of the town's streets closed due to flooding, him freestyling at the top of his lungs.

Ah, but back to the point. The reason I bring this up is what I heard Pam say that night. The baby that was practically falling out of the young woman in her house got the conversation (not my conversation) turned to futures and husbands and babies, and someone asked Pam when she and Paul were going to marry. Her response? "If I don't have a ring by my birthday [in June], it's over." And that was February 2003.

Epilogue: At the evening's conclusion, I got to drop Mikey and wife off at a friend's place. Nothing helps you ignore biblical rains like the morbid fear that a lunatic's wife is going to birth her child in your father's Saturn.

*I've changed everyone's name. Some may be the same as other people within the group/from our high school, but all have been changed.

Prologue

Before I get into it, I feel I should explain the genesis of this blog a little bit. This is not mean to be one of those blogs where I write keep you updated with multi-daily posts on everything that pops into head or cool things I've found on the internet. For the time being, all that's going on here is one story. One long, complicated story. You see, I'm supposed to go to a wedding this Saturday. The wedding hasn't even happened yet and already it's been one of the most insane things I've ever seen. Granted, I get the feeling most weddings involve lots of stress and craziness and whatnot, but I really think this one is special. So starting today, I'm going to work my way through the process, as seen through my eyes, and after this weekend, I'll let you know how everything worked out. Trust me, if I'm half the writer/storyteller I think I am, it'll be worth a read.