"You see, marriage is a lot like an orange. First, you have the skin... then the sweet, sweet innards."
"And if all else fails, just walk up to one of the hot ones and stick a finger in her ass. She'll never even see it coming!" - Ian, with whom I was discussing my potential ability (but likely, ultimate failure) to score with a bridesmaid, or other reasonably hot woman at this shindig.
As for the above quote, well, yes, there was failure. Obviously. However, it was through no fault of my own (for once). There simply were no opportunities. Reasons for this are twofold, and possibly threefold, if we wanna get into specifics.
Firstly, despite the fact that some of the women there were absolutely unbelievable (Seriously, like 12 out of 10), many of the thought-to-be-single ones were, in fact, not single at all. This is to be expected, really, because if they're so hot, why wouldn't they be snapped up already? (Likely by some greaseball guido wearing a leather jacket and too many rings, who owns a small construction company...just, uh, for hypothetical example)
So, there was barrier numero uno. However, that shouldn't have been the end of things, since there were still *some* reasonably attractive single girls there, but this leads me to my second point:
The reception lacked the two things needed to hook up at a wedding: dancing, and alcohol. The reception started around 6:00, although the bar did not open until after all the formal stuff was finished - dinner, speeches from Doug, Carmen, Chad the best man, all six parents (Doug's wife, Carmen, has two sets of parents) etc...By this time, I don't know exactly but I'd guess it was about 8:30-ish, and still all we had to drink was wine, as the bar didn't open until just after 9:00.
Why didn't the bar open until then, you ask? Well, it didn't open early for the same reason that over 60% of the people at the reception left as soon as the dance floor opened: many people on the bride's side of the family are staunch Mennonites, who disagree with both drinking and dancing.
Rather than detail the situation any further, I've chosen to compose a haiku about Doug's wedding.
Doug marries Carmen
Just wine, no bar til 9
Mennonites don't dance
So the party died fairly quickly, despite the fact that me, Chad, and a few others did our best to keep the bartender busy. However, when the single girls and even the bridesmaids disappear for hours at a time, what's a lonely groomsman to do? Drink a few more beers, then go home defeated, drink a few vodkas, then pass out on the couch until 3:30 in the morning, that's what.
Oh, and that third reason? I'm kind of fat, so getting some was likely out of the question from the get-go, regardless of how awesome I looked in my rented tux.
But we don't need to dwell on that fact, do we? Oh, we do? Well shutup. Jerk.
Other than the lack of gettin' some, however, it was a very fun few days, beginning with the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner Friday night out in Abbotsford. Saturday morning I headed over to Doug's to get ready, with Chad and the other groomsmen. All was going fine - we had coffee with extra expresso shots, solid breakfast foods in abundance, tunes cranked and some red bulls flowing, until about 11:30 when my pants broke.
Yes, my pants broke.
For those of you not familar with rental tuxedo pants, let me explain quick-like how they work. Basically, you're given a pair of pants that are capable of being worn by someone with about a 22-inch rockstar-on-heroin waist, to someone who appears to have ate a small child for brunch. There are these thin metal "sliders, where you slide the waists to your desired girth, and then snap a lock into place.
Well, after wearing the pants for about 20 minutes, the slider came off-track. It appeared a lost cause for the longest time, and I spent a good deal of the morning wandering the house in a tuxedo shirt, tie, and boxers. Classy, I know.
I was prepared to just wear my giant MC Hammer-esque pants with suspenders to keep 'em up, until Chad finally fixed them with the help of a pin, a knife, and God knows what else. He earned the best man title right there.
So I went to the wedding with properly-fitting pants, and the whole thing, basically, went off without a hitch. And I gotta tell you, the whole wedding experience had more of an effect on me than I thought it would.
One of my favourite moments was talking with Doug's dad. Now, his dad has never been a super-positive person, and since retiring he's largely become a hermit in his own home, with not a lot to do. But Saturday he smiled, bought people drinks, and was as happy and proud of his son as I've ever seen. It was just kind of a touching moment, knowing both Doug and his dad as well as I do.
His dad also told me, while buying me a drink near the end of then night, that "Chad's done a great job as Doug's best man, but as far as I'm concerned, he has two of them tonight. You are too."
I've known Doug since we were 13 years-old, and he was engaged for 10 months before Saturday, but it wasn't until moments after the wedding where I actually realized "Whoa, Doug's married." (and to a pretty stunning blonde, by the way). And right then, I realized how incredibly happy I was for him, considering the rough ride he's been on for 2 years before he met Carmen. I was happy for him, maybe a little jealous that he'd found somebody, and proud of him too.
Which, in and of itself made it one of the best weekends I've had in ages and ages. Even if I didn't score a bridesmaid.
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