No, it’s still not over.
And now, without further adieu, Part 4.
Everyone had finished up on appetizers, when it was announced that dinner was being served. I found this strange, as the bride and groom had not yet been announced. There was a guy who kept eyeballing me, and I jokingly, sort of, told Jake he was my Gentleman Caller for the evening. He was quirky looking, with red pants, red shoes, a blue blazer with white stitching, and tousled hair. My kind of guy. Jake told Aaron and they both went into hysterics. “He’s fucking crazy” Aaron told me. I was like, cool, I like crazy. Then Jake informed me not the good kind of crazy, but more the special kind of crazy. Whateves. We ate our delicious meal, and as we were finishing up, I noticed Rachel and Chris standing on the walkway to the deck with confused and somewhat irritated looks on their newlywed faces. No one was announcing them. Someone ran up to tell the DJ and in his best DJ voice he did the, “Announcing for the first time, Mr & Mrs Christopher Goaaaaaannnnnn!” Everyone stood, whistled, cheered and whoohooed and they were seated at their table.
Someone asked them if they would like a plate. Rachel asked, “of appetizers?” to which they replied, “uh, no, dinner.” This was the second glimpse of the woman to be known as The Worst Wedding Coordinator In The Entire World. The first was when she didn’t direct anyone off of the shuttles and no one knew where to go or sit. People were aimlessly careening around, until finally she emerged sweaty, stressed and irritated in her fucking yoga pants and bitchily scolded everyone down to their seats. Cee U Next Tuesday!
Anyway, Rachel really enjoyed her cold leftovers as the caterers cleared the serving tables. A few minutes later, I was sneaking out the front of the house with Jake to have a smoke, when Chris and Rachel were coming back in. I could tell she was about to have a nervous fucking bride breakdown, so I grabbed her and brought her back outside with us to provide some comic relief and hopefully calm her down. She was legitimately upset that the coordinator was shitting the bed on ALL of her duties. To top it off, the wedding cake that had been sitting inside, was like the leaning tower of Pisa and was about to topple at any moment.
Once we were outside, I said, “Rach, remember the stripper pole?” and I saw a smile. At my wedding I had a fucking panic attack when they set up the monster tents, and in the middle of the dance floor was a pole. All I could see was a fucking stripper pole in the middle of my dance floor! But you know what? Turned out to be the best part of the reception, hands down. You’ve now got a good handle on my family…you can only imagine what they did with a pole in the middle of the dance floor. Gangbusters. Not a single guest, not even my Grandmother in the early throes of Alzheimer’s could pass up a spin on the pole. One of our guests who was an ex-football player nearly brought the tent down swinging on that thing like he was Demi Moore in Striptease.
I told her “Rach, fuck that cake. Who gives a shit. When they take it out there, just do this…” And I raised my leg and pretended to be violently kicking down a leaning wedding cake in a manner that said fuck you to the coordinator. “And then you take those big beautiful titties of yours and you go like this in the cake…” And I did a bent over, hard, fast angry shimmy into the pretend kicked over cake. That did it. She was rolling, and everyone standing around smoking got all into the “fuck that cake” game and started kicking and shimmying at the air. I’m not good for much, but I don’t fuck around when it comes to making someone on the verge of a breakdown laugh. At that I’m gangbusters. Just ask Rachel. She’s not like me, shes petite and poised and sweet and soft-spoken and can walk effortlessly in 6 inch Louis Vuitton’s. She later pulled me aside and told me, “Seriously Tracy, you saved me tonight, you have no idea. Thank you.” And all I did was be an asshole like always. It’s nice to be appreciated.
She did not kick the cake, or beat it with her big beautiful god given bosom, but she did find it in herself to laugh when The Worlds Worst Wedding Coordinator wheeled out the cake then bolted, and she actually had to ask one of the caterers, “can we please have a plate?” I promised her she would laugh at all this shit later, we’ll see if that holds up.
Finally, the DJ started the music, and within 5 minutes all the men had their blazers back. The guests were nice and lubricated, and the dance floor looked like an audition for Soul Train, of which I was the star. The Black Eyed Peas were blaring as I popped and locked it, when red pants came over, put his arm around me, and asked me if I’d like to dance. Seriously? We were dancing. It was the middle of Pump It. What did he expect, that I would turn to him and start solo freaking my freak on his ass? I yelled atop the music “we are dancing!” He yelled, “No, will you dance with me?!” I just started laughing and backed the truck up to Robin as if she’d been calling me over foreves. She said, “watch out, that’s guy’s weird.”
Five minutes later, during the required Brick House, he was back. This time he asked me if I would like to get married. I replied, “no, I already tried that and it didn’t work” as I flipped it and reversed it over to Mariah. The wind was blowing, there were a million white lights everywhere, and Jake and I were dancing as if it were a competition. He always wins. We had been playing another fun game all night, called photobombing the wedding photographers. They were everywhere, and whenever we’d see one perched somewhere with their huge, wide-angle lens, we would hop in front and strike our best model-like head turned over the shoulder pose, like we’d practiced on the beach for 14 hours.
Dr. Slobbertooth would periodically wander over, try to grind up on me, or Jake, or anything with a pulse. My milkshake was really bringing all the boys to the yard. Quantity, not quality. At this point in the evening, it is fair to say that everyone is fucking housed. Except me, but apparently everyone thought I was “hammered” because of the way I was “dancing all crazy.” It was like the best compliment ever. Before I knew what was happening, Rachel grabbed me and lifted her wedding dress, signaling me to remove her garter. I thought a guy was supposed to do that shit, but she thought her female cousin was a better option, so of course, I obliged.
Jake shot this on his iPhone (shocker) here’s a little sideways action of the post-garter soul train convention.
At this point I’ve been dancing in a dance-a-thon for about 3 hours straight. My spine actually hurt, but I knew with no uncertainty what I had to do. I walked up to the (stoner) DJ and asked him if he would play the Harlem Shake. He told me that was music “for later.” I told him that it was music “for now.” I went inside and told Jake’s cousin Corrie what he had said. Cousin Corrie? I know, wtf you’re thinking, more cousins?! This is their cousin on their fathers side. Stay with me. Corrie is awesome, she rides the lady train but without the crocs and patchouli, that’s more her girlfriends’ speed. She is also a 3 handicap. If I were ever to switch teams, I would be on Team Corrie.
So Corrie goes up to the DJ and says, “can you play the Harlem Shake?” and he says, “Would you like a breath mint?”
I shit you not, I couldn’t even make that up.
So I’m out on the dance floor again with my busted spine and here it comes, the Harlem Shake.
Jake enter stage left.
He has at least 48 vodka’s in him at this point, so he is in PRIME form. He lets it go. People clear a circle. He starts with the high kick business and it’s game on. He really is an amazing dancer, but he always dances like he’s making fun of somebody dancing, which is why it’s super fucking hilarious. I’ve dropped it like it’s hot so many times at that point I’ve surpassed five days at the gym and my quads were screaming at me. But I couldn’t let Jake down. I kept that shit rolling, because I’m a survivor, and that’s how we do.
The song ended and led into the next, and I noticed Jake giving me the “come here” finger wave over the drink at his lips. He says, “Oh sweetie, look.” The entire crotch of his pants was ripped. Not a little tear, I mean all four seems peeled away and if it weren’t for his black underwear, his entire business would be hanging free. I laughed so hard I definitely peed a little. We ran off arm in arm like giggling school girls into the house to the bedroom where he had all his stuff. I think I must have been contact drunk at this point, because I couldn’t get my shit together. We’re standing in his room and he starts ripping the entire leg off of his pants and I am dying. I fart and it smelled like rotted death. I said, “sorry sweetie, but that’s a bad one.” and right then, the bathroom door in the bedroom opens and out comes this random guy who must have heard everything. Jake has one leg of his pants ripped off and the room smells like a bucket of dead, sun-ripened squirrels. He looks confused and disgusted and quickly walks between us to make his exit and silent tears of laughter stream down my cheeks.
Jake slurs, “will you help me sweetie?” Of course I will Jake, of course I will. I grab a pair of scissors and start cutting off the other leg in a zig-zag peter pan sort of fashion. It is now a Kenneth Cole belted crotchless peter pan mini skirt and I can’t breathe. Aaron walks in and just shakes his head, “what the fuck are you two doing? Jesus Jake, Rachel’s going to kill you, you can’t go out there like that.” He is also used to this sort of thing. We decide to think about it and go out front for a smoke. First, Jake has to pee, so he made this in the dune, and was disappointed that he didn’t have enough to write “Misstopher.”
Then he started climbing on things. Why? Just because.
When we went back in Jake’s mom, Aunt Cheryl, took one look at Jake and I and started shaking her head and laughing. “Oh Jake, Rachel will kill you if you go out there like that.” I tried to persuade them that it would be fine, that Rachel would LOVE it, but even Jake knew, on this day, this one day, Jake was not allowed to steal the spotlight.
The Worlds Worst Wedding Coordinator “forgot” to make announcements when the shuttles arrived, or when they were leaving, or what time the last one was coming. It was total chaos, no one knew what to do, people wanted to leave and couldn’t, others wanted to stay but had no clue what time the last one was coming. We later found out that The Worlds Worst Wedding Coordinator had a “disagreement” earlier with one of the groom’s sisters and had decided to leave. Did I mention that when they were serving dinner, and it was still light, that she found it suitable to change into running shorts and a tee shirt to work the party?
Chris was Boston Drunk and finally grabbed the microphone from the DJ and yelled/slurred, “We’ve got shuttles running all night, don’t worry about it, we’ll get you home if I have to get you a frigging taxi at 4am no thanks to OUR SHITTY WEDDING PLANNER! ” Everyone cheered and I finally wrangled my brother and Mariah to walk down to wait for a shuttle, since no one really knew what the fuck was going on. They had huge bowls of donut holes and bottled water at the end of the deck, which were like a gift from God. I got on the shuttle with the 4 other drunk, tired and slightly irritated couples as we sat waiting for more passengers that had no idea the shuttle was here in the first place. I told this to the driver, who told me that The Worlds Worst Wedding Coordinator had texted her four times saying that she had made announcements over the microphone but that no one was listening. A. She had left already. B. I was sober and on that dance floor all night and there was no announcement.
My brother was all huggy and lovey and slurring you’re the best sister in the whole world Tray, I love you Tray, I love you so much, you’re the best sister…Then he started asking the shuttle driver if he could drive. We were at that point in the evening. Next thing you know, in pops Chris himself, “You all OK? I’m so sorry, this is so fucked up, did you get donut holes?” One guy was like “what doughnut holes” and Chris hopped off, and returned 30 seconds later with a bowl of enough chocolate doughnut holes to feed Lithuania and an armful of bottled waters. “Here, take the whole fuckin’ thing. The stupid ass wedding planner, no one even knows these things are here!” But it was all in thick Bostoneese and sounded much funnier. I told him thanks, that I was so happy to finally have chocolate balls in my mouth, because I’m funny. He said goodnight and turned to leave, but missed the two gigantic steps and faceplanted into the sand like a sack of wet newspapers. I heard a muffled chuckle and an “I’m alright, I’m alright” as he wandered back to the party.
We finally took off, and remember the bangin’ sound system I told you about? It was pitch black riding back, except for the moon reflecting on the waves beside us, as Paul Simon’s Graceland played at stadium concert venue volume, and I seriously felt like I was on acid. It was amazing.
And no, it’s not over yet…
Categories: Adventures & Travels