Monday, September 29, 2008

No Giants Game? Screw it, let's go wedding crashing!

Or not. A buddy of mine got married this weekend in Rhode Island, and yours truly had the honor of being Best Man. Some thoughts:

-I didn't have to be there until Friday night, but being unemployed, I figured I'd show up Thursday and help set up. Since the wedding was in Rhode Island and I needed money to drop from the sky, a trip to the Foxwoods blackjack table was clearly in order.

-And once again, I remembered why I hate Foxwoods. I would take AC over Connecticut every day and twice on Sundays. Though I'm pretty sure the only reason that I hate Foxwoods is that I keep losing money there, while I keep leaving AC with a surplus of cash.

-To say that Foxwoods is sketchy is to say that the New York third basemen are not very good at hitting in the clutch. Of course when you go on a Thursday afternoon, what do you expect? The three people I found:
1. Asians who took the Chinatown bus from Boston.
2. Old people who took the Chinatown bus from Boston.
3. Old Asians who took the Chinatown bus from Boston.

-Don't get me wrong, I didn't mind playing with these fine people until they started playing my hand in Blackjack. For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, it's when someone puts money on your hand and win or lose based on your result. I've never seen this done before, and I don't like it. My main beef with someone playing my hand is this:

1. Play your own hand and stop worrying about me. There's room at this table, lest we forget it's a Thursday afternoon.

2. IF you're going to play my hand, stop talking to me. You don't want to get between a jew and his money.
IF you're going to talk to me, please stop yelling in my ear.
IF you're going to yell in my ear, do it in English and not Chinese. Thanks.

After a first shoe and a half I was up $20 and about to leave Foxwoods.
After using my profits for lunch, I decided to keep going and lost $40. (Down $20)
After getting served at that table, I decided I'd win my money back at the table I won the $20 at earlier. Lost another $40.
Final tally for those of you keeping score at home: -$60

-After Foxwoods, it was off to help set up the wedding. A word of advice, if you're going to have an outdoor wedding, make sure that a Nor'easter isn't heading your way. The wedding was a fairly do-it-yourself affair at the bride's uncle's massive summer house in Rhode Island. It's amazing what about 5 inches of rain can do to a carefully manicured lawn, tent covering or no.

Hey Devo, weren't you best man? Tell me about your speech?

Well, dear SUS reader, I nailed it. But the best man speech is odd-jokes that you think are corny get a huge reception, while jokes that you think will slay the audience allow crickets to be heard. An example of each:

Corny: Doesn't the bride look great? She's glowing and radiating sheer joy. And being from Jersey, if there's one thing I know it's radiation and glowing.
Stupid, no? Well, it brought the house down. Who knew?

Hilarious: The groom has always been there for me. Even today, he knew to plan the wedding during the Giants bye week.

I think two people laughed at that-a devoted Redskins fan and my dad. Clearly I found the 150 people in the country not watching the NFL on Sundays.

Oh, and lest I forget, there's the divisive cursing; I rocked a holy shit as part of the toast. There's clearly a corollary here-the closer your blood relationship to the bride and groom, the less you laugh. The bride's father? Not laughing. My group of friends? In stitches.

The bride comes from a very Irish Catholic background-her father is one of 10 kids and she's the oldest of 8, which led to this line: "I had dinner with 5 of the bride's siblings the other night. When 5 relatives of mine close in age get together, we have a word for that-Hanukah." Brought the house down with that line-though I'm sure there were some folks wondering who let the Jew into the party. I'm pretty sure I saw an old man move his wallet into his front pocket after that line.

But clearly the best part of being the best man is that you get to go around telling everyone the following line: You may be a GOOD man, but I'm the BEST man. After telling Mahatma this joke, I was told that I'm out of the running for his best man.

And lastly, the Devo drunken misspeak of the night: One of the bride's aunts asked me to dance. And being the P.I.M.P that I am, who was I to turn her down? So I went and rocked out. As I said earlier, the bride's father is one of 10 siblings. I meant to say: 1 to 10, which are you in the order of siblings? But instead it came out as something along the lines of:On a scale of 1-10, how would you describe yourself? Needless to say, I avoided eye contact with her at all costs during the brunch the following morning...

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