This weekend was my old roommate Brian's wedding, which I celebrated by eating at Jack in the Box three times in eight hours on Friday. The sad thing is I don't even like Jack in the Box - it was just the only thing within walking distance of our hotel. I consumed a total of 10 different items - 11 items total - and thus pretty much batted the cycle on the two-panel J in the B menu. Also statistically notable: I think I'd only eaten at Jack in the Box like two other times in my life, so I more than doubled my total Jack patronage. It's also safe to say I'll probably never eat at Jack in the Box again.
Brian's wedding was large, lively, and most of all, efficient. The only problem came when a series of "Wedding, This Way '!" signs gained our trust on the way driving to the chapel, and then at the last minute misdirected us down a deserted dead-end dirt road for 20 minutes. Turns out the signs weren't for Brian's wedding at all; they were either for another wedding, or else they were placed there by some kids at a lemonade stand we saw, in an attempt to increase traffic on their back road. When discussing this possibility as we rushed late to the wedding, the moral dilemma came up about whether it was ever OK to punch an eight-year-old. The irony was that nobody would have been fooled had the first two signs not been right along the correct route, lulling us into a false sense of trust before delivering us down a creepy Deliverance-style road. As it was, half the people were late to the wedding, which started promptly on time and ran exactly 16 minutes long.
The reception was terrific, other than amazingly not having an open bar. This was shocking considering that Brian and Adrienne are the two drunkest people I know, and thus as a pair, synergistically the drunkest couple possible. Perhaps it was because the groomsmen had already consumed roughly 400 ounces of malt liquor by the time they got to the reception, and were thus taken care of. But it was still a bummer, especially when I got temporarily kicked out of the reception for trying to smuggle in a 12-pack of Bud Light. Stupid Marriot bouncers.
The highlight of the night would certainly have been if Sam and I had fulfilled our goal of persuading the WuTang Clan, who happened to be staying in the hotel that weekend, to come to the reception. Method Man is Brian's hero, and we definitely would have been excused from any wedding-gift duties if we could have convinced him to come do a shot and possibly a rap. Unfortunately, the Clan was nowhere to be found.
Perhaps they followed the Wedding signs.