Skotes' Wedding Reception

So since I've been requested to write about Skotes' wedding reception, I figured I might as well break it down by the minute, as I remember it. If you remember something differently, chances are you were drunk.

7:30 PM: I leave my house. I ask Amy to read the directions to the Gale Mansion on the invite. She looks at the invite. There is a small, rudimentary map drawn on it in colored pencil. It says, "For complete directions, look on the internet." This angers me.

7:47 PM: Driving aimlessly around South Minneapolis, hoping to avoid gang wars and crack dealers. The invite says that the Gale Mansion is in the "Mansion District". I didn't know there was a mansion district. I am lost.

7:58 PM: Accidentally find the correct mansion. There is no place to park nearby. Amy suggests we use valet. I am convinced the Valet drivers will steal my truck and go joyriding, a la Ferris Bueller's Day Off. We drive around the block.

8:01 PM: We are on the next block. There is a small insane asylum on this block. Insane people are milling around the front of it, most likely doing very insane things. There are parking spots by the insane people. We do not park there. KT does and apparently lives to tell about it.

8:04: We park a few blocks away by a park. We begin to walk to the mansion. I get paranoid that my lights are malfunctioning and will not turn off and my battery will die and the insane people will boil Amy and I alive in a large cauldron as we are leaving. I stand and stare at my truck for 3 minutes until the lights go off.

8:07: We enter the mansion. The first thing I notice is that I am the most casually dressed person in there. I mention this revelation to Amy. She tells me I am ALWAYS the most casually dressed person anywhere. I am somewhat hurt by her candor.

8:08: We run into Little Ras. I told him beforehand that I was wearing a yellow shirt and khakis and that he should do the same because then we'd look like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito in Twins. Obviously he has not taken my advice because he is dressed more nicely than me.

8:11: I learn that we are not being served dinner. I am hungry and angry about this. A waiter carrying a tray of meatballs walks by. I grab many meatballs and eat them quickly. They are spicier than I had assumed. I say, "That's one spicy Meat-za-ball!!" to no one in particular. The waiter and Ras laugh at me. I notice that the waiter is actually a waitress with boy hair. This confuses my loins.

8:17: Goose is looking bald and dapper. He's telling a story about how a kid he coached at Hamline is doing well in Rookie Ball. I tell him the kid is in "A" ball. He says something snotty along the lines of, "I think I know my own players." I tell him he is an idiot and we bet two dollars. He text messages the kid. "A" ball. I now only owe Goose 48 dollars which he may or may not ever receive.

8:19: Matty G calls someone and says he'll be there in 10 minutes. "10 minutes" is a Matty G euphemism for "A really long time from now." We all will be surprised if he makes it by 9.

8:25: I spill a bunch of water on the floor and then blame the pitcher it came in. I also eat some item containing seafood solely because it came by on a tray carried by the boy/girl waiter/waitress.

8:30: Amy and Jane are sitting on a couch talking about uninteresting things. I tell them they are sitting on a fainting couch. They tell me I am wrong. Screw them. Like they know much about fainting couches. It was a fainting couch, deal with it.

8:31: Deets arrives and apologizes for being late. We tell him he beat Matty G. He takes absolutely no solace in this fact.

8:40: Still haven't met Skotes' new bride. We begin to openly question whether or not there is a bride, or whether Skotes just gave up and married Matt B.

9:02: Matty G arrives with much fanfare, looking very satisfied with himself.

9:10: Matt B and the maid of honor give speeches. Apparently there are numerous people in the crowd who got married on Sept 11, including Matt B which lends further credence to the now oft repeated rumor that Matt B and Skotes are married to each other. I am trapped behind many women and a glass door so I can't see anything. I try to duck down and stand up on my tiptoes so I can see the two people giving speeches by staring underneath a lady's armpit or over her head. I notice that another woman is doing this as well. We notice each other. I laugh and remark that it's like we're on a teeter-totter together. She either does not understand, or she thinks I'm creepy. She moves away from me.

9:15: The lobby is crowded. Someone mentions that there is a porch upstairs. We decide to form a clique of old baseball players and their wives and girlfriends and head up there. I load up on appy's first along with Little Ras. The appy's consist of millions of different kinds of cheese, crackers, and little racks of lamb. I grab a pound of cheese and crackers, and 2 little lambs. I shove Little Ras forward when he gets distracted by something shiny because I don't want to walk up the stairs alone with that much cheese and crackers.

9:16: The porch we heard about is filled with many people laughing obnoxiously. I sit down in the lobby in a fainting chair (Screw you, that's what it is) and begin shoveling cheese and crackers into my mouth. Amy comes over and steals one of my baby lambs. I look at her with utter contempt but continue eating cheese and crackers. One of the cheeses smells exactly like feet. I eat it anyway. It's not bad. Goose begins channeling his inner bartender (or inner bitch) and fetching drinks for any and all who request them.

9:40: We move to a different upstairs room, painted pink and with many frilly, lace valances topping the windows. Half the team turns gay.

9:45: Food begins telling an outrageous story that nearly justifies becoming a level 3 sex offender in his mind, about a young-ish girl who stripped naked and asked him to "fuck her brains." We are all perplexed at this. "Did she say 'out'?" I ask in horror. Laughter ensues, but I am thinking that doing anything to anyone's brains is at best gross and at worst criminal. The picture in my mind frightens me all night.

9:50: Goose is on his 3rd beer and mentions how drunk he is getting. We roll our eyes at him. He then begins to tell many stories, some funny, but most only partially relevant. I learn that he hit a guy in the leg with a golf ball and didn't even have the decency to yell "fore" or "look out" beforehand. He also mentions he wants to have a party where everybody hangs out and gets really drunk. No one pays attention to him.

9:55: I go looking for a place to pee, preferably a bathroom. I find one but Goose is outside banging on the door and the pee zips back up into my kidneys. I tell him to stop, but once he's had 3 beers, apparently it's a waste of time. I finally pee and leave. He goes in and stays in there for a while. Nobody knows what he is doing.

10:00: Someone keeps trying to open the door behind the wives and girlfriends. This scares them.

10:05: A cameraman comes in and starts taking many pictures. People are annoyed by him for some reason but he is oblivious to this. Hoping to distract them, I take a circular cracker from the large plate of cheese and crackers, say "Body of Christ", and place the entire thing in my mouth, like communion. It barely fits and my mouth gets all dry from chewing it up. People are confused by my behavior, especially Jess, who begins questioning my sanity.

10:15: I go to get more baby lambs since Amy ate 50% of my lambs before. To my horror, the lambs have been replaced with cake. I look all around for more lambs, even under the table. I find none. I am sad to the point of crying. We bring up a lot of cake.

10:16: We couldn't find any forks. Food goes away for a while, and returns with many forks. He is hailed as a hero/sexual deviant.

10:20: Matt B comes into the pink room and continues an argument that has been going on since Skotes bachelor party that Skotes throws harder than Matty G, but with less command. This argument has gotten tiresome. We still have not met the bride so it stands to reason that Matt B. is sticking up for Skotes in this argument because they are married.

10:40: We finally meet the bride. She is very pretty and seems to genuinely like Skotes. Myth, busted.

10:45: 3 conversations about fantasy football break out simultaneously. The girls start yawning. Goose is near a coma. The end is near.

11:00: Everyone abruptly gets up and leaves including Natron (who hasn't been mentioned yet), and his girlfriend (who is cool because she went to USD, like me.)

11:01: I give the photographer a friendly pat on the butt as I walk out. I'm not sure why.

11:05: We say our goodbyes and walk to our cars. I tell KT and Jess to scream loudly if they are attacked by a roving gang of lunatics on the way to their car. I hear nothing so I assume they're OK.

Congrats Skotes. It was a fun and entertaining night.

Brian goes to Victoria's Secret

I've figured out over the years that I'm not that much of a fashionista. I'm usually the most casually dressed guy at a wedding, I'm not sure where my dress socks are, and I wear a t-shirt and shorts to work every day (unless it's really cold, then I wear jeans and a hoodie), and one time I forgot to wear shoes. I'll probably be called a sexual predator before I'm called a metrosexual.

Sometimes I go to Victoria's Secret though, to pick out clothes and stuff for my wife, and when I say "stuff" I mean underwear that shows your whole butt (but not your butthole). You'd think this would be a recipe for disaster, and that I'd come home with stuff 8 sizes too big, and garments that were just plain goofy looking, but you'd be wrong.

For some reason, and I haven't quite figured it out yet, Victoria's Secret employees love me, like straight, done-a-bunch-of-ecstacy love. Perhaps it's all about the sale, and these employees are nothing more than clothed prostitutes selling things other than space in their various orifices, but I tend to believe I'm actually really likable because of how naive I act in the presence of hot chicks and skimpy butt huggers.

I've developed a foolproof method for getting help picking out items at Victoria's Secret. It goes like this.

1.) Wander into the store looking overwhelmed, but excited, like you just tripped and fell into a pile of naked ladies.

2.) Grab a pair of underpants and hold them up to a light, like you're trying to see through them. This will let people know that you're serious about being in the store, and you aren't just here to ogle the mannequins.

3.) Look around for an employee that is approximately the same size as my wife. I can't for the life of me ever remember her measurements, the only thing that comes to mind is 4T, and I'm pretty sure that's for my son, and I had a really awkward encounter about 5 years ago at Sears with a chunky sales girl.

Me: I need a blue shirt for a girl.
Chunky Sales Girl: Like a sweater?
Me: No, with buttons and stuff, you know, like a button shirt or whatever...
CSG: Ohhhh Kay. Um, what size is she?
Me: I don't know, is little a size?
CSG: Not really. Is she like me?
Me: Not really. I said little. (This qualifies as one of "those things" that accidentally slips out of my mouth periodically)
CSG: Well, look over there. (Points ambiguously to a large section of the store and angrily stampedes off)

That's why I look for somebody the same size.

4.) When you find her, begin stalking around her looking at items, even if she's in the socks section. Eventually she will ask you if you need help finding something.

5.) I usually reply to this by saying something like, "I need some underpants. For my wife. She's a girl. Like you."

6.) She'll bring me over to the underpants area and ask what size she is. This is one of the only times, outside of the strib club, where it's perfectly acceptable to stare at her goods for a long time, before you reply, "about your size."

7.) Victoria's Secret employees really like this. The girl will then go out of her way to describe various articles of clothing, and why they are or are not sexy. This is fun for everyone. She might even bring other girls over for their opinions. This is the closest I will ever get to one of those "naked slumber parties" with pillow fights and serious girl-on-girl action that I see on Cinemax periodically, so I will milk it for all it's worth.

One note of warning here. Occasionally there is a guy working at Victoria's Secret. If a guy ever comes over and tries to help you, punch him in the crotch as hard as you can and then quickly, and covertly, leave the entire mall. For security purposes, it may be a good idea to never return.

Again, this method is foolproof, if you do it correctly. If it doesn't work for you, you are obviously a gross pervert and you should go directly to jail.

Paul Returns

I used to have this little "friend" at the gym. His name was Paul, and he liked to follow me around and talk to me about things he'd done over the weekend, like go to a bar and ogle girls butts, and drink red bull vodkas and be loud and obnoxious, and all the other usual stuff guys talk to each other about.

He was a little guy, maybe 5'6", and he usually wore T-Shirts with beer logos on them, or the names of obscure restaurants that I'd never heard of or been to before (Shakey's Fish Lodge, home of the $7.99 tuna melt). He looked somewhat similar to Sven Sungaard, and he smelled like lotion and hair gel.

He was a fairly pleasant, upbeat person, but I just wasn't really interested in listening to him prattle on about stuff I didn't really care about, so I began actively avoiding him, and ignoring him when he pranced on by, and even hiding in the handicapped toilet for 45 minutes (much to the chagrin of the paraplegic guy who had to take a massive dump) until he left the locker room. Eventually, he got the hint and I stopped seeing so much of him, which was refreshing, because then I could spend my time doing the things I enjoyed, like lifting weights, and sitting there trying to look marginally cool.

About a month ago, I started noticing him around a lot again however. He was just as cheerful as ever, but I could see he'd added about 25 pounds directly to his stomach which was now poking out from under his beer t-shirt like a girl in her 2nd trimester of pregnancy. The thought of Paul being pregnant amused me, but I assumed that even little Peter Pan guys aren't capable of that so it had to be one of two things. Either he got a desk job for the first time ever (Side Note: I have no idea what his occupation was before, I just assumed "greeter" at Wal-Mart), or he met a girl. I found out because he found me.

Paul: Dude what's going on??
Me (acting distracted): Hey, what's happening?
Paul: Haven't talked to you in for EVER!
Me: (staring at the drinking fountain): Yeah, what happened, did you die?
Paul: Yeah, and went to heaven. I met my fiancee!!

Bingo! Aaaaaaand you're gay for saying you died and went to heaven when you met a girl. This is not a movie from the 40's. Guys shouldn't say stuff like that to other guys, especially since he had worked so hard in the past to cultivate his image as a cool party guy to me. Not that I was buying it anyway, but still...

Paul: Hey, you wanna meet her? Rach, come here babes.

This was not part of the deal. I look around for a fire alarm to yank. I am stuck. Now, had you asked me to picture the type of girl that would date Paul, I would have said petite and perky and chipper, kind of like him. I figured the two of them would skitter around and pollenate flowers and sprinkle pixie dust on people or something, I don't know.

I don't know how to describe the girl that came over. Instead of a happy pixie, she looked more like the ass end of a chupacabra. She was very tall, and very pale, almost to the point of being gray, and she had one of those noses that bends out and down, so it looked like it might eventually grow right into her mouth, which would at least make for a conversation starter. She looked like she was having a dreadful time at the gym. I started to wonder about the dynamic of that relationship. Cheerful, bouncy Paul and sad, chupacabra assed face Rachel whose nose is slowly growing into her mouth. The strange thing is, they'll probably get married and live happily ever after. Who can predict relationships?

Stop Saying It!!

Sometimes I find myself using the adjective "Gay" a lot to describe most everything happening around me. It really is kind of an apt description for any person, place, or situation that I deem less than acceptable. Some examples:

-Mushrooms are gay!
-Hornets stingers' are gay!
-Running up a hill is gay!
-Your face is really gay looking.
-This pasty smells gay.
-Your giant scab is way gay.
-I got a ticket for urinating in public. How gay.
-This manta ray feels really gay.

And on and on and on, ad nauseum. Every so often, somebody, usually a girl somebody, will come up to me and say one of two things. She either says:

1.) "Brian, calling everything gay is disrespectful to gay people"- I usually reply, "You're gay for saying that." I disagree with this assumption for a few reasons. First, I am in no way biased towards homosexuals. I think they should share the same rights as everyone, and if they want to get married or whatever, go ahead. Not my business.

Secondly, why would gay people feel disrespected by me calling my friend gay because he trips and falls down a hill and lands in a big pile of mud and cigarette butts? Clumsily falling down a hill, and being attracted to someone of the same sex aren't even close to the same thing, so how could anyone draw enough of a parallel to be offended? That's right, if you think gay people are offended by the adjective gay, you are insulting their intelligence, and that's just racist!

or

2.) Sometimes people say to me, "You should spell it "Ghey" so it can be differentiated. This is perplexing to me. Do I have word bubbles coming out my mouth like a comic book character and just not know it? Plus, I don't want to spell it "Ghey" because people won't know what I'm talking about. They might think I mean Curds and Ghey or something, and who wants to eat Curds and Ghey. Not me!

Besides, changing the spelling of a word doesn't change the word. If I go around emailing girls and referring to them as "Kuntz" I think the impact will still be the same. It's the intent and the person behind the word that determines whether it's offensive or not. Always has been, always will be, and since I have now proven to be of quality character I'd like to leave with this final thought.

It's gay when your bones itch!