I Have No Idea Why I’m Telling This Story

Seriously, I have no idea why I’m going to tell you this. Call it a peace offering since I haven’t been writing much lately; still…ah fuck it, I must be bored. Anyway, here’s a really long and not necessarily funny Drunk Redhead story:

So a few years ago one of my best friends, Kim, got married. She’d started dating the guy (her fiancé) in college, they BOTH moved in with her parents after graduation (shudder), and shortly after moving into their own apartment in NYC, they got engaged. I was happy for them; mainly because Kim was happy. But having said that, the pairing was (and is) a little…odd.

An explanation: Kim is, for lack of a better word, fucking gorgeous (if I had dollar for every time someone told her she looks like a young Brooke Shields…), she’s also nice (weird nice – like why is she friends with me nice), and really, really smart. Kim’s fiancé (now husband) on the other hand is…fat. Yes, I know there’s more to a person than that, but let me explain. I’m talking borderline morbidly obese here. He was big when they met in college, bigger when they got married, and HUGE now. A former football player, he stopped exercising when he stopped playing, but man did he not change his eating habits. From here on out let’s call him F-man.

Now having said all that, F-man is a perfectly nice guy – not too interesting but not too annoying. He’s smart (a little lazy, but smart), he comes from a good family, and we all have a very similar upbringing in common, ie. privileged east coast lifestyle. Like I said, boring.

Anyway, onto the story. Background: Northern New Jersey. Time: The night before the wedding. Setting: The rehearsal dinner. Being a bridesmaid I was obviously present. Since my family is also very close with the bride’s family, they were all present and accounted for as well. Number of people at the dinner in total: Maybe 30. Number of bridesmaids and groomsmen: 4 of each.

OK, so there I was chatting with my family when I caught site of one of F-man’s groomsmen. Me and every other woman in the room. This dude was very nice to look at – tall, dark, blah, blah, blah – and the women were looking. After one or two questions I found out that he was an old Exeter buddy of the F-man, and that he was now living in California. Feeling a little bit of good old-fashioned lust roll through me, I continued to look but decided not to interact. I mean fuck, my entire family was there; I wasn’t THAT hard up. Or…um…wait, we’ll get there.

So let’s skip to the next afternoon, aka The Day of the Wedding. After getting my hair done (shut up, all the bridesmaids were expected to do it), I slipped on my bridesmaid’s dress and turned towards the mirror.

Oh holy fuck.

Somehow during my one and only fitting with the dressmaker I hadn’t taken the time (nor had Kim) to actually LOOK at myself in my dress. Now, with my hair up in kind of a messy bun thing, one fact became VERY apparent. That garish pink dress (hello, RED hair) was seriously low cut. Like, ‘what the fuck was Kim thinking when she chose these for her church wedding?’ low cut. Oh right, she was thinking that all her other bridesmaids were flat chested.

Long story short, the strapless bra I’d been planning to wear wasn’t going to work out, so I was going with…well, nothing. And my being unrestricted in that dress was not a good idea; unfortunately, it was the only option at that point. My mother summed it up perfectly when she looked at me and said, “You look like a porn star.” My father was standing right next to her when she said it; he did not disagree.

Kim’s first look at me confirmed my suspicions – I was going to look like a whore all day. And it was all her fault…bygones.

On the plus side all the other bridesmaids thought I looked hilarious, and in an effort to loosen me up for the humiliation to come we proceeded to start drinking. The actual ceremony itself was a blur, but the pictures and drinking after were surprisingly fun. By the time the party began I was already pretty well drunk, and I was also pretty certain I had caught Hunky Groomsman’s attention (along with every other man’s – I had 60 year olds ogling me). Getting waylaid while at the bar by Hunky (who was looking very fine in his tux), I proceeded to flirt my ass off. Fuck it, I looked like a whore – might as well act like one. I teased, I went in for the fleeting touch, I laughed at his stupid comments, and I generally just gave him my full attention.

At some point my sister-in-law pulled me aside to a) congratulate me on snagging Hunky’s attention, b) warn me not to get too drunk (too late), and c) tell that if I needed her to cover for me (hello, my ENTIRE family was there) she would. I thanked her, told her I was just flirting, and chatted for a few more minutes. Finally I went off to dance with another guy that I think I went to high school with.

Oh, good side note: There were people at this wedding that I hadn’t seen since high school. People that I hadn’t kept in touch with for a reason. And the first glimpse they had of me after all those years, I just happened to look like a hooker in an ugly bridesmaid’s dress. Good times.

After my dance I was again tugged aside by Hunky. As I stood there, listening to him tell me a story of how he once talked himself out of a drunk driving ticket, I couldn’t help but think ‘This guy is kind of a jackass. How could he think that telling me he had not only driven drunk, but that he was PROUD to have gotten away with it, is going to help his case? Am I supposed to be impressed here? I could NEVER date this guy…but I would sleep with him.’

Yes people, I was in that perfect place where I was still lucid enough to know what the sober me would think, but just drunk enough to make a bad decision anyway.

Somehow we ended up walking outside the hotel for some ‘fresh air,’ I found his tongue in my mouth, I found my hand in his hair, and eventually I even found him pressing my other hand to the front of his pants while saying, and I quote, “Want to help me out with this?”

Ugh, that was the best he could do? Shit.

Unfortunately at that point the dam had broken – after dragging Hunky back inside he proceeded to try to kiss/touch me every chance he got. He even grabbed and kissed me (rather unexpectedly I might add) right in front of the mother of the bride, a woman who comes to my family’s house for Thanksgiving for Christ’s sake!

Still, I was drunk and he was hot. When my sister-in-law came and told me my family was leaving, I turned (I will admit reluctantly) to bid Hunky goodbye, and at that moment Kim walked up and said, “Hey, F-man and I are continuing the party back in our room after this ends. Why don’t you stay? I’m sure we can find someone who will let you crash with them after.”

Hunky’s face lit up (guess who also had a room at the hotel and was more than willing to let me ‘crash’ with him?). At that my sister-in-law started laughing, and I saw the writing on the wall – if fate was going to make it that easy for me, who was I to fight it?

So off my sister-in-law went to tell the parental units that I was remaining at the hotel for the night, and after some brief goodbyes (all my mother said was “Call me when you want me to come pick you up” – 1) there isn’t a chance in hell my mother didn’t know what I was doing, and 2) I felt like SUCH a dirty teenager in that moment I can’t even tell you), I was left alone with Kim and Hunky. I instantly sent Hunky away and turned to Kim.

Redhead: What’s his deal?
Kim: What do you mean?
Redhead: I mean what do you know about him?
Kim: F-man loves him, he’s known him forever and apparently he likes him enough to have made him a groomsman. I don’t know him personally though since he lives in San Diego.
Redhead: Will F-man be freaked out if anything happens between Hunky and me?
Kim: I doubt it.
Redhead: Good enough.

Yes, I am one classy chick. About an hour later – after leaving the ballroom and hitting the hotel bar – Hunky and I found ourselves in the bridal suite drinking beers with Kim, F-man, and about 20 other people.

Note: I still don’t know how I feel about the whole Kim and F-man continuing to party with us – hell, hosting us in their room – after the reception thing. Part of me is a sappy romantic who thinks there are better ways to be spending your wedding night. The other part of me recognizes that you have all your friends together – some of whom live far away and you rarely see, PLUS you’ve got the rest of your life to sex it up with your spouse – so why the fuck not? But I digress…

Turns out Hunky was such a good friend of F-man’s that he had the adjoining suite to them. That translated into everyone also chilling out in Hunky’s room. At some point I ended up sitting on Hunky’s lap, in his room, alternately making out with him and chatting up some guy I went to grade school with. One exchange that took place:

Guy from Grade School: So how long have you two been together?
(An honest question since I was sitting on Hunky’s lap nibbling his lower lip.)
Redhead: I don’t know, how long have we known each other? 12 hours?
Hunky: We met yesterday.
Redhead: We didn’t talk yesterday though.
Hunky: I said hi to you. But yeah, I’d say about 12 hours.
Guy from Grade School: (Has no idea what to say, hence silence.)

And so the evening went until I – at that point VERY drunk – simply leaned over and whispered to Hunky, “I’m ready for bed now.” Without missing a beat Hunky yelled “Everybody out!” I might have only been marginally embarrassed by this if the fucking bride and groom hadn’t been in the room at the time! They were spending their wedding night hanging out with us, and WE threw THEM out to have sex?

You uh, probably know what happened after that. His performance was…uninspired. I mumbled “I’m too tired” the next morning when he reached for me again (hint to all the men out there: when a woman’s saying that after only your first night together, you didn’t impress the shit out of her), and when my mother called at 9 to ask if I was ready for her to pick me up, I said yes.

Only the really weird part of this story (at least to me) was that as I was getting dressed Hunky rolled over and asked me for my number. I must have looked stunned (didn’t he know the rules – we were never supposed to speak again, that’s the whole POINT of a one night stand) because he instantly said, “You don’t have to give it to me if you don’t want.”

“No, that’s fine,” I said, still probably looking confused, before shrugging my shoulders and…well, giving him my number. What were the odds he was going to call anyway? He lived across the country after all. I figured he was just being polite.

So after a quick peck on the lips, I left that rumpled cutie on the bed and proceeded to do the ultimate in the walk of shame. Yes, there are few things more humbling that walking through a hotel lobby at 9:30am on a Sunday in a rumpled bridesmaid’s dress. Well, unless you factor in that you’re walking through that lobby to get to your MOTHER’S car that is.

And…that’s it. A kind of boring and WAY too revealing Drunk Redhead story. The weirdest thing about it though is that Hunky actually did call me like 2 days later. And a few times after that too. Huh.

So yeah, there you go. I make great decisions when I’m drunk. But the true moral to this story is: I have no one to blame for my love life but myself.