My "ChavezSpeakstheTruth's Wedding" Diary:

The wedding: A gas and a giggle

(For those of you who might bot know, ChavezSpeakstheTruth and cassandra uprising got married on saturday. This is the story of my trip from Chicago to Middletown, Connecticut to attend the wedding.)

I worked friday night until 1:30 in the morning, then walked home (an hour walk), packed my stuff, got a half an hour of sleep, then found a taxi to take me to O'Hare at 5:30 in the AM. Ate breckfust at the "Wolfgang Puck's" restaurant at the airport, where they had decent Corn Flake-battered French Toast and surly cheap makeup-battered waitresses.

7:00: Sat at the gate and napped. Got on the plane, napped. SouthoftheBorderPaul picked me up in Hartford and we drove around listening to Patton Oswalt's CD, which is highly recommended. Did you know that if you lose a fight to a midget, you become one?

2:30: Made it to the Church, changed into suit. As guests arrived, became alienated and somewhat dizzy from lack of sleep. Mainly wanted to go lie down, but couldn't. When will the modern day church understand that firm matresses and down comforters make a more solemn statement than hard wood pews? I mean, what says "disciplined devotion to a higher calling" more than 200 count-per-kale sheets and a bedside table with a glass of ice water and a book by Henry Miller on it inside a church? Tried my best to both nap AND keep my eyes noticibly open for the ceremony. It was difficult.

A ceremony went on, realized I was one of a handful of non-Catholics there. Even though they knew damn well that I was so tired I could conceivably yawn hard and wide enough to unhook my jaw like some kind of two-legged man-eel, they kept asking us all to rise up and pray, then, kneel down and pray, then listen to someone sing opera. For a minute, I wondered whether Chavez had tricked me into joining the Marines.

4:00 Meet and greet. Met people, and gret a few too. I even RE-gret a couple. It is apparent that Chavez and cassandra possess wonderful families. These are good people. I meet up with Chavez's brother Wolf; the last time I saw Wolf, I was an hour into a particularly vociferous Marijuana binge, so the fact that his skin wasn't melting and laser beams in various colors weren't shooting from his eyes was a bit disconcerting at first.

5:00: Moseyed on over to the Oddfellows Playhouse in Middletown where reception was. Friends got progressively drunker, toasts were made, Cassandras were nervous, SotBPaul gave a rousing speech urging us all to fight with all we had against the Communist menace then doused himself in pig's blood, then food was served. I met up with Paul's older brother Matt and Matt's wife Larissa, two lovely people. Realized that Chavez and cassandra combined have enough relatives to fill the New Orleans Superdome. Ate food. Munch Munch. Burp.

7:00 Serious drinking begins. Paul notices a blond woman, a friend of one of Chavez's 6,503 sisters, and begins a vigorous, many-tentacled courtship process. Tables are moved out of the way so that dancing can occur. When the dancing arrives, the level of dignity in the Oddfellows Playhouse drops to Marianas Trench proportions.

I get in line to fetch my fourth (or tenth, I can't remember) plate of buffet food, and am stuck in line behind an old Italian man who wants to know if the salmon being served is "wild." The caterer, obviously a man of great patience, and blessed with a forty gallon reservoir of tact, replies: "Lemme tell you something. This salmon was so wild, It picked up four hookers last night." I silently count this as the highlight of my weekend, and then aubibly ask for pot roast.

8:00 Dancing continues, much to the dismay of the Gods of Comportment. Paul and Chavez engage in a karate-chop-stab style dance, which resembles a mixture of Tai Chi and "Voguing." Much fun had! Hulk dance! Hulk want to hear "Humpty Dance!" Hulk get wish. Hulk happy!

9:00 It is becoming clear that Paul and Carrie (for that is the Blond woman's name) are in a cold war of loin-yearning. The two shamelessly good-looking young people disappear quite often into the bowels of the Playhouse to...uh...tell secrets and have tea parties. And to compare teddy bears and the prettiness of each other's mommies while smearing finger paint on their faces and soiling their pull-ups. Or maybe they were making out. You never can tell with these Generation Xers! It also becomes crystal clear that there too many people named "Matt" at this wedding. There's at least 30 Matts here, fer crissakes. I kill the least likable ones (they were expendable) and commence shoving great handuls of Ranch Dressing into my nostrils.

Chavez has been given three very good cigars (more on this later), and one of them has been stolen! Instead of catching said scoundrel, we dance. And we dance. There is an eight year old girl there named Lexie, whose dancing skills rival Cyd Charisse's. She in indefatigable in her pursuit of the "dignity-loss dance" muse. Very amusing to watch, and she copies quite a few of my moves. My lawyers are in contact with her parents right now, in fact. Dancing continues unabated, Paul occassionally makes trips upstairs to assuage fears that Carrie has killed him and devoured his corpse (just like on DU, mad theories can fly about in a vaccuum of facts).

10:00: We attempt to vacate the Playhouse in favor of the hotel where we are all staying. This proves to be far more difficult than putting toothpaste back into the tube, as everyone is seemingly soaked in liquor, and each has their own set of plans. The old analogy about herding cats seems appropriate (and sadder than ever: no wonder we keep losing elections!) We load all of C+c's gifts into Paul's station wagon (Paul is now drunker than I've EVER seen him; no small feat....so I will drive), and bring the booze down the back door. Cassandra and I make a cigarette run. Good conversation. Cassandra is a consummate communicator. I love her. Chavez, you lucky so-and-so! (waving fist)

11:00 Various hang-ups and hold-ups at the front desk. Keys are given to false rooms. The hotel managers are foul deceivers! Curse them and their goodly wives! Finally, the serious drinkers make it to room 405, where the party begins in earnest....all except for Paul and Carrie, whose hormones are apparently engulfed in flames. They retire to room 218 and...play Advanced Dungeons and Dragons until 4:30 in the morning. Carrie's knight, Parlopian the Brave, scored a whopping 20 hit points on a marauding Orc while in the Battle of Elf-fluvia! Congratulations Carrie! By the way Paul: you are the most dapper Dungeon Master since the invention of the tree. I mean that, pal.

The rest of the night: Tonic Water. Speeches. Anger at Paul for abandoning the party in favor of ugly-bumping. Cigars, fine ones. Chavez and I smoke them like the wind. Tears are shed, emotions wrung out like washcloths. Chavez's sister, T____, gives several rambling, loud speeches about....Advanced Dungeons and Dragons! More speeches. I somehow bond with the whole crew and feel wrapped in the warm embrace of a family that is not my own, no matter how hard I wish. Cassandra and Chavez: you guys rock, and you put on a heck of a shindig.

Party winds down at 5:00 in the AM. A burger run is made and burgers et. Munch munch. Burp. I truck on down the room 218 and beat Paul with a pillow stuffed with Sak-rete. We tell secrets in the dark: Carrie, Paul, and I, and compare notes on Truffaut, Paul's favorite film director. Sleep eventually falls on us like Gerorge Wendt dropped from the top floor of the Transamerica building.

I wake up in the middle of a dream about....Advanced Dungeons and Dragons! And catch a plane. The lack of sleep has made me surly and I grab the boarding pass from the desk clerk's hand with my incisors while my maw drips saliva and gore, growling nastily.

I take the plane straight to work. How nice of the restaurant to install a runway in the courtyard!


Anyhow, good times were had by all, sometimes by force. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Recommended. :thumbsup:

"Commie Pinko Dirtbag was born of a jackal in 567 BC at the delta of the Connecticut River...."

We'll discuss prices later.

When stately, plump Commie Pink Dirtbag had explosive diarrhea....then, he came to me, unbottoning my blouse. Then he took off my t-shirt. My heaving bosoms were straining under the pressure of my corset. He took that off, too. Then my elaborate system of trusses were exposed...."

Who is Al Hedges? Who gives a shit!
"Ripeness is all. Come on!"
-William Shakespeare
King Lear Act V, Scene 2

About 500 miles from the western shores of Kreefester, In the Adrian Ocean, lies the tiny island of Gynoranda. A tropical kind of place, infested with small, underfoot humans, populated by the legendary Perfidious tree, which, as a prank on the natives, steals their oxygen and replaces it with Manhattan clam chowder. Populated also by klowsdreena monkeys and huynyssandra beetles, the charming island is owned by Virgin Records CEO Richard Branson; Branson bought it from a Kreefesteran native for a rare Mike Oldfield bootleg and a VHS copy of "Streets of Fire" in 1987.

Branson's notoriety threatens to overshadow the other reason why everyone reading this damn thing has heard of Gynoranda Island: it is the birthplace of Waughavintra Hedges, future sire of the Hedges Oil and Rail empires.

Waughavintra arrived on the Alaskan mainland, seeking fresh boxers, in 1911, when he was but a wee pale sprig of tarragon- whoops, I mean 12 years old. After settling in (a) Gnome, he made his way gradually, like melted grape Now and Laters down the leg of a elderly chimney sweep, to Olympia, Washington, ostensibly to attend Evergreen State University, which in the future would leave its own mark on the "rock" world by spontaneously producing an entire generation of terminally adolescent and terribly unpleasant amateur musicians in the early 80's. Majoring in Oil Husbandy, Waughavintra graduated with a degree in Portuguese. Evergreen is where he met his wife, Lupki. BFD.

The Hedgeses emigrated to Springfield, Ohio in the late 20's. Still reading? Wow, you're tough. Okay. Waughavintra took out a loan and started his Oil company; his ruthless tactics, notorious anti-regulation stance, and sylvatic "woody" odor ensured that Hedges competitor Rockefeller's name would be forever associated with the word "piker."

Lupki bore him a son, Al, in 1975. Al, at an early age, showed a flair for words and an overbearing profligacy in wordy florid bombastic overerudite obfuscation. A sample of a poem Al wrote at age 6:

I Heard the Skylark warbling in the sky;
And I bethought me of the playful hare:
Even such a happy Child of earth am I;
Even as these blissful creatures do I fare;
Far from the world I walk, and from all care;
But there may come another day to me-
Solitude, pain of heart, distress, and poverty.

What a pretentious wanker!

Waughavintra beat little Al mercilessly; his admitted goal was to "strike his (Al's, you pervert, not his own!) bottom repeatedly until the pompousness flew like drundgaffra bats from a cyubgiffid cave." It worked - for a while.

Once out of diapers, the bouncing boy discovered a deep and boundless love for all things tumescent. A sausage collection was started, then abandoned. Balloons were inflated, then popped. Then puberty hit. Al sublimated his unrequited desire for the opposite sex in record collecting, just like far too many guys his age. He found succour the ouevre of Jim Nabors, again just like far too many guys his age. Rare pressings of "Nabors Sings Trixter" and "Gomer Goes Egyptian!" threatened to outnumber Asian she-male porn DVD's on his specially cut futoomingyndra tree bookshelf - a sure sign of trouble.

In an attempt to broaden his musical tastes, in 1993, Al took up the guitar. By "took up," I mean "listlessly failed to get anywhere on." Then he wrote some songs, learned some more stupid instruments, blah blah blah yadda yadda yadda.

Waughavintra died the following year. So what.

In the years since, Al has climbed to the crest of the sandhill and gazed about him. Evening had fallen. A rim of the young moon cleft the pale waste of sky like the rim of a silver hoop embedded in grey sand; and the tide was flowing in fast to the land with a low whisper of her waves, islanding a few last figures in distant pools. Oh, no, wait, that's Stephen Daedelus. Wrong dude, sorry!

-Rick Kerrigan, Shaftsbury, England- 1933

It scans like dog vomit.

Now what about pics?

:)

Sounds like some fun was had by all!! :)

I wish Chavez and Paul were around to back me up on this.

cassandra, are you around?

I would love to hear their versions too!! ;)

Indeed the Tai Chi vogueing was quite the crowd pleaser. However you neglected to mention the part where I was flown in from the grid of the playhouse beating my beasts with my bouquet and then performed the ancient Sicilian dance Bite of the Tarantula.

Seriously though, it would have not have been all it was without you.

I have to run, I'll be back soon.

Good stuff.

Thanks!

I feel as though I were there. In fact, I think I'm hungover, and who is that strange woman in my bed?

That's my kabuki make-up, all smeared.

Thank you for the good time, though! (mmmmWAH)

Applause all around and holy crap, good times!

I was hoping for more excitement about the cigars, though... you let us down with that one.

"By the way, cigars make excellent marital aids, especially when lit."

Thanks for clearing that up!

*cough*

I especially liked the part about the wizards 'n' shit

Those filthy, unhygenic wizards! They're like pigs, I tell ya!

i can't beLieve they went to paducah, ky. for their honeymoon.

Let's not forget that.

priorities.

But looking at a bunch of chickens doesn't sound like much fun, especially when there's so many casinos around!

*runs from room*

Here's a local:

You should write a book of essays like David Sedaris.

Not kidding.

If I ever get out of this damn dungeon, some rank Regent will pay in blood for surpressing my quill and ink! Mountebanks, all.

I can barely breathe from laughing.... what a great exercise in expository communication! SOunds like a wonderful time! Hope you got some sleep, somewhere! :loveya: :rofl:

Wow. What great folks C and C are! Uh, think they are still loaded, or did they have to go to work and school today? ;)


Or did they actually get to honeymoon (what a strange term that is) somewhere?

Though my blushing bride is all cute tucked in at the apartment sleeping. She's staying in the city for the week as a "honeymoon" of sorts.

No wonder my head hurts like a mother fucker!

Thanks RKZ! I love you, man. For rizzneal!

RKZ eulogized you well. :P

You and yer bonny bride make one superlatively great pair! :bounce:

this is the best picture of CU ever!

I'm at brunch the next day with some of my myriad siblings uncles and aunts and my uncle Stephen said "And that cigar I had was wonderful. We all silently looked at eachother. The gift the man gave me entitles him to smoke anything he finds on my table for the rest of his life. If it turned out to be my Dad, as I suspected, I'd have festooned my bedchambers with his entrails.

First mystery solved! Now, for the mystery of the guy with the grey afro and red suspenders, Mr. Scoops....

responding now so I can find later.

date with all the Middletown goings on?

I have absolutely no clue.