2) Wedding B (summer 1996, Connecticut) - sorry ladies, this was RRTHUR's wedding. Some highlights here. Almost got into a fight with a whole band after telling one of their wives to "shut the fuck up." They were nice enough to document the night with some flattering photos of me on the floor of the hotel hallway, naked and with their balls in the general vicinitiy of my face. Nice.
Of course, that wasn't even the highlight of this wedding. After, oh, 7000 beers the night before the wedding Xmastime starts recieving amorous attention from Sheena Baughn (name changed to protect the old, withered, sexless and GUILTY!!!) You should know that Mrs. Baughn was a) recently widowed b) next door neighbors to RRTHUR'S parents c) oh, I'd say about 65 years old. Did this matter to our guy Xmastime? Nah. tongues down each others' throats like the plane was going down. Hands all over each other. Hey, it was a woman - I believe it was Thomas Jefferson who said "beauty is only a light switch away." Anyways, somehow I got out of actually sleeping with her, but you can imagine the horror the next morning of running into her, then explaing to RRTHUR's parents that on the eve of their son's wedding night I hooked up with their neighbor 40 years my senior. Between the fright of that PLUS spending the weekend crying and whining about my first love being there (high school gf, NOT Sheena Baughn!) that wedding day was pretty traumatic. WEDDINGS 2, XMASTIME 0
ps - fast forward 2 years. I had moved to NYC, and RRTHUR and MRS. RRTHUR (sorry ladies!) went down home to visit, and ended up at a barn dance. No, that doesn't mean I danced with a barn. So we get there and BAM! there's Sheena Baughn, dancing away. Oh, shit. I immediatly decide "This might be a good night to NOT drink 100 beers. Or one drop. Or smell booze from someone talking." Total precautions were taken - I avoided her all night, spent most of the time talking to my old jv football coach Charlie Futchko who, what with his creamy-white doughy body, 70's porn mustashe, collection of skintight coach's shorts and inability to say the letter "r" "Gwegowy!! dwop your dwawers!!" deserves his own Xmastime post. But anyways I made it through the whole night without running into her, and as we're getting ready to load up to go home I breathe a sigh of relief when...an old, withered, senior citizen hand that was pumping equals parts feral sexuality and Ben-Gay landed on my shoulder and sent ripples through my young body not seen since I almost got caught beating off as a kid (by Mr. Futchko…4 times. I mean caught BY Mr. Futchko, not that he was beating me off…where was I...oh yeah, about to hit some skins with an old lady). I turn with dread to a beaming smile “Do I get a dance?” she asked. Why not? I thought, you already took away my ability to sleep with the lights off. My brain was racing – I knew if I just ran off to the car, word would get back to RRTHUR’s parents (no ladies, he wasn’t merely sent down from angels!) that I acted like a jerk. I quickly ingested the upcoming song – it was midtempo, meaning I didn’t have to fast dance, and I didn’t have to rub up all over her wrinkled-up groins either. I mumbled okay, we hit the dance floor and I started counting down the seconds that I knew were left in the song. So we’re bopping along, “dancing”, and then she says “You’re a good dancer.” I mumble somehting like “thanks” and BAM!!!!!!! She yanks me close, pulling me right up to her and says “what else are you good at?” POOOOOINGGG!!! I was sitting in the mini-van screaming at everyone to load in and got the fuck out of there tout suite.
POSSIBLE ANSWERS SHE WAS LOOKING FOR FROM ME WHEN SHE ASKED “WHAT ELSE ARE YOU GOOD AT?”
b) “Sitz baths”
c) “Being a stepdaddy to people older than myself”
d) “Fuckin old ladies on hay bales”