Wedding Smashers or How Lola Got Her Groove Back

So, once upon the last time I posted, I was waxing nostalgic about my former drunken/slutty/fabulous glory and lamenting about how those days had passed. While giving me a pep talk, my roomate, Steve, the wily Finn (hereinafter sometimes referred to as "Finn") made a surprisingly Lola-esque speech. I responded by saying "you know, when I was alive, I would have made a similar speech." Eek (by the way, I got a roomate. I have company, someone to cook for and it solves the problem I have turning on my air conditioning).

So, Nikki got married (and it was all beautiful and too perfect for even me to make fun of, so I'll just stick to the things that I can make fun of). I arrived late to rehearsal, after making an emergency stop-off at a bridal salon near my hometown on an emergency errand, changing in their changing room, shaving my legs in the parking lot and getting stuck in traffic trying to avoid rush-hour traffic. I was rewarded by getting the Stink-eye from the wedding gestapo.

The kindly looking church ladies who run the weddings at this church are possibly escaped war criminals. But slightly less organized. No booze in the wedding. Ok. No booze before the wedding. No smell of booze before the wedding. Go easy on the mouthwash, because you will smell like a drunken whore and God will turn his back on you.

My partner and I got confused by the fact that the "Blue" line looked green to him and we tried to walk to a different blue line for the start of our walk down the aisle. This earned us a sharply hissed "the blue line. stop. STOP!" and a lifetime of shame. We dispersed, vowing to be perfect the next day.

And I almost was. Despite the fact that there was traffic on the 75 at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, I got to the salon on time for mimosas (suck it, wedding gestapo). And that's when I realized that I'd left one tiny thing at my mom's house: my dress. *facepalm**mimosa sloshes.* Luckily, Holly had stayed the night and was willing to drive it to me. In appreciation for her hardcore bestfriendness, she will receive, as a token of my appreciation, this handsome shout-out.

And then, things progressed. With the exception of the flower girl falling off the pew in the middle of the ceremony, things went off without a hitch and we even pleased the wedding gestapo. Until, of course, we started to run over our time in the church taking pictures. God only has a half an hour for you after you receive the sacrament of marriage. But, Nik pulled it off and looked FAB-U-LOUS in her shades while I crawled under her dress in front of the sanctuary to bustle her skirt.

I'm not sure, but I think the trouble started for me when I got into the limo, demanded Nikki's brother pour me a shot of Jager and screamed at the groomsmen "Who wants to man up and take a shot with me?" The rest of my evening really follows along those lines. Under strict orders not to arrive at the reception drunk, we still managed to polish off two bottles of champagne, 36 beers, and most of a fifth each of Jack and Jager (you have no power now, wedding gestapo!) But, importantly, we did not break a promise. I made it all the way through dinner without getting drunk. And then, I danced with my girls, which bought me another hour or so of relative sobriety. Kind of.

Lola was drunk and happy and has nothing to lose. This combination, paired with hot guys and easy access to hotel rooms, is a recipe for trouble. And by trouble, I mean awesomeness. I noticed a cutie, and then engaged in stealthy surveillance. At least, I think I was stealthy. But no matter, stealth went out the window when I sidled up to the bar and asked the cutie "Are you, or are you not here with a date?" by way of an opening.

For reference, the possible presence of a date was a matter of dispute at some point during the evening. (For reference, see me confronting an usher and saying "Here alone? Then what's that?" The question was resolved in much in my favor as I needed, and so, I said something either suggestive or challenging and walked away (Dude, drunk Lola had a plan).

For reference, there is no good place to make out at reception halls. I apologize to all my friends who may have been frightened while walking to their cars. On the upside, I went outside to smoke/work my magic and completely missed the bouqet toss. Score!

I will skip some of the more incriminating details, but I will say this: Fitness rooms open with your room key, even after hours. And they're damn convenient. I rated it highly on my guest satisfaction survey (yes, I'm serious). And, they brought up one of the all-time great questions:
"I wonder if there are cameras in this room? I wonder if we could get the tape?"

Drunk Lola knows how to take care of a girl and she always chooses/executes well.

Of course, I was up at three hours later clutching the toilet for dear life. And I spent the entire next day trying my best to die. I failed. I think. Another special shout-out goes to my roomates who bought me tums, packed me up, and didn't laugh too hard when I had to wear my sunglasses inside. And drive back home with a barf bag on my lap.

Totally worth it.