Weekend part three.

Playing dress-up in my $5 thrift-store suit, (isn't it kinda creepy when a thrift-store suit fits you perfectly?) Jed and I took the rental car to the main line. The wedding was in some kind of Jewish restaurant. I didn't really want to hold that thing up over their heads because the only other wedding I was involved in resulted in bitter divorce, and maybe I'm bad luck, so I said I'd take pictures instead. I felt bad for my parents being stuck at the I-don't-know-where-to-seat-these-people table, but they handled it well. We stopped at George's childhood home on our way back into town because I just had to see it after 20 or so years. After giving the newlyweds a minute to recover, we picked them up at the hotel, and what was supposed to be a quick, quiet bit to eat turned into four hours at Dirty Frank's. A guy named Mike, who looked kinda like a viking, tried to befriend us, but somehow we insulted him, and he moved on to the next booth to tell some russian guys that we hurt his feelings. For some reason, my pals decided to wash down their pitchers of beer with Jagermeister, or maybe it was the other way around. I realized how drunk everyone was when Jed was having trouble re-identifying the girl that threw-up in the sink next to him while he was taking a piss. I also realized that when we're all together, we make our own environment around us that's different from any other, and I never laugh so hard. After last call, a regular overheard us, and turned out he knew a whole lot of people we knew. Lot's of, "Wait! Do you know...?" Standing on the corner outside the bar, deciding where to go next, Mike the viking was in the middle of 13th street about to fight some other guy from the bar. They were doing that taking-off-peices-of-clothing-to-get-ready-to-fight thing. When we finally made it to Little Pete's for a bite to eat, George remarked that those guys were still in the middle of the street, naked from all the clothes shedding.