2007: The Summer of Love (for Anyone but Me)
By: Pete Phillips
July 24, 2007

we captured rob's pretty side here.

If you're like me, you have a lot of friends who like to remind you of how sad and lonely your life is by inviting you to their weddings. This summer, I went to three weddings, but instead of recounting the details of each one, I figured it would be better to mash them all into one.

I was driving down the street one day and I saw a large billboard with a friendly face. Turns out, Chris Paone is getting married! So is Rob Srebro! And Alexa Beretski! Well, we knew about Alexa for a while now. Anyway, I had to make sure I would look good, so I went off to fancy myself up at Value City. After getting my new suit for the summer season from an attractive woman who gave me an extra 15% off, I had to get new shoes and a belt too. Son of a bitch, this wedding business is expensive already!

At least I would look good if I met any single women at the weddings, right? Wrong. The wedding was chock full of adults and old folks. The people I sat with already knew and hated me. That is everyone except Greg, who drank the complimentary gift bottle of champagne before dessert.

So I get to the wedding and set up the PowerPoint presentation I was delegated two days before. Right off the bat a 300-lb. man starts yelling at me, telling me that I can't set things up where the bride told me to. Who wants to piss a bride off on her wedding day? Electric City DJs, that's who. So this podunk dog and pony show is led by this giant guy and his red-headed wife. Let me not forget to mention their red-headed spawn that-- I kid you not-- goes around to guests doing card tricks. Now I didn't see anyone tip him (because they're card tricks and, well, about as impressive as card tricks can be), but I bet he'd take them.

The DJ goes on about the reasons why I can't set things up where I started to and I already have things packed up to move. He discovers that I'm not listening to him, because it really doesn't matter why I can't do it-- he obviously won't let me. Like if a big jerk of a cop gives you a ticket, it doesn't matter why-- he's just going to enjoy it more if you complain. It was at this time that I picked up my table card and found out that I wasn't sitting with my make-shift date of the night, Casey Paone (I know-- my date, one of the brides? tacky? nah).

Minutes before I also learned that Charlie thought it would be funny to make the hot bridesmaid think Greg and I were gay. Well, I didn't know who was at my table and the hot chick thinks I'm gay-- it's time to start drinking or this won't be any fun. So I did. I chatted it up with Theresa and Mrs. Warnecke, saying some possibly questionable things, but they were good sports. I also talked with Cathy Sylvernal a bit. Would you believe her RSVP got lost in the mail? So she was embarrassed, but eventually had fun with her table of adults. She was not at my table, probably because I was enjoying her conversation.

My table ended up being filled with a girl who wouldn't shut up, Theresa and Tim Warnecke, Greg, some guy who was an EMT with Alexa (who, poor kid, couldn't fit at the EMT table, so he was dumped on us-- nice guy, but I felt bad), Emily and some other PA's, Charbi Weby, and Erin Srebro (Rob's Bride). There were other people, but by this point, they're forgettable. Oh, except Mark's wife, she was lovely.

It was time for music and dancing and food. I had some chicken crap I'd never heard of and prime rib. Having a dessert bar was a brilliant move on the part of the Woodlands. The Dallas Country Club had awesome potatoes. Wherever Rob's was had tasty chocolate cup things. Oh, and Charlie, as a poor apology, tried to get me to hit on the blonde waitress with a side ponytail to prove my heterosexuality to the hot bridesmaid, who could care less either way.

Later, Mark had me take a picture of him and Jamie, which turned out freakin' awesome considering my state. I told Rob he picked some awful DJs for his wedding (it's a wedding, not an office party!) and I drank some more. The bartenders knew me. Considering I only started drinking a few months ago, my peers were proud of how far I'd come (combined with my lack of willingness to drink alone-- which is 95% of the rest of the year).

Poor Theresa was designated my babysitter for the rest of the night. She didn't have to watch me, but her crappy date was flying planes, so she had little else to do. They did the garter belt business and the bouquet, but since it wasn't the hot bridesmaid, I figured, "Why bother?"

It was getting pretty late, so I figured I should get going, when the red-headed DJ-wife pointed at me and mouthed "I need you." I went over to see what she needed-- she knew I could set up projectors-- perhaps I could help with technical needs. Two minutes later I'm the leather guy in the Village People, doing the YMCA with a group of men who must've practiced together for weeks or actually been gay from how well they knew the moves. I was mortified and left the wedding wishing I had the mental powers to kill everyone, like Carrie did when she was humiliated at her prom. I totally know where she was coming from.

Back at Charlie's room at the hotel, some kid spilled beer on my nice suit. That made me very sad, but I'm learning to expect crappy endings by now. Greg and I headed back to my apartment and went to sleep (in separate quarters, Charlie!). I slept well and suffered no ill effects from boozing. I didn't have any pride and I felt violated by the YMCA, but I was comforted in the knowledge that I'd never have to see the DJ again, because I don't know anyone else who likes me enough to invite me to a wedding in the company's awful geographic coverage. Lesson learned: never pick up grassroots advertising DJs who put paper signs on telephone poles.

If I had to pick a favorite moment from each wedding, I'd say it was surely the potatoes, the people, and the fun, respectively. Congrats to all the newlyweds, and if I never hear the YMCA without feeling like I need a shower, it will probably be several years from now.