Weddings are usually a source of happiness as two people commit and celebrate their love in a timeless ceremony amongst family and friends. They are also a great place to get rip-roaring drunk and fuck some shit up. While I never bit a man’s finger off or smeared cake on a child, I do recall (vaguely) one wedding I attended six years back:

• The ceremony is in North Denver and I ride shotgun to it with my cousin, Monica. Both of our mothers asked us to show up early and help set up chairs. We arrive 20 minutes late because we had to stop for cigarettes.
• Monica and I sit in the back of the church during the ceremony. We make crass comments about a family member’s hairpiece that gives him the appearance of a young Ringo Starr. Joking in a British accent I say things like, “Hey Paul, it’s time to get married.” Monica giggles like a dirty schoolgirl.
• The ceremony ends and Monica and I realize the reception is at the Boettcher Mansion (near Golden, Colorado) nearly an hour away. We stop off at a local liquor where nobody speaks English before we begin the trek.
• In the car we consume alcohol as quickly as possible. We smoke many cigarettes.
• We arrive at the reception hall drunk. I sign the guestbook “Matt.” I have neither a gift nor a card for the couple. Nels and my sisters have saved us seats at a table. We proceed to the bar.
• The greatest combination of words in the English language: open bar.
• After dinner, our table is trashed and loud. Family and friends shush us. Nels and I decide to get a round of anisette shots for the table for the toast. We drink all the shots on the way back to the table and wind up going back for more.
• The anisette shots are downed at the table before the toast even begins. Then we remember they bring around champagne for the toast. Instead of waiting for the caterers to pour us the bubbly, Monica acquires a bottle for our table and after taking the first pull proclaims, “No more for me. I have to drive home.”
• The garter belt ceremony begins. Nels, my sister’s date Mike and I stand in the pit of bachelors. The garter is flung and gets caught in the chandelier. Nels and I decide to hoist Mike up to the chandelier to grab the garter. Our sense of balance is skewed thanks to the alcohol we have consumed and Mike nearly falls on his face as we lift him. Mike braces himself against the chandelier, grabs the garter and jumps down. The chandelier swings wildly for about five minutes. My grandmother looks scared.
• I see a hot girl and ask my Mom if I am related to her. She says no. I ask hot girl to dance. At this point I have spilled liquor all over the front of my shirt and smell like a brewery but she says yes anyway. As we dance I sing the song being played loudly in her ear. When the dance is over she informs me she is leaving and gives me her phone number. As she walks away I blurt out, “You look hot, and I am not just saying because I am drunk.” (Days after the wedding I forget the number is in my pants pocket and it gets ruined in the wash).
• Reception ends late. Nels and I talk the bartender in giving us some beers for the road. We smuggle them out in our dress pant pockets.
• Monica ends up chauffeuring most of our drunken table home. We get stopped at a sobriety checkpoint. Luckily, Monica is now sober and passes with flying colors. I sit in the backseat staring blankly at her walking a straight line with an open beer in my hand and the remnants of a twelve pack at my feet. Much later I realize that if I were asked out of the backseat we would have all spent the night in lock-up.