Wedding Day Smedding Day! This is the story of the birth of MAN FEST! (a.k.a the story of my marriage ceremony) It's the day that many women think about from the time they are a little girl and that most guys think of during that morning or somewhere thereabouts.
The morning of my wedding began the day of Man Glory. My friends met at my apartment, which was sometimes confused with the Toxic Landfill nearby. While most people rent a storage unit or, God forbid, throw things away when they move from one place to another, my wife and I decided that we wanted to live with all of our earthly possessions. We were waiting for our new house to be built and in the meantime we were staying in an apartment that was doubling as a garage sale or fallout shelter. Many people credit the term "Ground Zero" with the site of the World Trade Center. Not true, it wasn't until years later when the maintainence man tried to come into our apartment to change an air filter and then, looking around at the filth, realized it wouldn't make much of a difference and coined the magic phrase while filming the pilot video for "Hoarders" in our back bedroom. Ultimately, the show never got off the ground because there weren't any other people who could match our collection of filth, funk, and resemblence to land fill properties within their living space. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary in this bedroom. Just normal stuff, like a gas grill, landscaping bricks, a lawn mower, mattresses, bicycles, book cases, an aquarium, and almost anything else you can think of. That did not leave much imagination for the living room, whose best feature was the wall to wall couches. We were all set if the Brady Bunch and their extended family/life partners wanted to come over for a visit. Seriously, the apartment couldn't have been more than 700 square feet, but after you took into account all of our belongings, we were reduced to a spacious 35-40 square feet of walkable area. I believe that the step to kick/trip ratio even got up to 4 to 1 at one point after a random garbage day. With that in mind, the only people we invited over were those with empty cars so that they could take some "parting presents" when they left, so you could see that this was going to be a truly special day.
On the morning of the wedding, similar to most guys I was wracked with nerves as I turned on my Playstation to play Home Run Derby. There were a million things on my mind, such as whether or not there was a toggle switch that could simulate Giambi's steroid use and resulting production, or which stadium to use that would favor the various home run hitters, or how many games we could get in and still take advantage of the free breakfast that was waiting for us at the hotel, and a litany of other concerns that were fresh on my mind. In the end, I knew that I had made the right decision on this day. You see, Gary Sheffield is a power hitter to left and Wrigley Field was a right handed hitter's paradise. I suppose that it was meant to be that I win the Home Run Derby on my wedding day, either that or my friends were unconscious from the methane gas that I'm sure was eminating from our apartment de jour.
After a few games, we piled into my car to head for the hotel, where the women had been up for hours and off to get their hair and makeup done. I, on the other hand, was still wearing my favorite FILA shorts and the T-Shirt that I had slept in the night before. I had an awesome breakfast, complete with any food item that I could hope for. Before long, I noticed the photographer ambling about. While my wrinkled T-Shirt looked good to me, I'm pretty confident that it would fly like a fart in church for our wedding pictures. I was pretty sure we were supposed to get a fair amount of "pre-game" photos and here it was about 3 hours before the wedding and I had egg on my face, literally - they were delicious though so it was worth it.
Once all of the groomsmen got dressed, we went downstairs for some "pre-game" photos before boarding the trolley that would take us to the church. Once at the church, all of the groomsmen assumed the position. That is, the position of making fun of me. We had written some reflective passages in our program about each member of the bridal party. While we were really appreciative of all that the groomsmen did for us, I believe the fart noises and belching will stand out most in my mind, while they each claimed to be the "brother I never had". I hadn't seen this many brothers since I had visited the Friar House at St. Bonaventure.
Fast forward past all of the jokes and noises and it was finally time to take my place in the room behind the alter and wait for the ceremony to begin. Except that I noticed in this back room that there was a surplus of the body and blood of Christ in it's unblessed state. After discussing the matter, my best man and I decided that we would pass Go and head straight for Hell if we tampered with the bread and wine, and also that our relative hunger and thirst levels would not be a talking point in our favor. So, clearly famished, we headed out to the alter to await the magical appearance of the bride.
Everything was perfect, the attire, the smile, the timing, the hair, and...well it's probably a stretch to say that the hair was perfect as I was clearly balding at the time. On a side note, my wife looked beautiful as well. Then the mass began and all of the pagans sat in confusion as we worked through the service that was as familiar to the crowd as an igloo tribe in the west wing of a raging inferno. After some initial confusion though, they all seemed to slip comfortably into slumber and the service went rather smoothly.
Then, the part of the wedding that everyone was waiting for...OPEN BAR TIME in the hotel lobby at the reception. My wife and I walked around and observed that there wasn't a dry eye, or palate for that matter, in the house. I'm pretty sure sobriety was at a minimum as well. I mean, what was this, Amateur hour? Apparently, tolerance only comes into play in nonalcholic situations. Do they not allow alcohol into the Senior Center? How did these people get to be senile anyway? Something's got to take the edge off when your spouse has been nagging you to death for the past 20, 30, 40, 50 years or so, doesn't it? Anyone ever hear of the old flask on the garter trick? Guess not...
Finally, the main event was upon us. The reception hall opened and the beginning of my three meal plated dinner was about to begin. This well crafted strategy was birthed almost from the moment I slid the engagement ring on my wife's finger when I devised this plan by which I would eat each one of the meals that was offered to our guests on that day. Similar to many great ideas, this was not without flaw as midway through the 2nd meal I began to think back to the tuxedo rental day. It was at this moment that I truly realized the advantages my trained sales professional was speaking of in reference to the adjustable waist band on my tuxedo pants. Unfortunately, these pants were still hanging in the window of the rental store as I opted for the less expensive "Spanx" prototype model which, in an emergency, can double as a tourniquet. Fortunately you can view these circulation stifling beauties in many of my wedding photos. If I had only consulted trained professionals, such as, Eater X, Takero Kobiyashi, The Black Widow, or Joey Chestnut, then I'm confident I could have plowed ahead. Instead, I sat with borderline indigestion and a gurggling stomach. Once recovered from wedding meal heaven, I looked up from my unfinished portion of food to notice that I was the only person from the bridal party left at the head table surrounded by all of my friends, er, I mean all of my plated meals.
All in all, a perfect wedding. Who said that the day is all about the women? But I can't help but think about the one that got away. I should have eaten the Chicken first and it wouldn't have gone to waste...
For Men across the world, Wedding Day is no more. A Man's Day of Marriage will now be known as Man Fest! HOORAY MAN FEST!
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