Things To Do In DC When You're DEAD (tired)

PAGE III - Hells Bells

The next morning, I woke up at around 11AM. It took a while to get me mobile again, but soon I started calling up all my friends and asking if they wanted to get some breakfast. They all had already. What the fuck? I thought I was cutting it short on sleep getting up when I did, but what was up with everybody else? I was equally annoyed at myself for apparently sleeping in, and at everyone else who didn't want to have second breakfast with me while I had my firstsies.

I ran down to Crystal City, grabbed a few Dunkin' Donuts and a milk, and ate in a quiet corner of the food court with my sunglasses on, a newspaper held up high with two eye-holes punched in it, and my iPod plugged into only one ear. I then kept turning my whole upper torso around to follow certain hot women in sun dresses around whenever they passed. I either looked like an awesome secret agent, or the world's creepiest pervert. Hey, it got me one phone number... Though not one from a hot chick in a sun dress, but from that other guy in sunglasses in the mall who kept turning his newspaper with the hole in it at me. It wasn't an "eye-hole" either.

After explaining to the cops why I had to kill that guy I ran back up to my room, shaved, showered, and then met Mehve and Psycho Weasel at their quarters. Since Psycho brought a car and was smart enough to look up directions to the church, I teamed up with them, and soon we found ourselves getting lost in Arlington, VA like champs! Okay, yeah, Google Maps is a pretty cool concept, but when they list things like "stay right for 100 ft, hard left, left-right on Mayburn Rd with quarter pirouette into octo circle drive on center turn ways ixtli mayana quetzalcoatl. Dismount," it kind of becomes pointless.

Ryouki powah!

As we pulled into the parking lot of the only Catholic Church we could find in the area, Mehve asked if we were sure this was the place. I simply pointed to the Acura parked in front of us. Psycho Weasel and Mehve then silently nodded and we got out.

We went inside (where it was air conditioned, just like God intended) and soon met up with Foxfur, Bloodberry, and Firefly's Wash. We were then escorted to the groom's side of the pews by some ushers who were obviously peeved they didn't make the cut as a groomsmen. Hell, they should have been thankful! Do you know how many dead hookers and monkeys I had to bury over the years as a best man or groomsman? That number would astound you and the cops.

As we waited for things to kick off and Mulder to get all wedded and stuff, the rest of the gang started to freak out a little.

"Rossman," Psycho Weasel asked, "You were raised Catholic, right?"

"Do you see me bragging?.... But yes, I was," I responded.

"Good! This is apparently a full-blown, four-alarm, mass wedding! What the fuck are we supposed to do?! They like stand, sit, kneel, and eat crackers and shit during these things, right? Wait, there's booze too, isn't there?"

"Relax," I said. "Just follow my lead. If I stand up, you stand up. If I sit, you sit. If I pull out this little cushion at the base of the seats ahead of us (like what I have installed under my bed at home), you follow me and kneel. The Jesus cookie though, probably not a good idea for any of us today. That thing can smell sin from a mile away."

Everybody then relaxed some (including some of the people behind us who listened in and who were apparently freaking out a bit too). Unfortunately, it's been a while since my last mass, and even though all the songs, responses, and prayers had long since been drilled into my head — and I was able to repeat them like Pavlov's dog at a can opener convention — I must not have been paying attention too much during the actual ceremony. I found myself standing up at the wrong times, sitting down when I wasn't supposed to, and saying "Amen" at bad moments too... Like when the priest asked if there was anyone who had a reason for why these two shouldn't wed. The only consolation I had was that everybody in my row and a bunch of those around us followed suit blindly. Nobody said a word about it afterward either. It just was.

Space Pope Palpatine

What was up with the Jedi Knights in the Star Wars prequels? In the first three movies we're led to believe that they were all smart, powerful, non-dickhead commandos of the Old Republic, but in George Lucas' three prequels we find out they're all arrogant, manipulative, slimy douchebags completely out of touch with the reality of the universe, and were easily tricked into that whole Clone Wars thing. Was I the only one who actually sided with Palpatine in Revenge of the Sith?

The wedding went off without a hitch... Wait, no, there was a hitch, but it was like the RIGHT two people getting hitched, but you get what I mean. Anyway, in order to even things out a bit, Mehve and I let Bloodberry, Firefly's Wash, and Foxfur go back with Psycho Weasel in his car, and we took a taxi back to the hotel. Then we went to the hotel bar while we waited for those guys to get unlost and make it back themselves an hour later. Then we went to another bar in Crystal City.

We had until 6PM to hang out and drink while the newlyweds and their entourage got their pictures taken by more professional people than I, so we drank and drank. And ate. I ordered a "Super Mega Supreme Nachos" appetizer meant for 8, and was the only one to really dig into it. But that was okay, 'cause it allowed me to drink even more with a full stomach.

Before we knew it though, Mehve announced that it was 5:45, and we better head back to our hotel, where the reception was to take place at. I said fine, finished up my fifth pint, and found that it was a little harder to walk than I remembered... But I didn't want my friends to think I was drunk or anything, so I stayed behind them on the way back and did my best to sober up before the dancing and stuff started up at the big wedding party. See, there were at least 3 very cute bridesmaids that I saw who didn't have rings on themselves, and I was determined to... ummmm, for the sake of some of my under-18 and wussy readers, let's just say "dance the night away" with one or all three. Little did I remember my own rules for The Theory of Relative Chaos. Goddammit.

The Rossman sat here.

..........This is one of the most awesome things anybody has ever done for me. I'm not shitting you, my seating plaque is on my mantelpiece. Mulder, you're the goddamn MAN!

Everybody quickly freshened up in their rooms, and then we all went down to the hotel ballroom separately. I, though, bumped into the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Mulder in the hallway of my floor, and introduced myself to the Mrs. for the first time. I don't think my slight slurring impressed her any, but Mulder didn't seem to really notice, and after a short elevator ride down to the second floor they disappeared from my sight again to do more meeting and greeting, and I set my own sights on those same beautiful bridesmaids again. Unfortunately that's when I noticed that one of them was already wrapped all around some weaselly-looking (no offense, Psycho Weasel) hippie douchebag, with the longest, unwashed hair I've ever seen on a 5'3" man in my life. What a goddamn loser.... who bagged one of the cutest girls I've ever seen with beer goggles on.

I was a bit let down, but remembered that there were still two more hotties to look out for. While I milled around the growing crowd (that was waiting for the official start to the festivities), I found my seating plaque (see above for how awesome Mulder is), and found that the entire Greenwood and UGAnime group (that wasn't in the wedding party) was all at one table. Pay attention to this, all you peeps out there planning a reception! Do like Mulder! Do NOT separate your college friends up to multiple tables in the hopes that they'll "meet more people and not be bored" or whatever... That's just retarded. Let your groups of friends actually sit together so that they can all talk about all the other people at the dinner behind their backs. That's just common courtesy.

Eets so PURteeee!

Things really didn't start for a while after 6, so we cool kids went outside and smoked/pretended to smoke to look cool. And we mocked all the non-smoking fags (that's a pun, get it!) inside the whole while too. We were so naughty.

Soon, after the reception hall really began to fill up, I noticed that another one of the un-ringed 'maids was holding hands with a guy, and then, in absolute disgust, I located the last and the hottest girl... On the arm of a skinhead soccer-hooligan-looking dip who was in a grey T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes... What. The. Fuck. I mean, at least the hippie loser with the other hot chick was in a suit, and the second girl's guy looked normal, but what the goddamn fuck!? The bride's parents looked pretty strict and all, I can't believe they'd let this loser into the reception looking like that! That final realization that there were NO single women in the room that night was probably the final straw that made me give in and start doing something I really KNEW I shouldn't have done. As soon as I saw Soccer Hooligan grab his girl's ass with one dirty hand (and make her spill half her glass of white wine), I made a bee-line for the open bar.

"One Amstel, please," I ordered from the bartender, and the rest, as they say, is history.

That one decision to stop caring and start boozing it up was probably what led to one of the most embarrassing moments of my life... but first, the dinner.


Mulder tracked us cool kids down, and Mehve showed up to laugh at our lung cancer. Then we all went inside and shit got REAL.


Dinner Bells

After my second Amstel at the reception, everybody started to get ushered into the dining hall for the feast. I sat back down at my table, and that's when I noticed that all the guests had either a red or a yellow sticker on the back of their name plaques.

I turned to Bloodberry and asked, "Hey, why do I have a yellow sticker on the back of mine, and you have a red one? Are these the results of our bloodtests? I thought that shit was confidential!"

She just told me, "That's to let the waiters know what you ordered for dinner. See, red for me and my hubby, since we ordered the steak, and yellow for you, for your chicken meal."

That's when I knew something was wrong, even in my slightly inebriated state. "Whoa," I said, "There is no way in Hell above I ordered 'chicken' anything when there was an option for red meat! That's gotta be a mistake!... Wait! Soccer Hooligan did this to me, didn't he!" I emphasized this last bit by pointing and glaring at him across the room, my teeth bared.

But since nobody was paying attention to me anymore, I simply took the sticker off my plaque and stuck it under the table. When the waiter tried to hand me my chicken dinner I simply said, "Excuse me, but I ordered the steak." He looked at the back of my plaque himself, and not finding a yellow sticker, apologized, and within a minute I had the biggest, thickest, juiciest slab of beef in front of me that I had ever seen. It was about 1/3rd larger than anybody else's at the table. I then smiled.

Ryouki powah!

One of Mulder's decrees that night was that Drunk Captain Rugged show up. In kind of a backwards Godfather moment, the Cap'n was bound by law to make his wish come true. Drunk Captain Rugged then made his grand appearance about 60 minutes later, and there was much rejoicing.