Saturday:

Wedding and Old Friends

Got up late. Called several friends, and found that none were going to the wedding. So i worked out, and hustled off to the ceremony.

"A half an hour late...no problem. Just slide in back and no one is the wiser." I thought to myself.

No such luck.

I pulled up to the chapel, just as the wedding party had exited to form the receiving line. The only approach to the chapel was to walk dead at them. I couldn't even sneak in the back without being seen.

Of course, they gave me a hard time, but all were glad to see me. Felt guilty about missing the service, but could do nothing about it. A man with a mesmerizing shirt walked through the line. It was red, yellow and orange, with many real life pictures of motorcycles that had the number 22 embossed on its side all over at strange angles. I was bedazzled, and stared unwaveringly as he walked thorugh the line, trying to discern if someone actually had the sort of taste to wear a NASCAR shirt to a wedding. But it was motorcycles. (wtf?)

It made me realize that no one ever told this guy anything. He was on top of his world and kicking ass. Who am I to disrupt his illusions?

So I left to go change my shirt and see some old friends.

Back home, I changed my shirt and looked in the mirror. White collared shirt, black sport-coat, black courduroys, black socks, black soft leather shoes, accented by a Vincent VanGogh print tie of Starry Night. I had the moon placed just right a few inches below the knot. Pair of shades, and I was ready to roll.

Went over to see some old friends. I am a friend of the family. We have spent a lot of time together, and they respect and love me very much. I end up dispensing something like therapy when I am there, but I do not mind. I like to imagine that I have helped them in some small way.

Smoked a bunch of reefer, and my friend(who is married with four kids and works at a chemical industrial giant) gave me a quarter. Just gave it to me. Had his wife go get some rolling papers and stuff them in my hand.

I think I only paid for one beer the whole time I was home.

Anyway, feeling good, loose, and stoned, I meandered through the contryside out to the reception, steeling myself for what would be an interesting time.

Jumpin' Jack Flash came on the radio, in a bizzarrely coincidental run of good songs on what appears to be endless amounts of classic rock stations, and I felt fine.

On to the reception.