Mishawak-of-Life

You ever find yourself drinking warm Budweiser (not Bud Light, Bud Diesel) cans at 3:30 in the morning in a hotel parking lot in Mishawaka, Indiana, talking to a complete stranger about the personalities associated with astrological signs while three mop-haired brothers with guitars play a song they wrote about their newlywed brother? Until this weekend, neither had I.

Saturday morning, Jesterio and I (through the help of a friendly young southern Italian couple who had apparently relocated to the Chicago area) ventured to the South Bend area for the wedding of Chris "Gemkeezi" Gemkow and Selina "Now a Gemkeezi" Wozniak, as the sign outside the ballroom accurately portrayed.

Other attendees included none other than Tony "T-Dawg" Zumpano, Megan "Chach" Zumpano, Ryan "The Dane" Knudsen, Carrie "Married to a Dane" Knudsen, Jon "J-Diza" Dudek, Tracy "Soon to be T-Diza" Larson, Adam "McLure" McClure, Katie "Wenger" Wegner, Sean "Reisenbeck" Riesenbeck, and Bridget "Girl Juice" Spanbauer (you'll have to wait for this Thursday's Midwestern Eavesdropping to find out what that means).

The night was a rousing success. Here are some of the highlights:

• Chris's brother Pat gave a mildly entertaining, yet mildly awkward, speech at the reception. At one point, he explained that he finally knew Chris and Selina (who had been going out for nearly a decade) were in love two weeks ago when he saw them dancing horribly and looking into each other's eyes, or something like that. Then moments later, he said that he had seen them look at each other like that "a million times since then." He also explained how he pawned Chris's golf clubs to pay his rent.
• At weddings I tend to go with whiskey because it makes me happy and spry, enhancing my dancing abilities tenfold and my talking abilities twentyfold. After boldly starting with a whiskey on the rocks, I learned that my survival depended on having a mixer in there, so I switched to Manhattans. The bartenders made them sweet, so at no time did I have the opportunity to ask, "What have I done to deserve this flat, flavorless Manhattan?"
• J-Diza electrified the crowd with his modern and refreshing take on hip hip dancing.
• Through reasonable self-control and limited provocation, I was able to refrain from projecting my hatred of Notre Dame onto anyone, at least as far as I know.
• Speaking of disgusting, I spit a mouthful of Manhattan all over Tony during a particularly provocative dance move in which he grabbed my tie and started gyrating his hips so as to simulate intercourse.
• The Knudsens mysteriously left the reception, returning 45 minutes later. The only possiblities we could come up with were: (1) baby making in the 95-degree parking lot, (2) a quick tennis match (probably won by Ryan), (3) some sort of Danish ritual sacrifice in the nearby pond, involving Legos and butter cookies, or (4) practicing wheelbarrow racing, just in case.
• At the post-prom hotel party, we took it to the parking lot. There were probably about 25 people drinking in lot when I went to bed around 3:30.
• I met two other members (aside from Chris) of the short-lived Missoula, Montana-based power quartet The Franklins.
• Chris's female cousins nearly got the party busted after a cabbie was supposed to take them to their hotel, but then just drove them around, brought them back to the party hotel, kicked them out, and called the cops on them for no apparent reason. No worries, though, because one of them talked to the cops and the cabbie was soon tasered to all hell. Or maybe he just left. I can't remember.
• I woke up a little bit before 10, still a might bit tipsy. It wasn't all bad, though, because whenever I wake up still drunk, I never get a hangover. At least this time I didn't have to go to work.
• On the drive home, we stopped at a McDonald's at 10:45am, assuming we were 15 minutes late for breakfast. A sense of immeasurable, yet hesitant, elation washed over me as I walked into McDonald's to see the breakfast menu still up. I asked the obviously stoned 40-year-old woman with less than the requisite number of teeth who somehow has a job if my eyes were deceiving me. Alas, they were not. Feeling haughty and a bit sexually excited by the whole situation, I ordered not one, but two, Sausage McMuffins with Egg. The woman, confused out of her mind, asked, "Number 3?" I said, "No, just the sandwich, but I want two of them," to which she replied, "So, two number 3s?" I soon realized that she had no idea how to spell "Sausage McMuffin with Egg," and playing this rudimentary word association game was the only way my order was going to be punched into the machine correctly, so I said, "Yes, two number 3s, but just the sandwich." With the help of a minor miracle, I actually did receive two Sausage McMuffins with Egg. After finishing both of them, I quietly wept for the remainder of the ride.