They began playing house (and doctor) shortly after that initial meeting. Eventually, a real relationship popped up, shocking the fuck out of me. Now, I did not know Geek before he started showing Shrink God three times a day but I did know Shrink. And Shrink's dating history is littered with losers, douche-bags and assholes in dire need of a good ol' cunt punt. So of course I had my reservations about this one.
Geek was smart, though. Or maybe Shrink gave him a cheat sheet, cause next thing I know, he's paying for all the booze. Yes, yes, it's true; get me wasted and I'll love you for life. And so on a late, breezy night, a friendship was borne out of used cigarette butts and dirty shot glasses. Sing with me now... memories...
Still, the morning Shrink called me, telling me how she was newly engaged and all happy and excited and nervous, I had a bit of trouble believing it was all good and real and actually not going to implode on itself. But, over a year later, here they are, almost at the altar. The shock has worn off. Yea, it's real.
And I'm in the wedding. Granted, they were drunk when they asked me, but they meant it; I double checked when they were sober. Doesn't really have much to do with this column, but I really wanted to throw that out there. Okay, back to business...
Now, it will be a church wedding. And when the Catholic Church is involved, everything becomes doubly fun; except for the altar boys, they don't enjoy themselves half as much as the priests do. Shit; that one probably cements my spot in Hell. Least I won't suffer New England blizzards anymore.
Anyways, Geek and Shrink are being properly married in an actual church (that may or may not burn down around me and a select few) and because of that, certain documents need to be seen to prove that they are both bona fide Catholics. Can't go sharing Jesus' love with just anyone. Of course, there's only one itsy-bitsy problem with that: Shrink can't find any of that. Nor can the churches. Yup; no one can prove that she's even been baptized. Now, before anyone goes getting all freaked out cause her dream (nightmare?) wedding is crashing and burning, never fear. It turns out that priests have no problem forging certain documents... like all of them.
So after that little near-shit storm, everything was happily back on track. Reception booked, DJ's contacted, probable photographer found, caterers hired... She even has her prefect dress. And these wonderful hand-made invitations.
And somehow, the maid-of-honor became bridezilla. Yoinks. Isn't the bride suppose to be the psychotic, foaming-at-the-mouth bitch on wheels? Yea, that's what I thought, too. Luckily, that's calmed down and has just been blamed on MoH's uncontrollable excitement over the upcoming nuptials.
During that wonderful fuck-my-life-worthy shit-storm, Geek and Shrink got to take that wonderful piece of Church income, the compatibility test. Anyone else tempted to lie on one of those? What would the Church do, give you a habit/white collar and forbid you nookie till death do you and church part? And since when are a bunch of life-long singles the experts in wedded bliss? It's like having a virgin teach porn stars how to properly ass fuck. You can't learn shit from never-done-its.
They have also begun the pre-marriage counseling bullshit that the Catholic Church makes you do. Why can't I get involved in a money-making scheme like that? It's like selling ice to an Eskimo! If you haven't figured out how to live together without committing any felonies, then you, my half-wit friend, are shit out of luck. And again... people “married” to God telling regular people who actually use their naughty bits for sex with the legal-aged how to be happy together? Yea, I see the usefulness of that waste of time.
They, fortunately, have figured it out as proven by the fact that both are still breathing and unscathed. Can't ask for more than that, can you? No, didn't think so.
Of course, the fun does not stop there. Why would it? After all, it's only a wedding.
Like on the eve of the Rapture that didn't rapt, Shrink was convinced that her wedding day would be ruined; that somehow, someway, in place of the perfect day would be a giant, steaming pile of dog shit. I would prefer to blame the teary-eyed outburst on the alcohol, but I got a feeling there will be more than one uber-emotional evening between now and the rehearsal dinner.
I know there is the whole cold-feet thing and butterflies invading tummies and the what-not, but absolute belief that your own wedding will suck harder than a fluffer on the set of Pirates XXX (see this movie, seriously; most awesome fuck-flick ever!) is a bit beyond what I was prepared to see from her. Oh, yea, a long ass few months.
There is absolutely nothing relaxing, happy or non-evil about planning a wedding. Every other day there’s a fight or a migraine or a hurt butt-bone (no, not even that happened in a fun, dirty sexy way). So not understanding why people put themselves through this. But, it’s what these two loonies want. Happily ever after? Doesn't anyone remember what happens before that? Sleeping Beauty is a damn vegetable, Snow White is almost murdered three times and Beauty boinks a fucking Beast.
At least there is shopping to be done. And for clothing, no less. Who doesn't love that?
In a few days, we get to go look at tuxes. Shrink (and I suppose Geek) want my opinion. Shouldn't that stuff be left up to the engaged and, maybe, the best man and maid of honor? I am neither, just a groomsman. How'd I end up inheriting the extra responsibility? I'm just suppose to make sure they both stay sober till the first dance is over. Dang it!
Well, least I get a say in what I'm wearing that day.