Nina’s Travel Rule #33: Weddings Are Just Invitations to Disaster…

FYI: Don’t Be This Girl!

So I’m getting married next week, and thought the guests might like a heads-up as to what may go down. It’s undoubtedly gonna be a disaster (we’ll just leave the blogging for later.  You know, like once I’m dead…), if my previous attendance at such events is any indication… Anywho, to summarize:

It turns out I haven’t actually attended that many weddings, but the ones that have been blessed with my presence were almost uniformly out-of-town affairs. This is probably because my friends all really like making me spend upwards of a fucking grand to watch them tie that ball n’ chain. I mean, what kind of selfish bitch asks people to fly to a different city just for their one stupid day?? (This is a joke, people, btw. I’m getting married in literally the most isolated big city in the entire world, Perth Australia, next week, and yes I did ask people to fly here. And they are! Which is entirely different, ’cause like, it’s me this time, and I’m special :).

And so, in order to prepare these lucky chosen few, these eagles of the Emirates, these mighty migrators who may’nt quite’ve known what they were in for when they bought those plane tix, here is my prep. A short summary of shit that happens when Nina attends Weddings, in no particular order:

  • Rolling out of the Best Man’s room at about 10am, after a night of excessive whisky drinking; heinous abuse of a playground facility; unconfirmed, unintentional sightings of the BM taking a dump in the nude (seriously, who builds expensive hotels in Savannah with glass bathroom doors and walls??); smoking of various substances in the a.m. with various unnamed wedding party members; short-term, mid-fiasco loss of my dearest roommate (I love you, Weezie! I’m so glad we found you! How were you lost in the hallways again?); and generalized additional debauchery. Also there was a lot of sand…
  • The sight of Roomie and I crawling towards our hostel (yeah, no way in fuck we were paying for that fancy-pants glass-ass-ed hotel…), past scores of already impeccably coiffed, female, Southern wedding guests off to get their hair done may have resulted in a general boycott of the two of us for the remainder of the wedding. But not by anyone we actually cared about 😉
I think I smell a wedding theme…
  • That one time in NOLA where the entire attendance at the wedding was so crap-faced that the Bride (I love you, Ralph!) decided I really needed to go acquire po-boys for everyone, shoeless (I did this. Winning.), after which her sister seized the golden opportunity presented by my passing out on the couch and deposited her baybay on my prone body for safekeeping. The baby, much like all other children on Earth, found this awesome because, for some idiotic unknown reason, the little shits all adore me. I might’ve spilled po-boy on it, but we all survived 🙂
  • An unplanned stop, en route to the church, behind a rather disgusting dumpster, somewhere in the suburban nightmare of west Houston, so that an unnamed someone (I love you, Myself!) could profusely vomit her hangover into a ditch. Seriously, bride-woman (I love you, Tiffy!), who the shit gets married the day after my birthday?  Poor planning on your part, says I! Superior Reflexes of the Year Award hereby goes to my ever-obliging driver (I love you too, Mikey-poo!).
  • After a night spent hostelling in NYC, a night which we, in our all-knowing wisdom, are not prepared to discuss at this juncture, though we are willing to say that we now know there’s a reason Wall-Street tycoons purchase pent-houses, I once nearly caused the implosion of a lovely Catholic Church somewhere in the Hudson Valley (I love you, Jen! Thanks for the wedding!). I recall it going like this:

So a Jew, an atheist, and a divorcée walk into a church… Overheard from their attempted hideout in the back pew:

Jew: “Dude, we shouldn’t be sitting together, this church is so gonna fall on our heads.”

Atheist: “Ooo, which of us do we think will be responsible?”

Divorcée: “Fuck that. Let’s experiment, I’ll go take Communion…”

  • During a bachelorette thingo outside Dall-ass “fuck-but-I-hate-that-stupid-city” Texas, the discovery was made that the Bride-to-Be had never been drunk.  Wtfucketyf?? So we rectified that shit. And she then regurgitated that shit onto her sister’s brand-new SUV, while speeding down the I-45. The sister totally deserved it though, trust me, you don’t want to meet that woman, especially if you’ve just puked all over her car…
  • A family affair in the detestable O Hi O, in which my brother and I got so rip-roaring drunk that I, under incessantly persistent questioning (you know the sort… Everything ranging from, “But you’re nearly over the hill!  Why aren’t you pushing football-sized parasites out of your woo-haw?” to “But you’re so good-looking! Why don’t you ever have a girl-friend?”), very nearly told our 80 year-old great-aunt, “Actually, I’m never EVER having babies ’cause I fucking hate children, and also my brother is GAY.” Disaster averted though, as the Catholic-Jewish union erupted in a frenzy of competitive ethnic dancing…
  • A fabulous shin-dig in Princeton, NJ, of all places (I love you, J&C!), where we all spent the after-party drinking whisky on the roof of the hotel with the Groom’s dad. Couldn’t smoke our cigars in the rooms, ya’ know. Also the karaoke DJ didn’t have any Bon Jovi? I mention this only because it’s just so unbearably wrong. I mean, you DJ KARAOKE. In fucking NEW JERSEY. Sir, you should be shot, preferably in the head.
  • A rather tearful earful I once received in the bathroom of a casino, post-nuptials, for approximately 94,621 hours (I counted. There was no bar in the bathroom…) from a girl who’d been glugging straight from the wine bottle for literally hours, regarding something I’m fairly sure I’m not allowed to mention in public. Yes, you know damned well who you are, and next week it’s my turn!
  • Why go Vegas when you can do Reno! Well, Tahoe anyway, where the wedding was such a raging success that some people (ahem…) did not make it to the day-after tubing trip. In which we floated the Truckee River in rafts, rather than inner tubes, because the Truckee River is approximately colder than Hillary Clinton’s woo-haw. In which yours truly and a dear friend, newly de-lesbian-ed (don’t ask, but yes, she’s back on the sausage…) accosted a hundred-person bachelor party that was floating the river with a keg of Sierra Nevada and made them let us do keg-stands. My first! It ended badly. Also, note to self, don’t tube with kegs, that’s still the flattest shit I’ve ever tasted…
I think we all knew this wasn’t gonna end well…
  • Somewhere on the roof of a Sixth Street bar (down in the ATX), I kinda remember not doing as I’d promised in such seriousness and indeed letting another guest’s Thai sister-in-law get so hammered on shots that she couldn’t watch her own kids the next day at the wedding and had to ditch them with the in-laws (I’m still sorry, Tania!).
The theme is confirmed…
  • Arriving at about 4pm the day before a ho-down wedding somewhere outside Asheville, NC, ’cause I’d been passed out in the back of my Magic Baby Volvo on the side of the highway, attempting to sleep off the effects of a week of excessive intoxication at the hands of some deranged Alaskans (I love you, Deranged Alaskans!). This degraded into me drinking a long-neck during the outdoor ceremony, which I attended in Diane von Furstenberg and cowboy boots :(, then serving as a cigar-chomping muse for the photographer, crashing at like 6am in a house full of drunk ex-frat boys (all of whom I heart!), and having to drive exactly 1,003 goddam motherfucking miles straight on Sunday, cause someone had used up all her holidays getting trashed at the beach and really really had to get back for work Monday morning (Fuck you, Monday Morning!). Fabulous wedding though, I love you, Holly!

Damn.  Maybe I have been to my fair share of weddings… Whatever, I now reach my main point in relating these amusing vignettes, which is: it’s my turn bitches, so get those asses on them planes and get ready to bring the shit-faced-ed! T.b.c……

3 thoughts on “Nina’s Travel Rule #33: Weddings Are Just Invitations to Disaster…

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