Hey there, kiddies.
So, I’m back from the wedding I went to this weekend. And… well, I really can’t say anything snarky or smartassed about it. Really. Nothing.
(Hey, I can’t help it — some of the people who were there say they read this shit from time to time. If I sell them out here, I might find sugar in my gas tank, or a flaming bag of dog shit on my porch. Those mothers know where I live, you know?)
Anyway, it was a pretty good time. I didn’t realize until we got there that it was going to be a Catholic wedding, or I’d have worn more sensible shoes. That’s a damned workout, people — sit, stand, sit, stand, kneel, sit, stand. Nothing like a bit of calisthenics with your nuptials, eh?
(Of course, I’m not in a church of any kind all that often. I still have this near-irrestistable urge to scream ‘Sanctuary!!!‘ every time I step foot in one of those places. But that’s just me. More TV than church time. Go figure.)
It struck me as a bit odd, though, that the church was named ‘Our Lady of the Sorrows’. I know Catholics are into that whole ‘guilt’ thing and all, but damn, people — this is a wedding! Couldn’t they have a little slidy thing on their sign for that last word, so they can change it out for the happy occasions? So, like on Sundays, they can still be ‘Our Lady of the Sorrows‘, but on Saturday afternoons, why not ‘Our Lady of the Happy Couple‘? Or ‘Our Lady of the Tipsy Bridesmaids‘? How about ‘Our Lady of the Honeymoon Full-Body Acrobatics‘? No? I’m just sayin’.
I cemented my spot in Catholic Hell during the ceremony, too.
(If I hadn’t already, of course. Which I had. But that’s not important right now.)
So, my wife and I were sitting near the back, and we were good through the first half of the wedding. And I mean good. I didn’t make a peep when the priest launched into some long, sing-songy sermonish thing that wasn’t on the program. And I even kept my cool — as much as anyone else, anyway — when the groom laughed(!) as the priest had him recite the line about ‘to have and to old, forsaking all others, et cetera, et cetera‘.
(Which was fucking hilarious, of course. And I’ve got it on video, since they asked me to tape the wedding for them.
Of course, having that on tape is nice. But if I’d been able to catch the bride-to-be’s reaction to that… oh, baby. That would have been priceless.)
Anyway, about halfway through, the churchkeeper types offered communion. I guess with all that jumping up and down and stuff, they figured people needed a snack. I don’t know — I don’t claim to understand any of this stuff.
So, first they gave the wine ‘n’ wafer to the people up front, including a couple of folks who apparently showed up just for that. Seriously — they weren’t up front for the whole show, and then bam! Just as they’re bringing out the snacks, here come these people to get in the middle of things. So, fine. I wasn’t taking communion, so they weren’t cutting frontsies in my line — no problem.
But — but! — when the crowd in the pews had finished their sippin’ and munchin’, there was apparently a little bit of wine left. And one of those communion crashers who snuck up there early took one of the goblets and just slugged it back. Not a sip, not a taste — a whole big freaking gulp! Damn!
Well, that was it for me. That’s when I punched my ticket to hell — and made sure my wife was coming along for the ride, too. (Don’t wanna get lonely in that handbasket, after all.) Anyway, here’s the conversation we had in the back pew:
Me: Pssst! Hey, did you see that guy? He already had a drink, and he just took another one!
Her: (looking at me with those big, pleading eyes that say, ‘please, for the love of all that’s good, don’t be a smartass in church’) That’s okay. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.
Me: But… he’s bogarting the blood of christ! You can’t do that!
Her: It’s… he… look, it’s okay. Maybe they have to get rid of it.
Me: Are you saying the blood of christ goes bad?!
Her: *giggle* Shhhhh! We are so going to hell.
Me: See, ’cause it should stay good forever, right? This ain’t the blood of some hobo off the street we’re talking about — there’s no ‘shelf life’ involved with this stuff.
Her: *snort* Shut up, shut up, shut up… oh, man.
Me: Or maybe they have to get rid of it, or after three days, it just… disappears, and they can’t find it any more.
Her: Oh, crap. We really are going to hell. Damn it.
So, that was the entertainment for the afternoon. And now we’re pretty screwed, probably. I think there’s still the ‘deathbed confession’ thing in play, though — I’m not sure. I’ll have to check the rulebook some day, to see if we’re covered.
In other news, the reception was a lot of fun. You gotta love an open bar at someone else’s wedding. Honestly, other people’s weddings are like a weekend at Disney World for adults. You get to road trip to get there, then you spend all night being silly and dancing around, and then you get to stay in a cool hotel room for the night. And if there’s anything better than a car you can treat like a rental, then it’s a room you can treat like a rental. Oh, baby. ‘Don’t worry about that, honey — the maid will clean it off the ceiling tomorrow.‘ Woot!
The reception dinner was pretty tasty, too. Although… you know, as long as I’m going to hell anyway, there’s something else I don’t understand. Before we ate, a guy stood up and said ‘grace’. Which is fine — bless the food, and all that. No problem.
But… here’s the thing. From what I understand about the Bible, ‘food’ doesn’t really seem to be priority one. I mean, god didn’t tell people to ‘go forth and have a ham sandwich‘, right? No. He said, ‘Go forth and multiply‘.
So, sure, blessing the food is cool and all — but shouldn’t people really be saying ‘grace’ before making love? Doesn’t that make more sense? And isn’t there a much higher risk of someone getting hurt in the sack, rather than at the table? I think that’s where I’d be asking for a little divine intervention, frankly. It might go something like this:
‘Dear lord, we beseech thee, as we prepare to get our kinky freak on — lord, please bless these satiny pillows and bottles of massage oil, and impart your divine spirit to the batteries in our ‘appliances’, should we need them.
O lord, bless us, too, your humble imperfect servants, as we partake of the spiritual sustenance you have provided in the nethery bits of the other. Praise be to you!
And finally, lord, we ask that if you hear us call out to you in the throes of our divine sweaty love, please see to it that we aren’t taking your name ‘in vain’. If you know what I’m saying. Nudge, nudge, there, big guy. If it be your will, and all. Hallelujah!‘
Yeah, I’m pretty much cooked, aren’t I? Ah, well, whaddaya do? This is what I get for going to a church wedding, I guess. Sort of figures, when you think about it. Meh.Permalink | 6 Comments