Monday, November 8, 2010

The Wedding Mishap Countdown!!! #8: Inebriated Guests Gone Wild (but not TOO wild... this is a family blog.)

Just about everyone has fun at weddings, especially those who look are 21 or older and can indulge in the occasional adult beverage.  If we're being completely honest here, everyone feels a little more comfortable on the dance floor after a generous glass of wine or a fancy cocktail (or four Miller Lights).  You feel more at ease, like you really CAN manage the Electric Slide without tripping over your own heels and cracking your skull on the parquetry.  You lighten up a little and stop worrying whether anyone notices those four pounds you gained since the last time you wore that dress.  Or, if you're a guy, you might be emboldened to approach that leggy strumpet across the room and buy her a drink.  Well, fetch her a drink.  Open bars make that first conversation so much easier.

However, this is only true up to a point.  There is, as I'm sure many of you are aware, that critical threshold of adult beverage consumption, after which things start to get a little dicey.  It looks a bit like THIS:

With that in mind, I present for your approval,

Number Eight: Inebriated Guests Gone Wild!

CASE STUDY A: The Lecherous Wedding Crasher

A little over a month ago, we went to the wedding of two friends who held a beautiful reception in a great big party space right on the beach in Florida.  We literally could walk out the door, cross the street, and sneak through a hotel pool area to stick our toes in the Gulf of Mexico.  It was awesome.  The reception was a seriously great party with an open bar.  After sticking to wine for most of the night, I sidled over to the corner bar where cocktails were being mixed.  I approached the alleged bartender, who was a rather shiftless and probably intoxicated twenty-something, and ordered my preferred beverage:

I wish the drink had a less suggestive name, because this was the response I got:

It was severely creeptastic.  The inebriated bartender slung his sweaty arm around my shoulders, gave me "the eye", and slurred something that I'm sure he thought was a brilliant come-on line, like, "Hey.  I'm Shane.  You wanna see the real P.C. Beach?"

"N-nn-no, thanks," I stammered, attempting to extricate his arm from my uncomfortably-exposed shoulder, "m-my husband's from around here."

Rather than take the hint, Bar Creeper seemed somehow more turned on by this.  I shrugged my shoulders.  "Hey!  You're wiggly!"  He laughed. 

I briefly considered kicking him in the shin, but I didn't get the chance, because at that moment, the real bartender came back from the bathroom.  I had been wedding crashed.

"Shane, come on, man."  My rescuer said.  "Stop touching all the ladies."  He apologized for his drunk wedding-crasher friend, fixed my drink, and sent me on my way. 

(Shane will make an appearance in a future installment of "Wedding Mishaps," F.Y.I.)


At a wedding we went to this summer, the reception was held in a big, handsome resort set in the woods, among rolling hills and tons of nature.  One of the benefits of having the reception in a place that doubled as a hotel was that no one had to worry about driving home.  This of course kept the open bars hopping nonstop.  At one point in the evening, the Husband and I got a little overheated from all the dancing, so we stepped outside to get some fresh air. 

We leaned against one of the enormous old trees near the side door.  Other couples and small groups were scattered around the courtyard, enjoying the cool evening breeze.  I sighed happily as I thought of our friends who had just been married, and of how fantastic and happy they looked.  The Husband put his arm around me, and for a pleasant, quiet moment we just enjoyed being together on a summer night.

Suddenly, one of the doors opened, and a friend of the bride and groom (let's call her "Sophie") emerged with her purse in her hand.  We didn't know Sophie too well, but what we DID know about her was that she could really toss 'em back.  Sophie stumbled along in her spike heels, which sank into the grass as she staggered towards us.  Well, not towards us specifically -- just towards the tree.

I moved out of the way just in time, for Sophie didn't seem to notice our existence at that minute.  She walked right up to the tree and promptly vomited.  Copiously.  So much for our romantic moment.  She stood there for a moment, heaving, still oblivious to our presence.  We hesitantly approached her.

Me: Um.  Sophie?  Are you all right?
Sophie: Yeaahhm fine, thaks.
Husband: Are you sure?  Can we get you anything?
Sophie: Nooaahm good.

We couldn't look away, so transfixed were we by her stoicism, as Sophie retrieved a tissue from her purse, wiped her lips, popped an Altoid, and stumbled back towards the doors.  We watched her enter through the glass door, after which Sophie the Champ made a beeline.  For the bar.  THAT is what I call cirrhosis focus.

CASE STUDY C: B.F.F. of the M.O.B.

The Husband and I attended a wedding this past June that was simply wonderful - everything a big family wedding should be, from the huge, beautiful buffet to the elaborate head table set up on a stage behind the dance floor.  The enormous room was packed with well-wishers, and it seemed that everyone from the groom's great-aunt to the bride's boss was present. 

We had attended the rehearsal dinner the night before, so we had met several of the family members and friends on both sides of the aisle.  This made it easier for us to mingle during the reception.  Well, easier for me, but harder for the Husband.

GUY #2:  Hey there, Dave!  Some dinner last night, huh?
HUSBAND: Yeah!.... Buddy, it sure was!

Anyway, one of the people that I had had the opportunity to meet in advance was Pam, the best friend of the mother of the bride.  Pam seemed to be a mild-mannered, conservative, cheerful, middle-aged lady.  Here's Pam around 5:30pm:

...And here's Pam around 9:45:

At some point in the evening, Pam had reached sufficient levels of intoxication to determine that the dance floor was just too pedestrian.  Therefore, she opted to hop right up on the elaborate head table and wobble across it with dance moves that would make Elaine Benes look fit for Dancing with the Stars.

Your turn!!  Please share your tales of inebriated hilarity and/or woe.  I await them eagerly!! 

Also, please stay tuned for the next Wedding Mishaps installment:

Mothers Who Know How to Party! 

1 comment:

  1. Ahh, tales of inebriation and woe... Well, let us go with woe:

    At my BFF's wedding last summer we bridesmaids wore these very lovely gowns, that while absolutely gorgeous on each and every one of us (quite a feat given our various body types), were very heavy and hot in the South Carolina summer evening. We bridesmaids soldiered on however, and were having a great time dancing at the reception. Then the DJ started to play "Cotton Eyed Joe", which yours truly and one other friend happen to know the honest-to-goodness-redneck-as-all-get-out line-dance to, complete with hee-haw hitch-kicks and spins.

    After our brilliant performance (in a ball-gown and heels I might add), aforementioned friend and I went outside the tent to cool down, where less than two minutes later I fainted mid sentence in a conversation with my dancing partner and a few other friends. So sadly, I hold the distinction of being the only person to faint/black-out at what was expected to be a convention of drunkards that can't hold their liquor.

    And that is my public-stupidity tale-of-woe, I hope you enjoyed it!