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I luckily found a Macy's and booked it inside to have them measure my arms and neck so that I wouldn't have to spend the rest of my afternoon trying shit on like a woman (note: not even gay men like to piss away an afternoon twirling in front of a mirror in a clothing store while checking out how fat their asses have become in the surrounding mirrors). They gave me my size --16" neck and 36-37" arm length (I've got fucking gorilla arms, shut the fuck up) -- and then I began tearing the store apart looking for a shirt in that size to match my suit.... None existed. After spending 35 minutes with 3 effeminate store clerks scouring the shelves for any gray/white/light blue/or even purple or pink shirt in my size, one clerk finally conceded that "most guys in this city are fairly petite. Sorry, sir, but you're just too much man for us I guess. *Giggle*" I shit you not. He giggled.

The giggler's coworker then suggested that I check out the big and tall shop down the road, but I told him to shut the fuck up by punching him in the nuts. Then a third store worker suggested I try a size larger in the neck but with a "fitted" collar or some such. I did pass one shirt with a 16 1/2" neck with my arm length, so I just bought it without trying it on because I was tired, hungry and sick of talking about clothes and how pretty different shit would look on me. I got a tie too, but whatever.

Long story shorter: I found a used game store in the same mall as Macy's and found a GameBoy Advanced game I had been looking for for months now! Street Fighter Alpha 3. For only $15 it was a steal... Short story made just a bit longer: I accidently set two kids on fire while in the store. After that, I just made it to the Chinese restaurant that I was meeting the MegaPlayboy and Firecracker at right when they arrived. We all looked a little out of place there, and not just because we were all frumpy from getting off of a jet, or walking across a 50 mile bridge -- we were the only non-Asian people in the whole damn place. True, it meant that the food must be really good, but I still felt strangely aware of the fact that my eyelids didn't have an epicanthic fold. Plus I think that our waiter may have played a joke... Most notably with Firecracker's Coke.

Beyond that though, the grub was great. The wait staff was very impressed that we white devils "knew good chow" when we ate it... I hoped that he meant "food", but he could very well have been referring to a breed of dog. It filled us up, that's all that mattered. Then together we all caravanned up to Santa Rosa where all the happy, happy, gay wedding festivities would soon take place. When we got there we hit a bar for a quick brew, and then I checked into my hotel and crashed at about 11PM Pacific time: 2AM EST. Fun.

This picture is... Whoa. Honestly, I don't even remember posing for it. The gayness must have really taken over by this point.

I do like how I so effortlessly mimicked the little, dancing girl's pose. I tell ya, I'm like a fucking Zartan! A wannabe GAY Zartan! Oh, that reminds me of another funny anecdote. There was that other time on the night of the actual wedding when I used my Zartan powers for evil. I snuck into the honeymoon suite at the Manor House (looking for wedding loot, get your mind out of the gutter), made up to look like the Colonel groom himself, when the door suddenly opened and somebody came in. At first I thought it was the bride, and I tried to get out of there, but the person kept feeling me up in the dark and telling me how "yummy" I was, and soon I found I was putty in their hands... After a quick roll in the hay, and a broken box spring later, the door kicked open again and the Colonel and his wife stood in the doorway. Then they clicked on the lights and saw me entangled with the brother of... You know what. We'll just leave that Three's Company-styled misunderstanding there.


Day 2: Friday, September 16th
The MegaPlayboy and Firecracker woke me up waaaaay too fucking early on Friday morning (right in the middle of a most non-gay dream ever). They were both hungry or some shit, and so I reluctantly got out of bed and joined them for a tasty breakfast in downtown Santa Rosa. Downtown Santa Rosa, I might add, is a cute and clean area with small shops and restaurants everywhere. It's kind of what I always hoped Athens, Georgia would turn into once the older residents got off their asses and killed all the noisy and pukey college kids who make the place smell like fecal vomit every Friday night -- typically just as the funk was beginning to wear off from the previous week.

What? Oh yeah, breakfast... It was good, but the whole town may have been a bit too quiet for me. I was still expecting all the binge drinkers from the night before to be crawling out of the trashcans and out into the sidewalks, spitting up whatever they had left in their systems while calling up their frat brothers to ask "Yo, what the fuck happened last night? Why did you leave me in the alley behind Spinners like that? What?! YOU took Linda home?... Linda's my girlfriend, you medieval asshole! I am so gonna buy a gun and shoot you in the... *BLOOOORRRF!*" Ahhh, college towns do indeed rule.

After my French toast we caravanned up to the "Manor House" where all the main social events of the next two days would occur. This is where I met everyone from the bride's side for the first time. Unfortunately, all the hotties I was introduced to then were already married. At first I was pissed, but then the MegaPlayboy reminded me of my weekend gayness oath. Actually that didn't really help much at that point either. As much as I tried, I was finding it very difficult to get and remain gay while outside of Frisco itself. Trust me, it's not as easy as it seems, especially after meeting the bride's sister. Daaaaamn.

So we all gathered, and waited to get picked up by the stretch Hummer-limo that was going to take the whole crew around to three wineries in the area for wine tastings... Because the recent film Sideways was apparently a great movie about wine tasting... And because it starred Lowell from Wings. It's hard to argue with that. But, soon a problem arose in which too many people actually showed up for the wineries tour. I was volunteered to ride in the B car, and tail the limo, while the rest of the party took place in the well-stocked, block-long, pimped out, party bus. I took my lack of luck in stride and only tried to slash the limo tires once or twice before we had to leave. And truth be told, I think that Car B had a better time anyway. We didn't have to watch our mouths in front of the bride's and groom's families, and so we found ourselves spilling tons of gossip about the marrying couple, and telling the dirtiest jokes involving farm animals, Pollocks and nuns. Though when we got to the first winery, us Car B people got a little pissed when we found out that the limo riders were already a little tipsy. They were hitting the bubbly that the driver brought for them like Paris Hilton on a diseased cock. That's when Car B came up with a plan.

When all's said and done I'm actually glad I got Car B. You wouldn't believe half the shit I learned about the Colonel or his bride-to-be while listening to those guys gossip. I then felt obligated to tell them all something dishy about the couple myself. I couldn't think of anything really, so I just made up a story about catching the Colonel in his garage with a baby deer, some honey, and his pants around his ankles. My audience was all aghast at this narrative, so I kept going. I brought in a pyromaniacal midget, a monkey with leprosy, and Kathy Bates -- and by the end of the story both Kathy and the monkey were dead, and the cops arrested the midget after raiding the house on a narcotics tipoff, after which the Colonel implicated the small man in a plot to kill the guy who plays Santa at the mall at Christmastime and Uncle Sam on the 4th of July. That guy also plays the neighborhood crazy-guy who likes to hide razorblade's in the candy that he gives out on Halloween, but other than that he's pretty cool. Fuck that dwarf!

The plan was simple, but sneaky. Oh who the fuck am I kidding? We carried it out with the delicacy of a Viking berserker-warrior hepped up on acid and let loose in a ceramic shop filled with nothing but little statues giving the finger. We had somebody keep watch of the limo-group as they drunkenly marched up to the main entrance of the winery, and then we had one of the ladies (or was it Gary dressed up as a lady?) hit on the limo driver and keep his attention away from me while I went all sniper on the fully stocked fridge in the back of the bus. I am so fucking bad ass.

So by the time we were all seated in the fancy tasting area in the winery cellar, pretty much everybody there was already toasted. But that didn't stop us from becoming the lushes we knew we could be. The hot little hostess and her helpers kept bringing out new wines for us to sample (each glass had only 2-3 sips in it), but they were very generous and eager to refill any chalice that suddenly became empty. By the fifth wine the hostess learned to just fill my glass to the brim (she earned a "thank you spanking" for her awesomeness there). Soon the room began to swim, and everybody knew it was time to either move me to the next place, or just leave me nailed up in "one of the giant wine barrels till the flesh rotted off" my bones and the stench of my carcass made even the rats flee the cellar... Just a joke my ass...

In actuality, I felt like a combination of James Bond (Connery or Brosnan only, not Moore or Dalton), a ninja, a sniper and gay Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. This kind of thing is what I was trained to do. What I was BORN to do: Sneak into places and steal alcohol. Yes, it was a team effort, and thanks to everyone involved I got totally faced full minutes before I would have had I waited till we got to the wine tasting room. Viva la resistance!

We did take a moment of silence in memory of Gary and his brave sacrifice. The limo driver shot him four times in the chest and face (four times in each... he had to reload) when he realized that he wasn't in fact a she (Gary must have really been putting out if the driver was able to figure that out so fast and get so mad about it!). I guess the limo driver wasn't on a gay-quest that weekend himself. Gary, your memory lives on. Viva la Garicina!

Anyway, somehow I made it to the second winery. I truly wish I remembered the name of this one only because it SUCKED so bad. Our group still had a fun time, but our "hostess" was really Stalin in drag... and she kept the mustache. She wouldn't allow us to get started on the wine tasting until we all shut up. Try getting almost 30 drunkards who are eager to keep tossing them back to shut the fuck up. It's like telling a fraternity guy that the doped up 15 year-old girl visiting her brother, passed out in the corner is off limits... It ain't gonna happen. Soon though, we did get our whispers down to an apparently acceptable level and the bitch hostess began her 15 minute long shpiel about the history of the winery, the story of its flavorful dirt, and the proper way to "explode the molecules of the wine" in the glass, sniff the wine thricely through one's nose (not once, definitely not twice, but thrice!), and then gargle it like it was watered down Listerine... By the time she would even allow us to start drinking heavily, I mean tasting the wine, most of the group was already losing their previous buzzes. Whattawhore! And despite the fact that she knew the proper way to taste wine, the place was so cheap that we had to taste all the wines in the same glass without any water to cleanse our palettes. Not that this really mattered to me (I'm told that one of my catchphrases of the day was "Now THAT'S a wine I can chug!"), but it just showed what a retard our hostess truly was.

What showed what a complete BITCH she was was when the bride herself tried to refill a friend's sample of the third wine that afternoon. The hostess was boring us with the way that that certain wine had a hint of the horse manure in it that the land was famous for, and wasn't paying any attention to her guests (who were PAYING her salary)... That is she wasn't paying attention until she caught site of the bride's hand on the neck of the bottle that the hostess left on the table. Then, with the speed of a tiger (a butt-ass-ugly tiger) on a baby lamb, she stretched out and fucking SLAPPED the bride's hand off the bottle. She fucking physically assaulted the bride. Holy shit it was awesome! I couldn't believe I saw something that incredibly stupid; in fact most of the guests who witnessed it weren't sure they saw it, but then the hostess rubbed the shame in even further by waving her fat, fucking finger in the bride's face and screaming, "No! No no no NO! Nobody touches the wine but ME!" Dutchboy caught the whole thing on his video-recording camera phone and we replayed the shit out of it the rest of the day. Also, to make up for the hostess being such a rag-sucking beast, Car B stole 3 bottles of the least crappy wine at the tasting while the father of the bride held the bitch's attention by putting her in a full-nelson till she died. Christ! This simple wine-tasting was turning into one of the top 20 fatality-filled days of my life!


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