"You'll need to take the grooms shoes."

This is what I was told on Thursday night. Now, out of context, this seems a bizarre statement to make. However, let me assure you, I was fully emeshed in said content at the time it was said and it didn't make much more sense.

I had stopped into the Tuxedo rental place to have my final fitting and pick up the old monkey suit. The first thing I realized was that if you have a choice of two directions to go in a mall, the one you choose will be the wrong one. It had been a while since I did the tux thing, so I didn't remember which end of the mall the place was, so figured I'd play it safe and park in the middle. This would have been the perfect plan if they had left the good old reliable mall map at that particular entrance, where it had stood lo so many mall visits before. But, apparently due to rennovations and people just not liking me, it had been moved.

So, I used the whole logic system again, something that has never really worked for me in the past, but I still cling to like a dysfunctional romance. I thought about the two ends of the mall. I thought about how the mall itself stood smack in the middle of the two extremes of Cheektowaga. To one side, your folks of lesser economic standings (aka, me) and on the other, more well to do folks, albeit from a suburbanite status. The mall reflected this and had your payless and supercuts on one end, while other stores that I don't go into stood at the other. Which of these scenarios would the tux place fall? Sure, tuxes are a higher class of clothing, but just about everyone rents them. I really don't remember how I made my final decision, but as noted, it was the wrong way.

So I finally arrived there at my standard annoyed level. ESPECIALLY after not fining Hot Topic where I expected it to be (I would later learn it was simply moved, but I still didn't get my fix which in my eyes is a wasted mall trip). I also found the place to be filled with your usual amount of young couples and I made sure to inwardly player hate each and every one of them. So, suffice to say, Phanboy was in his usual demeanor of hatred to the world at large.

Luckily, the tux didn't make me look chubby, so there was that. The world criticizes me for wearing black, but when it comes time for someone else to pick out my clothes... well, just saying.

I'm on my way out when I hear the phrase quoted at the top of this blog. I thought of all the weddings I have stood up in (and boy howdy, there have been a lot), and never once was the shoe responsibility placed upon my shoulders. The rings, sure, but don't mess with the shoes. Well, it turns out either the groom forgot them or the place didn't pack them (I'm more inclined to believe the latter out of loyalty reasons and the fact that it is easier to hate a faceless corporation), but one way or ano0ther, it fell upon me to make sure he wasn't walking down the ailse barefoot.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I chided the tux guy as he began to pack them in my tux bag. "Somewhere seperate. I'm not gonna try and figure out whose is whose." The fact that the groom and I wear shoes about three sizes in differences didn't occur to me, but I was being put upon regardless, so he needed to appease me in some minor way. I left a mysterious mesage on the groom's phone explaining what would happen to the shoes should my demands not be met, then went about the rest of my evening.

The next night came the rehearsal The church was nice and the priest pleasant, but I had just come off of a different kind of rehearsal from the week leading up to that night. Bill Sykes in Oliver (opening at the GTC on August 2nd says Shameless Plug Man). So, in my weariness, I sang a song, punched an altar boy and strangled one of the maids of honor... no, not really, but how kewl would that have been?

Now comes the magic day. The wedding party was thankfully fairly small. I've been to groups of 20 and groups of 6, and the lesser is always the better. And considering the "secret compartment" we were hidden in prior, it was a definite blessing to just have the three of us. The three in question were myself (natch) and two people I have known since childhood. So, suffice to say, we don't even have to put a lot of effort into acting inappropriate. It was quite potentially a dangerous combination. Dress the three of us up and put us somewhere official and bad things are bound to happen.

Well, it was a church, so the right place for the miraculous to occur. We all behaved and the ceremony went off without any sort of discernable hitch (pun may or may not have been intended). The bridesmaid with which I was paired and I were giggling at the end as we headed back up the aisle, though for the life of me don't remember why, thus prompting a swat from the mother of the groom (who knew me going into this so was not surprised).

I did come to the realization that church is complicated. You have to memorize too many lines and moves and if I have to do that, there had better be a curtain call at the end.

I also realized that a man's discomfort at weddings begins at a young age. The ring bearer and the flower girls had distinct personality differences and one could probably map the war os the sexes out from how they each acted. But that's a rant for another time.

Then came the pictures. The photographer was great, but the circumstances were not ideal. It was raining (isn't it ironic... wait, no it ain't) and the picture locals were minimized as a result. He suggested we go across the street to a nearby park where there was a covered gazebo before trying other locals. Thi seemed like a good idea. However if he had put it like this, "Let's go traipse through the woods for about 1/2 an hour dressed like this to make it to a location about five feet from where we started", we may not have been as eager. Just saying.

Still, the bride and groom maintained a positive demeanor, even fearing a possible attack by the Blair Witch. The ladies all manged to remain untarnished despite the nature hike, and the pictures turned out good. We also got to do some shots at the Albright, the only notable moment of which was watching another wedding party use the pillars as their urinals. I publicly wish herpes upon them all.

From there on out, the food was good, the booze plentiful, and the wedding blahs which are unavoidable for me, were kept to a minimum.

It was a very nostalgic day for me. I got to spend the day with three people I have known forever (the groom, groom's sister, and best man) and heard the following from the man of the day as he introduced us to the priest.

"When you've known people like this for over twenty years, they stop being friends and become family."

I would have simply said, "I take no responsibility for these two", but the sentiment was greatly appreciated.

Another noted bonus, no chicken dance OR garter toss. So a modicum of diginty was preserved for me.

At the end of the night, I was hugging the groom's mother, and she made the inevitable statement.

"When's it going to be your turn."

What responses were in my head. Oh, the usual. When women stop being freaking hosebeasts. When Hell does indeed freeze over. When someone needs to stay in the country desperately enough. Probably not before (fill in one of the many ten and under kids at the dinner). Any or all of these would have fit.

Instead I asked if she would dance with me when I did. She smiled her response.

"Then not soon enough," I said.

In closing I wish the two of them (along with another pair of friends who got married a few weeks previous) happiness with each other in whatever form it may take.

And thank them all for not making me do that damned chicken dance...

Piece