New Joint and Nuptial Reflections

Business…I’ve got something on ESPN about LeBron’s ascenscion to the top, largely at the expense of imposters that came before him.

(I’m writing this on my flight back to Durham from Los Angeles, so this’ll be a bit long-winded.)
For the first time since I was ten years old, I was in a wedding this weekend, hence the photo above. Hmmm, what to say…

Weddings are a trip at this point are a trip for me. Most people I know frequently comment on how their friends are dropping like flies to marriage, but that ain’t the case in my world. My female friends frequently suffer from the inconveniences that can come from being intelligent, successful black women in a world when black men are checking into the pen’ like there’s a group rate. My boys are…my boys. Most of my folks are conditioned to pimp or are kind enough not to inflict any woman to a lifetime of dealing with their stankin’ asses. Me, I’m in that latter category. The sorrow I feel for someone who thinks they could put up with this for a lifetime is real. Even more pity goes to someone who might think they could stay with me long enough to get half of everything. All you’d be splittin with me are Visa bills, shawty. You can have half of what I own. Or, in this case, owe. The most glamorous thing about writing is my site. The most glamorous thing about being a grad student is Christmas vacation. That tagline up to ain’t no joke…it’s a way of life.
But back to this wedding…my good buddy Ruff gave his soul over this weekend. I must say it was a beautiful sight. It was beautiful to see him all tuxed up and to hear him express how much he loved his lady, especially since I’ve only heard him happy about old Run-DMC records. The bride was beautiful, all of that. Weddings really are the happiest occasions out there. Plus, there’s free champagne. And after, say, two or ten glasses, that joint was ten times more crunk than Sammy Davis, Jr.’s Bar Mitzvah. The real humor was at the reception when i walked down the aisle with my accompanying bridesmaid. If you didn’t know, I’m a solid 6’4″. As I walked down the aisle, I realized that I was shorter than she was. Never did it dawn on me I would not be the tallest person in the wedding, and I surely didn’t expect to be towered over by a bridesmaid. Luckily, she toned down the heel game for the wedding itself. There’s something odd about looking up to a woman when you don’t even look up to most men who don’t have sneaker contracts. Weird stuff, man.
But you think about things when you’re in a tux watching people at the altar. You wonder if anyone else there thinks that you look like you should be waiting tables or parking cars. You wonder if the bride and groom are really comfortable with the gravity of what they’re entering into (in this case, they appear to be). You wonder if the wine you drank the night before and the words that came as a result may have embarrassed those close to you (jury’s out). You sorta wonder if you’ll ever be in that situation. You wonder if the groom’s alertness means that you didn’t show him enough of a good time at the bachelor party. You wonder what it must feel like to have someone you wanna be with until you check out. You wonder what the open bar’s gonna be talkin’ ’bout. And, in some cases, you wonder if you need to step up when they opportunity to speak up is offered.
Didn’t feel that compulsion at this one. I’ve got a few friends that’ll take it there, though. There is nothing worse than watching one of your boys get hemmed up by a woman that’s no good for him. As a man, your goal should be to marry out of your league. My daddy did. Most of the cats I know that are happily married have. Ashy Larry, the most happily married man on earth, firmly believes that he has (he never says it, but I can see it). I don’t knock him for that, though. He should feel that way. If he didn’t, that would mean that he settled. The rest of your life is just that, pimpin…forever. I know how I felt when I was dumb enough to think I had someone I could spend the rest of my life. I’m lucky that she realized that this wasn’t a come-up for her and went on about her bidness. Had she not, I’d probably be a miserable bastard right now. Instead, I’m just jaded. Jaded’s better, trust me. Jaded means you tell really interesting and sarcastic jokes. Misery means drinking a pint of Erk & Jerk every night when you get off work.
Score–Jaded 1, Misery -129.
(Station break…a guy on the plane just told me he was familiar with palmistry, and I’m not too familiar with it, but he says that you can figure out a lot about someone from the way they use their hands. He says my willpower is my greatest asset. He also says that my typing skills and speed mean that I should play the piano. But he really broke my personality down, and the dude hadn’t never met me. Talked about how I’m detail-oriented and a bunch of other stuff. That was pretty spooky. I almost told him I was a Virgo, but that might have lead him to break out a crystal ball or something. Either way, that was trippy. And now, back to the regularly scheduled program…)
The wedding itself was also fairly cool because I was easily the coolest single cat in the house. I was the tallest, too. Come to think of it, I was the shortest, lamest, darkest, lightest, skinniest, and fattest. That’s right, I was the only single man there. The garter toss was somewhat anticlimatic. Everyone should have known what would happen….they’d throw that thing at me and I’d let it hit the ground. And I did. My excuse was that I was carrying a baby at the time, but I sorta went and got the adorable lil sucker to avoid that garter. So they pinned it on me. Well, the baby had a good time playing with it.
Lookey-here…trying to be the next to get married is something spooky, and I ain’t one for a scare. I love it for someone else, but I enjoy living by myself a little too much. Plus, sharing a bathroom sucks. Bomaniland has dual sinks, but that still ain’t enough. In fact, I wouldn’t mind living down the block from my wife. All the commitment would be there, but we’d keep the space. Space is good. Plus, not every woman is ready to wake up every morning to “Iron Man” by Black Sabbath.
That’ll be the obstacle that keeps me single, I guarantee. Yeah, and that whole thing with being an asshole. Assholes don’t go over too well, from what I’m told.
Did this make any sense? I’m not sure. However, the ceremony really was beautiful, so much love to Ruff on his good fortune.
Bigger love to Lord Amaru, his perfect wife, 18K Blk, Clarence the Runaway Slave, Alldaydre, Summerlove, Smooth K, M.E.R.C.U.R.Y., the White Homey, and everyone else I caught up with when I was there. Double shouts to anyone that bought me a meal.
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Next post will likely be Friday, and the column will be on Christmas songs this go ’round. The last column of the year will be
a wrap-up. And if you don’t get back here on Friday, a merry Xmas to you. If you don’t do Xmas, may you, Ron Karenga, and the
other five of y’all that do Kwanzaa enjoy yourselves.