By and large, weddings are awkward, angst-filled events sprinkled with drunken speeches, resentment, fear and sloppy, late-night, desperately sloppy hookups between bridesmaids, jealous that they're not the one being married and groomsmen looking to add a notch to their bedpost.
As you know, weddings are broken up into two separate events. There's the ceremony itself, and then there's the reception. Receptions suck, because it focuses on dancing, particularly dancing with the bride, sometimes pinning money on her dress and drinking...heavily. The family is usually in attendance so everyone tends to be on good behaviour and friends often sit around and chat uselessly while the couple poses for pictures, smashes cake in each others' faces and tries not to spill champagne so they can get the deposit back on the tux rental.
I want karaoke at my wake, preferably backed by this band.
The Wedding Crasher:
I always feel out of place, and a little sad at weddings. I keep envisioning the horrible break up that inevitably will come five or ten years down the road and the court fight over who gets to keep the Mac and who gets the flatscreen. Unless there's an open bar, I rarely see the point of attending most weddings.
I make an exception for close friends and family members. But even then...there had better be an open bar. Perhaps this is why I partake of my own little wedding tradition whenever I have to go to a nuptials gathering. I wrap up a bottle of Jack Daniels, place it on the wedding gifts table with a little note attached. I smile as I place it gently between the ill-disguised china setting and new set of knives, just imagining the looks on the faces of my newly married compatriots as they unwrap my present and read the note that says, "Do not open until divorce."
Crude? Yes. Mean? I don't think so, given the statistics for divorce in the U.S. these days. Inappropriate? Maybe. Cynical? Oh, hell yes. I've yet to get a truly angry response from the folks I've given this gift to, and to the best of my knowledge, the bottles remain unopened, so, I guess that's a good thing.
I know a number of friends who actually enjoy going to weddings. Guy friends. Bachelor guy friends. Of course, their primary reasons for going to weddings is, A) The bachelor party and B) hitting on drunk bridesmaids or other random women in attendance.
I get this. I mean, it makes total sense. People tend to act desperately at weddings. A lot of women start to feel the biological clock ticking away at weddings and start looking hungrily at the bevy of bachelors wandering around with a Bud light in one hand and a poor-fitting cumberbund slouching around the midwaist. Meanwhile, a lot of men start to feel inadequate that they haven't been able to get hitched and beging thinking about a conquest to once again prove their manhood. The whole scene makes me feel dirty. Hitting on a woman at a wedding feels sleazy, slimy, like I'm taking advantage or abusing my power or something.
Life and Death:
And then there's the funeral. I enjoy funerals. No, I'm not morbid. I don't go crashing funerals looking for kicks. And generally, because I often know the person who has died, it's a sad day. But here's the thing. Whereas weddings seem to represent an ending of sorts, as well as the beginning of something totally uncertain, funerals are final, completely certain, unchanging. There is a kind of peace that surrounds funerals. Yes, there is sorrow and there is loss. But there's none of the desperation I often see at weddings.
Like weddings, funerals are often divided into two parts, the service and burial, which is where the mourning and rememberances take place. And then there's the wake. The wake, I like. I'm no Goth or necrophiliac, I don't have a death fetish. I just really, REALLY like wakes. Because the wake is a time of rejoicing. No, not rejoicing the death of a friend of loved one, but a time to rejoice the time spent with that individual. It's a time to tell stories and jokes and remember all the good things about the person who just passed on. It's a time to laugh and cry and reconnect with others who you might have lost track of over time.
I find it to be a time of renewal as well. An opportunity to take stock of your own life and re-energize to do all those things you've wanted to do before you yourself pass away. It's a reminder that life is short, laughter is beautiful and love is fleeting. While weddings seem so concocted to me, funerals seem real, with all the warts and happiness and sadness that is real life.
Perhaps this is why I have picked up an alarming number of dates at funerals. Well, not exactly AT the funerals, but at the wakes. At a wake, the defenses are down, the emotions are real and no one is "searching" for a love connection; if it happens, it happens.
The Hook-Up:
Ten years ago, I attended a funeral of an old friend. It was someone I used to work with in radio, and he had passed away suddenly. I had moved on to working in television news at that point, but still had close connections to some of my radio pals.
We all got dressed up and attended the funeral. It felt odd being a pallbearer, since many of the people in attendance didn't know me, they were new to the radio station. We sat glumly through the service and slowly made our way to the burial. It was a crisp, beautiful fall Colorado day. The sun was out, but it was cool, almost cold as a breeze ran through the bare branches and played with the leaves scattered across the cemetery grass.
The shadows were long and the air was light. It felt like football weather, and I remember thinking that at least my friend got to see the Broncos win the Superbowl, twice, before he died. That made me smile.
Afterwards, a bunch of us went to a bar that our friend used to frequent regularly. It's a small little place just on the edge of downtown Denve, bordered by high-rises on one side and parking lots and Five Points on the other side. 20 years ago, it marked the border between the safe part of the city and the part where you wouldn't walk alone after dark. It was a bar that hand't changed in 30 years and still had pictures of patrons, some famous, most not so famous, some infamous, in cheap frames all over the walls.
The bar had graciously opened early and gave us the run of the place until it's normal opening hour of 4pm. We had about three hours to drink toasts and tell stories. And we did. We whooped it up. Journalists are already a hard-drinking lot, give them a REASON to let loose and, well, it can quickly turn into a wake that makes even the Irish green with envy.
The whiskey and beer flowed. Stories were told and retold, each time our friends' exploits growing grander and grander. At some point, I had noticed a young, long-haired brunette sitting at the end of the table, not saying much, laughing a little, drinking even less. I didn't know her, but my buddy who still worked at the radio station did. She was a relatively new sales rep and had become good friends with our deceased friend.
She was pretty, had huge brown eyes and long black hair. I was immediately hypnotized. I made the regular checks every bachelor makes; no ring, check, no visible scars, check, no slight ticks or odd behaviour, check. I was curious and on my way back from the bar with my fifth Jack and coke, I took a seat next to her and introduced myself.
She seemed shy, but not elusive. I asked her how she knew my friend and she told me that he had kind of taken her under his wing when she first started working at the station.
"That old dog," I thought to myself. Typical of him to become a mentor to a pretty, young, shy woman. Why, it's exactly the kind of thing I would do. I told her how I knew him and proceeded to tell her a story of the first time I met my friend. It's a funny story and one I've told a few times over the years.
By the time I was finished, the entire table was listening and we all were having a good laugh, raising our drinks in a heartfelt toast. Everyone, that is, except for Jennifer, the lovely woman sitting next to me who prompted me to tell the story in the first place. She raised for a toast and she was smiling, but there was still a sadness to her that was almost heartbreaking.
Within a few minutes, another story was being told at the other end of the table and attention had shifted away. The two of us sat there, surrounded by people, but feeling very much in our own world, not saying anything, just sipping on our drinks. Finally, she looked up from her beer and asked me, "Why were you smiling at the funeral?"
The question caught me by surprise. It's like those moments when you you're singing in your car, and you KNOW that people can see you as you drive down the highway jamming out to Bon Jovi, but you nevr really believe that anyone is really watching you until you look over and see some kid staring at you through the rear passenger window. It's a little unnerving.
I immediately started to wonder how many other people had caught me quietly smiling to myself. I responded the only way I could.
"You saw that?"
"It was hard to miss," she said.
Maybe it was the jack and coke's, maybe I was just feeling a little courageous, but I took that as a signal. I mean, if she saw me smiling at the funeral, she must have been looking at me, right? It wasn't like I was front and center at the service or burial. In fact the only time I was even remotely visible was when I was acting as a pallbearer. All of this was running through my mind in the matter of about five seconds, a bachelor's mind is amazingly quick under the right circumstances.
"So, why were you smiling at the funeral?" she asked again.
What could I say? I told her the truth. "I was thinking about football."
NOW she laughed. "The Broncos, right?" she replied, taking a big swig of her beer.
"Of course," I said. "I was thinking how his timing was perfect, waiting for the Superbowl wins and Elway's retirement. It was like he planned it."
"I just don't think he waned to see a Broncos team without john," she said, still laughing.
And just like that, the ice was broken. We hadn't gone to the funeral to meet anyone. It wasn't on our radar. But the death of our mutual friend brought us together. There was a chemistry and a spark and once she relaxed, we started talking. We talked about everything. Sales, history, music, sports, our friend, radio, television, news, movies, books. We spent hours talking. Before either of us knew it, the wake was over, the crowd grew and then dissipated and then it was time to go home. Hours had passed and we had lost ourselves in each other. We found comfort in each others words and presence.
A Renewing Event:
Saying goodnight in a situation like that can often be awkward. A couple meets at a funeral, they spend hours talking, getting to know each other, the feeling is relaxed and there's no pressure. But then you have to make a choice to see where the relationship could go. Do you let it just simmer and be friends and give a quick peck on the cheek or a "friends" hug where you pat them on the back like a good buddy? Or do you be bold and ask them out, knowing that because you met at a funeral, it might seem a little crude?
But there was none of that. By the time I had walked her back to her car, we both knew there was something there. Neither one of us was looking for anything serious. We both knew that there was no pressure. We wanted to see each other again. It was unspoken. We exchanged phone numbers, hugged and then kissed each other goodnight. It was a long, passionate kiss that made me regret, a little, not asking her back to my place. And then she drove off.
We saw each other again, and dated for about four months. It was never serious and we eventually drifted apart. But we remained friends and I really enjoyed the time I spent with her. Most of my funeral "hook-ups" are similar in nature. Just quality conversation that turns into something fun for both parties. The deal here is that neither party goes to the funeral looking for a hook up.
So invite me to a wedding. I'll go, I'll partake of the open bar, I might even bring along a date so we can sit in the back and amuse ourselves by making snarky comments about the guests and the happy couple and their overbearing families. I'll give my "gift" and laugh later that night as I imagine the fury of the bride when she sees the note.
But I'll take a wake, thank you, when I want quality conversation, real emotions and a spirit-reviving experience. Take note, bachelors, you can't be "on the prowl" at a funeral, that's just not right. But if you play your cards right at the wake, you can definitely find someone worth spending time with. Plus, and this is important, funeral sex is way better than drunk bridesmaid sex any day. Trust me on this one fellas.
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