Bubba's Fixin' To Get Hitched!

Last night I attended a wedding celebration in honor of my good friend Bubba. Just about any time you go to an event involving a guy named Bubba you are in for an interesting evening, and this night was no exception. Here are some of the highlights:

1. There was a circuit blown, a power failure, or something that lasted for about an hour. This meant no lights, no music, and perhaps most importantly, no air conditioning. I was sweating my tail off up in that piece! I give credit to one guest who danced into the room with her boom box and some cd’s. This resulted in a thunderous round of applause, and I was excited to have music too, until I heard “The Pina Colada Song.” I’m afraid to say that the songs didn’t get much better from there. As compensation for the hour of power failure, the venue offered an extra hour on the open bar. Drunken Dr. Kenneth Noisewater was loving that solution, but hung-over Dr. Kenneth Noisewater is thinking he could have done without the extra hour of cheap rum.

2. The husband of one the bridesmaids did an Elvis performance, complete with sideburns, a cape, and the whole nine. At one point in the evening he came into the room with a bag of Dracula fangs. Why I have no idea, but it was fun as hell talking to people with those things in. It dawned on me that I was the only guy still keeping them in way later in the evening, which should have discouraged me, but it was just too damn fun. Every time I walked by Elvis, Dracula teeth or not, I’d say, “How you doin’, King?” Then we’d chat for a while, and I must say, he was very entertaining, as was I, I was told, so naturally we hit it off quite well. The King was helping me out by telling me which women were available. Thanks, King, wherever you are . . .

3. I was rocking a feau-hawk for the first time. Am I too old for that style at the ripe-old-age of 29? Call me metrosexual, tragically hip, or a just plain dork, but I think it looked cool. Maybe I’ll post some pictures when I get some emailed to me.

4. I took my closest, female friend as a date, which worked out well, since she knows a lot of the guests. Her and I are on the If We’re Not Married By 35 We’re Just Going to Say Screw It and Marry One Another So We Don’t Die Alone Plan, or the IWNMBTWJGSSIMOASWDDAP Plan for short. Well, not short, but shorter. Unpronounceable too. The plan needs a better name; I admit. Both our respective parents live in the Chicago suburbs, so we stopped by her folks’ place in between the church and reception. Her dad is a chef, so he whipped up some hors d’oeuvres for us: Rolled-up prosciutto on a cracker with fancy cheese on top, dribbled with a touch of olive oil. Then we sipped our wine and watched an episode of Frazier. The hoity-toity crap was out the window, as we were off to Bubba’s weddin’ . . .

5. I realize this is my second blog in a row ending with a reference to Ween, but the song the bride and groom danced to was Stay Forever by the aforementioned band. Nicely played, Bubba.