Jessica’s Wedding

I had a long week­end, trav­el­ling to and from Indi­ana for my cousin Jessica’s wed­ding. The wed­ding went off with­out a hitch, and Jes­si­ca was the least stressed and hap­pi­est bride I’ve ever seen at a wed­ding. I had to be down for the rehearsal, since I was read­ing peti­tions, and I left work ear­ly on Fri­day to make it there on time. No soon­er do I get south of 271, then a dump­ster over­turns ten cars in front of me and I have to sit on my ass for an hour. The dri­ver wasn’t hurt. I still made it on time and went to the rehearsal din­ner as well, where I had Chick­en Parmi­giana, Grilled salmon sundry veg­eta­bles and a potent rasp­ber­ry sor­bet for dessert.

The day of the wed­ding was long and busy, with me assist­ing the moth­er-of-the-bride with var­i­ous last minute errands, but it end­ed with all the vod­ka I could drink and a Cohi­ba, so I’m not com­plain­ing. The recep­tion was a blast, and the prime rib we had there was deli­cious.

I got up ear­ly the day after the wed­ding, hang­over-less thanks to my body’s tal­ent at pro­cess­ing Russ­ian agua, and helped my aunt pre­pare for the post-wed­ding brunch. Right after every­thing was final­ly ready, I ate a bunch of brunch food [includ­ing sug­ar cream cake, for which my aunt refus­es to give me the recipe] and then hit the road.

I made it back to Cleve­land at about 4:30 and sent out my foot­ball tick­et appli­ca­tions and got ready to do my laun­dry. I was greet­ed by my con­fed­er­ate flag-wav­ing neigh­bor, drunk off his ass and stum­bling down my street and smok­ing up with his sim­i­lar­ly drunk off his ass friend. They called me a fag­got, although they also live on Fruit Avenue. I should expect such para­dox­es from my red­necked brethren by this point, espe­cial­ly after liv­ing in Con­nersville for 18 years.