June 28, 2005

Another Wedding

Here is the happy couple from the wedding I attended last weekend. Don’t they look spiffy?

This is the third wedding I’ve been to in the last ten months, and I must admit that I’m really coming to enjoy these things. And just like any other trip I make, this one has fantastic stories.

First, realize that I hadn’t even been back in the states for 36 hours before it was time for me and Delaware Dave to jump in the Bomobile and head to Latrobe, PA for this wedding. The drive up was gorgeous. The parts of West Virginia and western Pennsylvania that don’t look like scenes out of “Coal Miner’s Daughter” are really pretty. That’s necessary when driving through parts far from any major city. After Richmond, there’s not a lick of anything urban on that drive. We were also under the impression that Latrobe was near Pittsburgh. Delaware summed that one up well.

“If she’s from Pittsburgh, I’m from New York City.” Dave’s really from Wilmington, Delaware. Yep, it was in the cut like that.

But we made the trip because Soccer Dave’s great peoples and his wife is, also. Top that off with the fact that there would be crab cakes at the wedding reception, and I was there.

Oh, important detail–I was the entirety of the negroid delegation. That doesn’t bother me anymore; I’ll take a good time wherever it comes, and the folks in my department, by and large, are such good people that nothing is ever uncomfortable about that. That’s a big step in my life. Coming out of college, dealing with white folks had the tendency to be an ordeal. What’s happened since? Some of my closest friends are some of the whitest people on planet Earth. Does it matter? Not at all. Growing up is an interesting thing.

Either way, Soccer Dave’s a smart guy. When his friends approached him about performing some embarrassing karaoke the night before the wedding, he asked me, “will this wind up on BomaniJones.com?” It will not, but it’s good that he knows the deal.

Anyway, wedding day came, and I must say that me and the econ boys were looking sharp.

This gentleman, however, was not.

‘Twas a Catholic cermony. It’s been a while since I’d been to one of those, but they take their time. For those unfamiliar, it’s really a mass with a wedding worked in. I’m not the churchiest, but the ceremony was really beautiful. There was a bit too much standing and sitting for a cat with knees like mine. Still, gorgeous affair. Gorgeous church, too.

Clearly, God has good taste.

From the wedding, it’s time to get to the good time–the reception. There is little in this world better than a wedding reception. Now, as the only Negro and with knowledge that this event would be at a country club, I was a bit worried someone might have gotten mixed up and asked me to get to work. Look up at that suit I was wearing. Drop the jacket and make that a white shirt, and I would have then been matching the help. Thank goodness my white shirts are all in Atlanta. Otherwise, I might have had to fight someone.

The reception was at Arnold Palmer’s country club. Walking in, I was pretty sure I was the only nigga to have ever stepped foot in that piece. Then I saw a picture of Tiger Woods on the wall. I’m number two. Three if they let Tiger bring his daddy to dinner. I felt like a pioneer.

We all know why receptions are the best–free food and drank. I already mentioned that crab cake. Came with a really good steak, also. Before that, though, there was wine.

And it was free.

And it was good.

And after what couldn’t have been more than half an hour, I was the first person in the house to get drunk. Don’t believe me?

Look in those eyes and tell me what you see. Drank so much wine at first that it should have burned when I blinked.

Got sober enough pretty quick, though. Good ol’ agua, baby. Good meal, too. Otherwise, I would have passed out, and I’m too old to pass out in public. Never have. Never will.

(That rapping you hear is me knocking on wood.)

But sobriety couldn’t last for long, now could it? Got drunk again. After a few hours of dancing–and no, I can’t dance, but you can do whatever you want when you party with drunk white folks, especially if you are the Negro delegation–I needed something more to make the evening complete.

Yeah, I do remember the twenty-first night of September, but I sure didn’t remember the words to that song. I did, however, know the words to “Sweet Home Alabama” when I had to rescue the bride’s sister’s boyfriend from butchering the song. Real talk, I was good and gone, baby. Good thing being the only Negro in the house made me, automatically, the coolest dude in the room. And I was single…stories for another day.

For real, great times.

This wedding was a blast for a lot of reasons, though. The last wedding I went to was with slightly older people, and my buddy looked like he’d have been cool no matter what happened. That’s not to say he doesn’t love his lady, but he’s not an excitable guy. Dave seemed thrilled to be getting married, ecstatic to be with the woman he was marrying, just excited by everything. That was almost contagious. I’d be overwhelmed to have some shit as beautiful as theirs, and not just the wedding. Again, little is better than knowing that your buddy has done well for himself.

But this was great. More stories that can’t be put on this here site, but a fantastic time. I’m still waiting on one of the core folks to get married so I can throw a bachelor party, though. Matter fact, they don’t even have to get married. Fake baby out, go with us to the shake joint, then go back to what was there before. Sometimes, pimpin’, you just gotta take one for your folks.

And that is all.

8 Comments »

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1. Sounds like you had fun Bomani. I’m almost afraid to ask what these stories you can’t tell us are about. You and a bunch of white folk in the middle of rural Pennsylvania, sounds interesting to me. (This coming from a Philly resident of 6 years).

   Comment by strong4u — June 28, 2005 #

2. Glad to see you had a blast at the wedding. I must agree, little is better than knowing you folks are doing well and are happy. That is how I feel now with most of my folk coming up in some way. And yeah, you do look kinda bent in those pics.

   Comment by Star — June 28, 2005 #

3. Hehe..at first I read what you were saying and I smiled.

   But that picture of you singing was hilarious. That summarizes your night right there, like “yeah, I had a good time damnit.” And I’m sure you’ll get calls to be in other weddings to entertain folks.

   Good times.

   Comment by Ron — June 28, 2005 #

4. Man..lookin at that suit got me ready to hit the optometrist..that shit hurt my eyes… Kinda looks like a cross between Garret Morris’ character from Martin and Bentley Farnsworth’s lightweight arse.

   But, contrary to what some may think, white people can friggin party, mane. I’m glad to see you had fun..and looking at the tightness in your eyes..you were liiiiiiiiiiiiit, my brotha…

   Wine is a helluva drank..especially if it’s free

   Comment by Fred Batiste, A Weapon of Mass Destruction — June 28, 2005 #

5. “Nice day for a White Wedding…” - Billy Idol

   Wow, I haven’t been to a white wedding in a long time. Went to a couple of weddings this summer already. A cousin of my wife was getting hitched. So, my wife’s father is a Baptist Pastor, so mad church folks were at the wedding and why is that the DJ decided to get crunk and throw on some Lil Jon with a bunch of old church ladies in the house?

   The first time in a long time that I was embarassed of being a young cat… I had to sneak out…

   Comment by Quibian 'Q' Salazar-Moreno — June 30, 2005 #

6. Those wedding pictures were a gas! I attended a predominately white high school so I had to attend a few of those functions myself. Did you have that moment when it felt like everyone in the room was looking at you to provide the evenings entertainment?

   Free wine and beer always lower the inhibitions.

   “Sweet Home Alabama” always get the white folk crunk. “Freebird” is also a good choice.

   Comment by big grip — June 30, 2005 #

7. One of the livest weddings I’ve been to was a white wedding. But I swear to God there were two times during the evening I thought my wife and I were about to be lynched:

   1. When it took us 45 minutes of driving through the backwoods of Michigan to find the joint. Thought they were pulling our leg and taking us directly to the bonfire.

   2. When everyone formed a circle around the bride and groom and the dj said “C’Mon Everybody! You know what time it is!” I thought we were f*cked. Turns out it was the Chicken Dance (something I’d never heard of or seen before that night–explaining it to my integrated black history class the week after, all the white students knew exactly what i was talking about, while all the black students were as dumbfounded as I was).

   Comment by Lester Spence — July 3, 2005 #

8. Sweet Home Alabama? Nothing against that song, but if you really wanted to get things poppin’ you should have done E.U.’s Doin Da Butt.

   Comment by C-Dogg — July 16, 2005 #

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