life's a motherfucker

In what had to be the most improbable pool shot of all time, my boss had a sure win at our game of nine-ball, and instead of kissing the nine in the corner pocket, he wedged the two balls together between the rails on the edge of the pocket.

Soon after we sent the magazine, and incidentally, were forced to send some more of it that wasn't quite finished today. In between that fateful shot and another 14-hour Monday, I went to a wedding.

This was the second wedding I attended this year. Both brides were sisters and both were my former roommates. This event brought me back together with some of the best friends I've made since moving out here. They live all up and down the West Coast now, so it's hard to see everyone. On Thursday, the one sister's husband picked me up here to take me down to Livermore, CA, the next day. We spent Thursday night bar hopping with my current roommate and a couple of coworkers. The next late morning, it was breakfast and then straight to the road where we spent most of the time talking about cartoons and toys.

On Friday night, there was the rehearsal dinner. I didn't expect to be in attendance, but I was appreciative of the free food. It was held at an Italian restaurant called Bruno's, but it wasn't as hardcore as the name would suggest. The food was good--especially the bread--but there weren't old dudes sitting in the corner, speaking in whispers. I ordered fettucini alfredo. There was ham in it. I was pleased.

Unfortunately, I filled up on bread, and I was too busy clowning around to finish my meal, or drink any wine. It was supposed to be girls night out afterwards, for the bachelorette party, so I had to get dropped off at my ex-roommate A's new house, and since everyone else was tied up with family commitments, I spent Friday evening with two bugged out terrier puppies and a giant HDTV. I watched a high-def broadcast of a recent Pixies concert and rocked out in quiet fashion. Black Francis's head has gotten excedingly large over the years, and I was frightened to notice how eerily similar it was to my planet-sized noggin.

The wedding followed on Saturday. The ceremony got under way around 3pm and it was one of those long Catholic affairs. I grew up Catholic, but I haven't been to a mass in ages. I forgot when to sit up and when to kneel, but I did remember almost all of the refrains and speeches, even though the preacher had an indecipherable Indian accent.

Me and A were the first two to get to the reception. The party was held at a Sheraton hotel that had a few weddings going on the same day. Another ceremony occured while our party ate hors d'oeuvres. One night off for my liver was more than enough, so Sparky and I were ready to get a little silly at the reception. But not all sloppy crazy drunk, but a respectable sort of wedding drunk that older people kinda giggle about and the young kids wonder why you're being so goofy. I made friends with the bartender, and I ended up bumping into the people who thought I was Charles at the last wedding. They know that's not my name now, but they still call me Charles anyway, which is fine because I still don't know what their names are. They're a nice couple though.

It got later, and the party moved indoors from the patio. The rest of my table decided to start catching up with my drinking, and soon surpassed me. I hadn't eaten, so I got giggly real fast and had to cool my heels before I did something stupid like knock over the cake or make a pass at someone's mother. I devoured some salmon and--well, I'm not sure what else. A salad, I think. All I know is, suddenly our table was covered in empty wine bottles, and I knew that I hadn't touched one of them.

I was one of three or four single guys at the reception who had graduated junior high. Of course, we had to stand on the dance floor to catch the garter. I had a cheering section, but this lightning fast eight-year-old made a dive at the very end to snag it from my grasp. In truth, I had position on him. I coulda had it, but I backed off at the last second. I cracked under the pressure.

The groom picked a cool crop of songs that no one really could dance to. The first one that played was "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s and it was funny to watch the older people in the crowd try to decipher it. The DJ also played Beck and Blur's "Girls & Boys," which was perhaps the first time that song has ever been played at a wedding. I doubt many fathers of the bride danced with their newly married daughters over the refrain, "Girls who are boys/Who like boys to be girls/Who do boys like they’re girls/Who do girls like they’re boys/Always should be someone you really love." Good stuff.

After the wedding was the after party at El Balazo in Pleasanton. There the DJ played more the standard hip-hop fair, but once a confluence of older people began to filter over from the wedding, the DJ shifted gears and started playing Queen and The Village People, which got the older folks--who were completely demolished on wine--seriously grooving. We ended up taking over a whole corner of the bar, much to the chagrin of the locals. It was so much fun, but the best part was the joint doubled as a Mexican restaurant that served burritos and tacos til 2am, which caused me to loudly proclaim that I wanted to have sex with the place. I would have too. And made it breakfast in the morning.