Just don't be a dumb ass.

Nicole and I were at a wedding once.

Not that it's a crazy thing that we were at a wedding.  When you're as good looking and popular as we are, you get invited to a lot of weddings.  This one was when we were in our late twenties.  Everyone we knew was getting married at that time.  We weren't.  Either we were slackers or we didn't want our relationship to end in divorce like so many of our friends - who knows.  The point is we were still dating and hadn't gone through the process yet and didn't understand everything that goes into a wedding.

In this case, I was the best man.  That makes this wedding special in my memory.  I've only ever been the best man once and this was the time.  There's a lot that goes into being the best man.  You have to plan the bachelor party for one.  That's not really a minimal task when you take into consideration that most of the grooms friends are total losers.

It starts with you picking a cool hotel in Vegas and guessing how many guys are actually going to show up.  Everyone says they're going so you book a half dozen rooms.  Then only ten show up so some people have to share and some people don't.  On top of that, it's all under your name and the $1,500 you put on your credit card somehow comes out to only $600 in cash that you get from everyone.

Then you're expected to somehow entertain these losers for a weekend.  You have great plans for dinner and dancing, but it turns into trying to break the 100x100 record at the In-N-Out and then a strip club (why do we ALWAYS end up at Olympic Gardens?  That's another story.)  Next thing you know half the guys are missing and the other half show up with toothless chicks from Minnesota in the middle of the night and you have to hear - or worse see - what goes on there.

By Sunday morning you're all hung over, hate life, and really don't want anything to do with this wedding.  But as the best man, there's no walking away.  You're still responsible for making sure the groom has someone to hang out with the night before the wedding, bringing the flasks to the ceremony, and - the worst part - giving the toast.

The Best Man Toast is the worst past of being a best man.  It's bad enough you're being asked to entertain everyone.  But on top of that, you're expected to be sincere, personal, and generally asked to act like you have some special bond with this guy when in fact you're only the best man because you've spent the last few years getting drunk together, smoking out, and generally questioning what you're doing with your life.

Back to the point of this story - the speech.  After getting the bachelor party out of the way and hanging out with my friend the night before his wedding, I finally started thinking about the speech.  I know, I really should have started thinking about it sooner.  It's not like you can pull a sentimental thought out of your ass on a whim.  You've got to plant a seed, let it sit, bake it a while, and then you can pull something out of your ass.  That shit doesn't appear overnight.

I waited literally until the morning of the wedding to try to write my speech.  Did I think I was some sort of Hemingway or something?  Like I could sit down and put into a five minute speech how the two of them were madly in love and life was going to be perfect for them for the next sixty years?  Hardly.  I decided I would be the drunk, woman hating Hemingway.  I started with bourbon and worked my way to Scotch.  The things I came up with were not pretty.

Should I mention the time he was faithful to you only because he got so drunk he couldn't get it up?  Should I mention the time we smoked out and he explained in great detail to me how he ever really loved you?  How about the time we got kicked out of a strip club because he smacked that strippers ass so hard you could see his hand print as she yelled for the bouncer to kill him?  Every horrible story about him came to mind and nothing nice did.

I could have talked about the time he cried in front of me because he said something to her that hurt her feelings.  Or how about the time he left work early so he could surprise her with a home cooked meal just because.  What about the time we were stoned and he went into a ninety minute dissertation about how he knew she was the one because she made him believe in himself.  Shit like that goes over great at weddings.  No, sir.  I got stuck on the time he banged the bartender in the bathroom and later told you that smell was his own vomit.  (You bought that?!?!)

The point is I had nothing.  The day seemed to fly in a way only prison inmates can dream of.  I blinked once and it was noon.  I blinked twice and it was three o'clock.  Next think you know I need to be at the photo shoot before the wedding.  I've got nothing.  Total writers block.  Screw it.  I'm going to do this impromptu.  I mean, really, what could go wrong?  I'll speak from the heart.  I'll just say the first nice thing I can think of and go with it.  Even if it makes no sense I'll go with it and everyone will be taken in my my sincerity.  I can't fail!

By the end of photos I'd already downed a fifth.  This was after I'd been drinking all morning.  In hindsight, I'm not really sure how I even got to the wedding.  My head was spinning and I was in a total panic.  This was stupid.  This was a really really bad idea.  When he came up to me ten minutes before the wedding and asked me if everything was OK, I said, "I'm fucking great!  I'm so happy for you, man!  You deserve all of this!"  What was I even talking about?  I don't know, but it was going over great.  Glimmer of hope.  Faith in my plan.  This can happen, man.  I can do this!

The wedding went off without a hitch.  I didn't drop the ring or forget my lines or anything.  I nailed it!  Thoughts of a brilliant speech started coming to me.  I'd talk about when they first met.  I'd talk about the first time he told me he loved her.  I'd talk about when I knew they were meant for each other.  This is a piece of cake!  What they hell was I worried about?  This wedding is going off!  A shot here.  A shot there.  Little bit of wine.  Dinner looks delicious.  On top of the world, ma!  On top of the world!

At the end of dinner the priest gave a speech.  It was pretty good.  He talked about how he'd know them since they were kids.  How it always seemed right that they were together.  Damn, man!  He's good!  I'm feeling like crying he's so good.  My eyes start watering and I'm thinking, "Fuck yeah, priest.  Fuck yeah!"  Down this wine, it's fucking my turn.  But wait... it's not quite yet.  That hottie of a bridesmaid decided to go first.  Whatever, man.  It's cool.  More time for me to check her out.  Shit, yeah.

Then it hit me.

I'm loaded.  Oh, shit.  I'm so fucking loaded.  When did I start holding the table like it was trying to fly away? How did the room turn into a merry-go-round?  When did my skin start tingling like that?  No, dude!  No way!  No cool!  This isn't happening.  Pull yourself together!  This is it!  This is the big moment.  Don't fuck with this.  Why does my arm hurt?

Enter Nicole's nails digging into my arm.  "Wwwwwtttt hhhhhh kkkkkk ssssss aaaaaa tttttttrrrrrr iiiiiiii uuuuuu?"  What?!  "What the fuck is the matter with you?  Are you ok?  Pull it together!"

I can't even think.  I feel like I'm upside down.  The room isn't just spinning around; its going sideways and frontways and rightways and wrongways all at once.  I can't do this.  Just hold onto the table and everything will be fine.  Someone puts a hand on my shoulder.  It's like a trigger.  It's like the hand of God just made everything ok.  No matter what happens now it's all cool.  Without thinking, it happens.

I vomit all over the table.

It's bad enough that I'm at a wedding and I make a mess of the table.  But when you're the best man, you're not at any old table.  You're at the table of honor, next to the bride and groom and the bridesmaids and grooms men.  You're RIGHT NEXT TO the bride and groom.  I go into a complete panic.

When you're drunk and in a panic, everything seems like a good idea.  The first thing I did was wipe my mouth with my arm.  That looks great on that tux you rented from Men's Warehouse.  The next think I did was try to grab the glass of water in front of me and drink it.  Instead I got about a mouthful and the rest poured all over me.  Then the crème de la crème.  For some reason I thought that I could hide all of this by taking the tablecloth and pulling it over the mess.

The nice flower centerpiece, the plates, the silverware, the wedding favors everyone was excited about - they all went crashing to the floor.  I grabbed to the left and I grabbed to the right and made a huge arching motion to pull the tablecloth not only over the mess but over my head as well.  Surely everyone would continue on like nothing had happened.  Turns out that's not the case.  The scene itself was enough to ruin the wedding, but the smell!  To this day I can't bump into anyone that was at that wedding without them talking about the smell.  It permeated the entire room in the blink of an eye.  They couldn't get rid of it.

Nicole, of course, immediately grabbed my arm, threw it around her neck, and dragged me outside.  The first chance she got, she put me into the car and drove me home.  God bless that angel!  She didn't bother to apologize or talk to anyone.  She told me to get the rest out of my system and then threw me in the car.  I remember she left the windows down.  It was probably for her own good.  I got so cold with the wind blowing.  When I mentioned it she said something about how I better enjoy it because I'll be missing the cold when I'm in hell.

I'm still friends with the groom, but his wife hates me.  Who ca blame her?  I was a dumb ass.  I'd like to say there's a moral to this story.  But really?  There's not.

Just don't be a dumb ass.