October 6th-8th, 2006: A Successful Weekend
So it was nice to head out of town for last weekend's festivities, a meeting of love between long time friends of the program Cookman and The Double J. TLF and I hopped a flight Friday morning, had a nice little lay over in Chicago where we nearly missed our flight (I actually did an OJ Simpson style jump over a suitcase while running between the K and H terminals in O'Hare, easily one of the top five most athletic moments of my life), and got into MSP around three. The good people at Enterprise had this beast waiting for us, and if you are in the market for an awesome SUV that gets 12 miles-per-gallon, I wholeheartedly endorse the 2007 Jeep Commander.
Things went well from there, besides the fact that I got lost approximately 18 times in one half hour (if Minneapolis had any more roads, I would have puked). We went into downtown and had dinner at one of TLF's clients restaurants, Solera. As per usual after eating at a tapas place, I somehow spent $90 on a meal for two and was still fucking starving afterwards, but I'm a chubby little bitch, so that's that. Good food, great wine, and better people. Thumbs up all around.
Afterwards we met up with friends and got cocked in the hotel bar, then did a tiny afterhours party featuring TLF, my buddy Tito and his blushing bride, Gulia, and myself, some wine, bud light, and a bottle of crown. As always, stupidity won in straight sets.
Saturday began well as a serendipitous blend of Cardinals baseball, Notre Dame football, and chicken wings all meshed perfectly together. Those good sporting times would be short lived, however, as we made our way to the church for some nuptials. It was a mixed-faith ceremony, with a non-denominational pastor representing the bride's side and a Catholic priest for the groom.
Before the ceremony started, the contrast in the two sides of the church was striking. While the bride’s side sat reverently and quietly; the groom's side, mostly Irish and Catholic, were busy cracking jokes, talking about the ND game, and bragging about how much whiskey they would drink that night. We're a fun bunch.
Cruised out after the ceremony, had some pre-gaming beers before the reception and took the shuttle over to the party. The reception starts off in high gear as the best man, Cookman's little bro, closes out a high-larious speech with the classic Jon Favreau Rudy quote "Who's the wild man, now!" From there, the night gets a little dangerous with a two man acoustic rock set followed up by a four hour dance-a-thon.
By the time midnight struck, I had a belly full of whiskey and wine, a dance floor crowded with some of my bestest childhood friends, and the inhibitions of a toddler. So when The Dan's "My Old School" hit, I (as well as many around me) lost it. Which led to this:
I am the dude in the pink tie, next to the Dennis Quaid looking gentlemen (that actually is Dennis Quiad). And not only is that the weirdest picture I have ever seen of me, it may be the worst photo ever taken. Of anyone. I'd like to thank Steely Dan, Jim Beam, and my patented photogenic skills for making it all come together into a nice, disturbing little package.
I'd love to say the night ended soon after, but it did not. We went hardcore afterhours, deep into the morning, bustling around the Marriot like only a hundred or so drunk, stoned and lively 20-something's can, much to the chagrin I'm sure of the Marriot staff.
How did the evening end? Like many a nights lost in my memory but vaguely familiar, with Tito dry humping some dude (in this case, my buddy Nate) while he tries to sleep:
Classy, as always. Did I mention that Tito is a lawyer? A slightly homoerotic lawyer with dependency issues, yes. But a lawyer through-and-through.
When I woke up Sunday morning, with The Lady Friend on one side of my pillow and a slice of pizza on the other, I knew it must have been a good time. And with that, and one last hungover trip home, with a stop in the ever generic airport bar at MSP, which I'd complain about any other time, but it's likeness to every other airport bar in America was ever so familiar and a welcome sight at the time; Wedding Season '06 was history.
And not a weekend too soon.
[Also, at this time I would like to thank my buddy Ryan Meismer who recommended grabbing My Morning Jackets "It Still Moves" albulm for my travels. I did and it rocks. "Mahgeetah" has been stuck in my head for five days now and I wouldn't have it any other way. I suggest you dear readers give it a listen. I also informed Ryan that I quite often get visitors to this here Internets rag by people googeling "Ryan Meismer", and, as it turns out, almost all of these searches are being done by a bat-shit crazy psycho ex-girlfriend of his. So, if you're reading this psycho ex-girlfriend of Meismer, yes, I know Ryan Meismer. He is a man among men, can run surprisingly fast, and he has a baby arm in his trousers. And he does not miss you, you freaking psycho.)