There were lesbians in matching hawaiian shirts. No one told me the lesbians would be wearing matching outfits: hawaiian shirts, khakis and Birkenstocks. This was not how I wanted to spend my last night as a 20 year old.
Last Friday, my good friend Mel got suckered into singing for some obscure relative's lesbian wedding. It was the first time she ever recieved an invitation with a "plus one" attachment, so she jumped at the chance. Since all the boys she doinks live in New York, she asked me, the fag to her hag (even though she's hot and I hate that phrase) to accompany her.
At first I felt bad in the car, because I realized that my pants and my suitcoat didn't match exactly. It was one of those deals where I was wearing two shades of black, three including my shoes. It was fine in soft light, but once I was in the sun it was noticable, and as a young somewhat fashion forward mobile homosexualist, I was displeased.
Of course, I needn't have worried, since the night had a Hawaiian theme to it. Leis, flowers downloaded from the internet stapled to the walls, pineapple clip art, a wedding cake with a beach scene, and, as previously stated, the brides wore matching Hawaiian shirts, khakis, and birkenstocks, as did most of the wedding party.
Mel and I were unaware of this festive theme. We stood out like sore thumbs. We looked smashing, and everyone else looked like overweight tourists.
It was an awful wedding, one that conservatives could point at and say "See how they're fucking up marriage?" and they'd be right.
In addition to the "theme," these lesbians fucked everything up. The 'priest' was just a friend of theirs who relied on the notecards far too much. He even said "over" once, before realized that it was a note for him to flip over the card. He mispronounced their names. We almost felt sorry for him, he was so nervous, sweating profusely. But then we got over it.
Mel is a jazz vocal major at the Manhattan School of Music, so her song kicked ass, of course. But for the rest of the music... oh man. The other singers, good friends of the couple, used a karaoke machine to sing Tim McGraw songs. And the other singers were, well, loud and not very good. And, for before and after the ceremony, the lesbians stuck in a "Classical Music for Dummies" cd and put it on shuffle. "Firebird" next to "Rhapsody in Blue" next to "Moonlight Sonata" next to "1812 Overture" next to "Bolero." It was not a pretty sight.
As for the DJ, well, one of the lesbian's younger brothers wants to be a DJ when he grows up, so they hired him. Not only did he set up during the last bit of the ceremony, causing a distraction, but he wouldn't play until 8 because he wouldn't get paid until then. That meant an extra hour of the classical music for dummies. To make matters even worse, he didn't even DJ. He made 3 mix cds and put it on shuffle, causing for some awkward playlists.
I won't even mention the other lesbians at the wedding. I'm not even sure if they were lesbians, since almost all of them taped down their breasts. And no one likes trannies. Oh shut up. You don't like them either. Don't lie.
Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. I'd be like "Lesbian Wedding? Um Ick," but I wanted something somewhat interesting to make a decent story after my birthday. Also, Mel promised me that there'd be an open bar. Mel is a liar. The lesbians decided at the last minute just to buy a keg.
Let me repeat that.
A keg.
I hate lesbians.
