Always a Bride's Maid...
Well, that's the last of 'em.
My final close straight single friend was married yesterday, before a crowd of one hundred and fifty mostly Irish, mostly drunk guests - some still maintaining a buzz from the rehearsal dinner the night before. There's just something about a stereotype being fulfilled right before your very eyes. I witnessed the bacchanal with the same kind of excited glee I experienced discovering that the majority of men who've contacted me on Bear 411 - turned out in sleeveless flannel plaids, Timberland boots and Carhart jackets - are in fact florists, landscape architects, interior designers, and photo stylists. Mebbe its something about me. The groom's fractional contingent of German derived family members seemed to behave themselves, really not getting their groove on 'till DJ D'Oro dropped the metaphorical needle onto The Electric Slide.
My crowd was segregated at table #14, with similarly disrespectable contingents of homosexuals, current and former food service workers, art industry laborers, perpetual grad students, and tattooed ladies at #13 and #15. Save for one guest - a bonnie lass with dark copper hair piled into a monumental up sweep, wearing a fitted brocade sleeveless shell with a rhinestone encrusted boat neck stand up collar (with matching shoe buckles! ) which Tricia Nixon would have resorted to scratching, kicking and hair pulling to own - we deviants had the best outfits.
The ceremony coincided EXACTLY with the Muscle Bear Cruise in New York Harbor, for which I grew this god damned scratchy beard. Huddling close to the entry arches with the cigarette smokers shielding themselves from the persistent drizzle, I called a friend to say that I could not accompany him to the surely fabulous party for 400 surely fabulous gay homosexuals in a surely fabulous Chelsea penthouse apartment because I was exhausted from two booze drenched days of trying to keep up with the Irish. From the gang plank my disembarking buddy took the time to make sure I understood what a Great Time I'd missed. But all in all I had a pretty good time at the wedding.
Maybe next year.
My final close straight single friend was married yesterday, before a crowd of one hundred and fifty mostly Irish, mostly drunk guests - some still maintaining a buzz from the rehearsal dinner the night before. There's just something about a stereotype being fulfilled right before your very eyes. I witnessed the bacchanal with the same kind of excited glee I experienced discovering that the majority of men who've contacted me on Bear 411 - turned out in sleeveless flannel plaids, Timberland boots and Carhart jackets - are in fact florists, landscape architects, interior designers, and photo stylists. Mebbe its something about me. The groom's fractional contingent of German derived family members seemed to behave themselves, really not getting their groove on 'till DJ D'Oro dropped the metaphorical needle onto The Electric Slide.
My crowd was segregated at table #14, with similarly disrespectable contingents of homosexuals, current and former food service workers, art industry laborers, perpetual grad students, and tattooed ladies at #13 and #15. Save for one guest - a bonnie lass with dark copper hair piled into a monumental up sweep, wearing a fitted brocade sleeveless shell with a rhinestone encrusted boat neck stand up collar (with matching shoe buckles! ) which Tricia Nixon would have resorted to scratching, kicking and hair pulling to own - we deviants had the best outfits.
The ceremony coincided EXACTLY with the Muscle Bear Cruise in New York Harbor, for which I grew this god damned scratchy beard. Huddling close to the entry arches with the cigarette smokers shielding themselves from the persistent drizzle, I called a friend to say that I could not accompany him to the surely fabulous party for 400 surely fabulous gay homosexuals in a surely fabulous Chelsea penthouse apartment because I was exhausted from two booze drenched days of trying to keep up with the Irish. From the gang plank my disembarking buddy took the time to make sure I understood what a Great Time I'd missed. But all in all I had a pretty good time at the wedding.
Maybe next year.
posted by circleinasquare at 11:51 PM
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