My good friend Keene asked me to be in his wedding this past December. I was genuinely excited the week leading up to the ceremony, especially since I found it would be open bar at the reception and rehearsal dinner, and because Kevin is my friend and I am happy for him and all that other stuff.
I was sitting on a rig out in Mexia the day of the rehearsal, but since the geologist was already there I was cleared for take-off.
I got to Dallas and called Burge to set up my weekend base of operations at his apartment. I went and dropped my stuff off and we went to pick up our tuxes. We got back home and put our suits on ready to go rehearse for the wedding. And by the way, I was looking sharp. Let's just say the Lone Wolf was on the prowl.
We arrived at the church, after picking Hederman up from the airport, and were greeted by the usual group of miscreants I associate with. It was good to see all the old Good-Time All-Stars again. I knew right then that I was going to get lit up and have a blast.
As the rehearsal rolled on, Kevin's brother, knowing what a group of prolific drinkers he had on his hands, made the comment about how no drinks should be brought into the church and stay in the car where they belonged. I laughed inappropriately loud and everyone looked at me. I just thought that beers didn't belong in the car...that's all.
When it was time to find out who we would be paired up with, we all walked to the front and waited to be paired up with one of Jordan's bridesmaids. I heard my name called along with Sander's and one bridesmaid to share. Pretty shitty move Keene. But all was not lost, no not by a long shot, or was it? When we went and stood together she made what seemed like a flirtatious comment about how I needed to keep my hands to myself. I suavely answered back "oh, yeah?" she said, "yeah or my husband will be pissed." Fucking great.
The dinner was at a very nice Dallas country club, much nicer than Wildflower CC in Temple. Sander had made a great slide show which was funny and heart-warming and threw a hooterbrown shout out right in the middle. It also included a picture of me and Jordan when I was really drunk and high...another proud moment for the Shepperd clan. The entire time the dinner was being served and people were beginning to give toasts, I was either rushing to the bar or rushing to the bathroom to piss. About the time I really needed to piss again, stupid ass Mac called me up to the front to give a toast. I was just drunk enough not to be nervous and not drunk enough to slur my words, it was a magical time that only comes about once every few years in the life of a binge drinker. Needless to say, I closed the place down. If NBC was there they'd have offered my a sitcom on the spot. And I ended with a Salud! like I'm Sicilian or something. 
We went out after the dinner and I proceeded to get shitfaced. I had just got paid, so my pockets were exceptionally loose. I bought a guy from Venezuela a Miller but never found him, so I gave it away because I don't drink that shit. The night was winding down, so I went outside to get some fresh air and have one last cigarette. I knew I didn't have a ride home, but for some reason I really wasn't worried about it. Just then Connie Hutto pulls up in a Suburban or a minivan or something. We all hop in and I throw the idea out that taco cabana is not a bad idea. Shot down.
The wedding the next day was a blurr we got dressed and sat around, took a couple pictures and so on and so fourth until the ceremony began. It was so hot in the church I was profusly sweating the entire time and the damn shoes they gave me were killing me.
But after it was all over we retreated to the charter bus we came on only to find they had stocked it with beer and champagne...bliss? yes sir. Edgar and I struck up the band in the back singing some old Good-Time All-Star favorites. I chugged a half bottle of champagne and a beer. I was on my second half bottle of champagne when we got to the downtown petroleum club. I brought it in with me and finished it in the elevator.
The petroleum club was lavish. It was one of the nicest most elegant places I have ever been or probably will ever go. So why not get fucked up? And goodness gracious did I ever. I danced so much and so violently I ripped my pants, after that I'm quite foggy.
I felt like run over dogshit the next day and had to go back to work. Work sucks
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