Back in Masss-a-chuuuuuuuuu-setts!!!

It's been over two months since my last blog, and not's really because I'm busy, I'm just lazy. A lot has happened in that time period: The NCAA crowned it's 2005 basketball champions, baseball season got underway, Toastie bought a new baseball videogame which we proceeded to play for roughly 14 hours straight (not even Billy-ball could hate on a Nationals-Pirates best of seven series!), the BII opened up it's patio for drinking, bird, the entire 105 "The Dog" entourage, a heavy helping of Limp Bizkit, Korn, Staind, etc. (no Seven Mary Three or Pretty Penny-Javen knows what I'm talkin' about), I finally got to see the Skychiefs win a game (drank a medium beer in honor of Billy, followed by three more large beers, then opted to trade in ticket at the Locker Room for a free Pabst, even though it was also good for free windshield washer fluid. This was a tough decision as the washer fluid packs a little more punch when ingested.), I meet Dane Cook and finally one of my good friends got married in my hometown, "Back in Massachuuuusettttttttts!" Which is what I really intend to make this blog about. And let me just say, that everything you are about to read is more or less true.

So I get in on Friday night and go to my friends apartment have a few beers and we're off to the "99" a local restaurant and bar, where I'm momentarily surprised to see many a Red Sox hat as well as each and every member of that staff wearing some sort of Red Sox T-shirt, until it dawns on me that I'm in Massachusetts where 96.5% of the population is a Red Sox fan (this is not fact, but made up.) Anyways, on to the better stuff. Chatting with my friends and drinking my Mass accent slowly, but surely, comes out of hiding. Now apparently, because we're in small towns for this weekend, every bar within reach closes at like 12:30 (I love Massachusetts, but 12:30? Be serious) Luckily my friend had beer at his abode and after a quick stop at the Kwik-E-Mart, er 7Eleven, for some Hot Pockets I was back in my happy place, beer in hand and The Big Lebowski in the DVD player. And as I bit into my Hot Pocket (burning my toungue of course) I wondered, "Could life get any better than this? Because I submit that it cannot!" But alas, it could. My friends wedding was at 5:30pm on Saturday, meaning there was a lot of time to kill, because being a man it doesn't take me five and half hours to put my face on and get all gussied-up. So my friend Sam and I decide we should sit around playing poker and watching movies all day. So I drank beer and played poker and watched Good Will Hunting, Anchorman and most of Super Troopers. Oh Happy Day.

Wedding takes place:
The priest, minister, pastor, whatever they call him in Catholicism, besides there daddy, I mean father, throws in a few one-liners about divine intervention propelling the Red Sox to thier first World Championship in over 86 years and for somehow guiding the Celtics to a Game 7 against Indiana two nights before (but as we all know, on the Seventh Game, God rested and the poor Celtics were beaten pretty handily.) He was actually pretty entertaining. So I proceeded to follow along with those that were Catholic, so I would know the hand motions and responses, as best I could. I'm pretty sure at one point I gave the sign to steal second. Now during the wedding I notice two peculiarly random things:
1) The Maid of Honor, is the brides best friend who attended Northeastern with the bride and groom. But here's the peculiarly random part............I hooked up with this girl during college whilst visiting my friends on my spring break. Just a tip, try not to hook up with your friend's, girlfriend's best friend, this is not the best use of road-trip mentality (if you don't know what road-trip mentality is, just aks somebody!) . I mean, first of all what are the odds of going anywhere and finding someone I hooked up with, excluding Shannon family events (sorry Bill)? Luckily this was not too awkward, but made me giggle, because I can honestly say I hooked up with the Maid of Honor, which, lets face it, is the crowning achievement for any guy at a wedding. The only thing that could top that, would be hooking up with the bride, which is rarer than a perfect game. Now of course I didn't hook-up with her at the wedding,it was at least five years ago, but no smell, no tell, it'll be our little secret.
2) The bride's cousin's date is Joe from the Real World Miami! Now I realize most don't watch the Real World, but this is pretty random, wouldn't you say? Now it wouldn't be 'til the end of the reception when I was good and drunk that I would talk to him about his stint on the MTV reality show, I don't remember much of this exchange, but I think it started a lil' sumpin like this, (me in slurred drunken voice) "So I'm sorry, I gotta do it...REAL WORLD MIAMI!" He was a nice fella, very down to earth. There was so much I wanted to know, but didn't ask.

The reception was open bar so that was really a five-hour blur, but here's what I pieced together:

I drank so many Captain and Cokes, that when they saw me coming they started making me another and it was ready for me when I got there, just about everytime.

There was eight courses! ( I rarely eat that many "courses" in a three day span.)

I yelled at the dj to play Neil Diamond several hundred times. (Sweet Caroline did finally play. I've been to four weddings in my life and only once was Sweet Caroline, one of the best songs to sing along too drunk, not played. Look ashamed Mr. Conroy!)

I was yelling and drinking so much, that I could barely talk by nights end. Me and a couple of others looked for more drinking after the reception, to find that only the finest dance club in Randolph, MA, right next door was open. (It was like 12:20am)When we appraoched the door, the bouncer immediately walkie-talkied management to the front, which had to be good sign right? Clearly he saw us in our Sunday's Best and was gonna lead us to the Champagne Room. Yeah, so, after a mini-hassle with ids ( a few out-of-staters in the crowd) my friend Johnny Walker (no lie, that's his real name) is pinpointed as a troublemaker. The bouncer tells him to behave himself. Let me just say, we were all drunk, but we were not being loud, obnoxious or belligerent (which is how I knew I needed more to drink). Walkah, as we call him in Mass., was not even as drunk as me and as I was let in, the bouncer says, "Keep an eye on your friend." All this hassle and we weren't even in the door yet. (Like I said, this is no Boston though, where our beloved Toastie was once so drunk he was leaning on the police officer at the door of bar and not five minutes later, although barely being concious, had a fresh beer in hand at said bar.) But, once in the door, we find out there's a $10 cover, to which we said, NOOOOOOOO DIIIIIIIICE! and cheesed it out the door. I have only myself to blame. Who doesn't have at least a post-reception 12er in the hotel room?? But I guess seeing as how I could only talk in a low pitched scratchy voice, bed was probably the best bet anyways. Annnnnnnnnnd............scene!