NOTE: I'm at the age when my friends marry. Deez Nupts are tales from weddings, but mostly the drinkin' that happens.

In the previous week I finished up my last South Dakota wedding for a while, but this week I start with New York weddings. And this particular one was in Boston. I've never been to Boston, but I'm a fan of cities with tales of legendary drinking, even though their sports fans are being spoiled by championships.

Deek and I started hanging during our first year of New York University. We swam (and drank) together on the NYU Swim Team—"Quite possibly the greatest team ever." Since my flights home are expensive, I spent a lot of holidays at Deek's place. I actually have more of a tradition of eating at his family's place than my own. His mom is like my second mom, and actually gets angrier at me for getting new tattoos than my own mother.

During the ceremony The Brian and I decide to place some side bets. I bet him five salty dollars that Deek will cry and he takes it.But now Deek is getting married, and I'm back on the East Coast for another adventure. A while ago Deek burst into the bar telling everybody, "I'm having a baby!" I was shocked but I congratulated him. "Oh no. I'm not having a baby now, but I'm eventually going to have a baby with this girl I'm dating."

DAY 1

I fly into NYC, drink with my friends, meet up with a very important person, get tattooed, and eventually jump in a car with The Brian, Matty, and his girlfriend Marina. I can pilot a vehicle for multiple hours at a time, but once traffic gets involved I get really angry. Luckily, I don't have to drive.

Finally, after five hours we arrive in Beantown. I had hoped to see the cast from The Departed or the Dropkick Murphys walking around, but I don't even see anybody in a Red Sox hat for a few hours. The town is nice, and infinitely cleaner and better smelling than NYC. I show up to the rehearsal dinner and am instantly tossed a brew, some wine and Chinese food. I already like this town.

After that we hit a bar, bullshit around, and drink some more. Nothing special. We crash early, or at least I do. I'm on a two-week drinking and traveling bender with only a few days of rest in between. Call me a pussy, but I'm tired.

DAY 2

I wake up well rested and ready to rock. We throw on some board shorts and drive to our friend's girlfriend's grandma's house. Then we receive the text of doom: "Sorry guys, no booze at the pool." We want to turn around and go home, but decide to rough it because we hadn't been in a pool together for years.

But this was a wedding, and where I come from "wedding" means "lots of drinkin'." So once The Brian and I return to the hotel we start making beers disappear and decorate the room, bathtub, and hallway with empty cans. Fortunately, we don't need to worry about driving since the bride and groom rented a full-sized school bus to transport us from the hotel to the reception area and back. But we grab a bunch of road beers just in case. Then we file into the yellow bus very cautiously, ever the drunk people.

We arrive at the marriage spot which is a really nice private university or something. Lots of green trees, ivy, and stuff like that.

Now, I've been going to about two weddings a year for almost a decade, so I've seen a lot of them. But most of them have been my SDSU (South Dakota State University) buddies. I'm interested to see how people outside of the Midwest get married. Plus, I'm looking forward to seeing some Jewish traditions and starting some new NYU wedding ones.

KC shakes hands with The BrianThe outdoor wedding starts and the weather cooperates. This makes me happy, since I'm wearing a suit for the occasion and don't have to sweat my ass off. Deek opted not to have a rabbi or a priest; instead, one of his high school buddies rented a marriage license for a weekend. He's a funny guy, quoting the comedian Louis C.K. and cracking a few other jokes at Deek's expense, such as, "You know you're marrying somebody who goes to six Phish shows a summer, right?"

It's well known that my NYU buddies gambled a grand each on who would be married last—called the Miser's Club. So far, only one of us has fallen. But during the ceremony The Brian and I decide to place some side bets. I bet him five salty dollars that Deek will cry and he takes the bet. So The Brian and I dwell on who's going to cry at their own weddings.

TB: Moose. Definitely going to cry.
KC: Oh yeah. Totally.
TB:
Digital?
KC:
Depends on a few factors, but probably.
TB:
Dirty Mike might cry.
KC:
Depends if he has to pay for the wedding or not. If he's got to spend more than fifty bucks, he's letting loose on the waterworks. I think Sweetheart will cry.
TB:
Because they'll finally let dudes marry dudes?

Both our chairs receive solid ninja kicks. "Quiet down you two dicks."

The wedding ends. They exchange rings and Deek doesn't cry. Somebody tells him about our bet to which he responds, "Fuck no, buddy. Not even close. I'm on a fifteen-year no crying streak." Well fuck, I could have used that information twenty minutes and five bucks ago.

We snap a few photos, then everybody rushes to the bar. I hit the bathroom for one of those "better-than-sex pisses." Something about being daylight drunk while wearing a designer suit makes taking a leak even more pleasurable.

KC drinks scotch with two friendsBefore dinner we hover like vultures around the open bar (the best type of bar there is) or the first stop of the guys with the h'ordeurves. I'm drinking Dewar's on the rocks, as that's Deek's drink. I hold my Scotch well, but I accidentally knock a full beer onto my friend's tux. I apologize but he says, "Who gives a shit? It's rented." I consider starting my hand on fire and making a paw-print into the formal wear, but don't because I don't have lighter fluid.

I do a lot of running around and shaking hands. I forget names before people say them. But the meal is starting up, so I don't really care. As we sit down, Matty starts eating the decorative plants and The Brian pulls off his jacket and tie. With every drink he finishes, he drops another button, until everybody can see his man nipples. I'm happy I'm not going to be the obnoxious one tonight.

The best man speech (in which I'm mentioned) is pretty awesome, given by one of Deek's and my dorm buddies. The maid of honor's speech lasts longer than the effing ceremony, and covers the bride's and maid's lives from birth to grad school. Miraculously, her stories end before last call—three hours away.

KC drinking a scotchLots of food disappears, then more drinks as the music starts. It's a funk band, which to me is unique since most live bands at weddings in South Dakota are country bands (there aren't black people in SoDak). Everybody—parents, grandparents, and little kids—starts dancing, another baffling shocker to me since at Midwestern weddings, the only people shaking their groove things on the dance floor are guys trying to bang bridesmaids.

I had hoped somebody would join me in dropping my pants and singing "Piano Man" as loudly as we could, but it's looking like it would just be The Brian and me—and I don't think he could even make words by now. So I skip it, still thirsting to see something crazy, get a death threat, or watch a bunch of ninjas jump out of a flying clown car.

Instead, I see Deek, his wife, his folks, and his new in-laws get thrown up and down in a chair for "the hora," the Jewish chair dance. I'm terrified of heights, so I make my way to the furthest part of the crowd away from this craziness in case they decide to lift Deek's friends onto chairs.

People dancing at the wedding receptionNot to be shown up, somebody decides to take a full-sized dining table, throw a questionably-aged girl on top, and parade her around the wedding. That was awesome. Then some old dude throws the white tablecloth over his head like a cape—except to the solo black dude and many Jewish people this looks a lot like a KKK hood. Somebody else ties about thirty cloth napkins together to make a giant jump rope, so people rock out some serious Double Dutch, an activity everybody no matter what race or creed can enjoy. Except for me, because I fail to get in line soon enough.

Soon, the open bars ends, and the band quits, following their encore. We load onto the bus, but this time it's nowhere near orderly. People in tuxes sit on the floor. Somebody pisses into an empty beer bottle. The Brian yells, "Show me your boobs!!" to every girl. Then somebody smacks him upside the head to tell him, "That lady is pregnant you dick." He clears his throat and hollers, "Show me your baby!!"

We're waiting for whatever reason…. Oh yeah, the bride and groom. In the meantimes, some of the boys want me to sing NYU Swim Team songs—which are basically about fucking chicks, how cool we are, or fucking hookers. We harmonize on a few verses, but I just can't bring myself to be the asshole—that's The Brian's job.

Back at the hotel we cram into the best man's room to drink, watch videos of the wedding, and hang out. I show my "famous tattoo" for the billionth time. We tell a few stories of our journeys from Red China to the Red Rocks Amphitheater. Soon, the twelve hours of drinking catch up to me. I've survived yet another wedding, so I figure I might as well hit the sack.

DAY 3

The Brian lying naked in hotel bedI wake up to take a leak and see my hotel roommate undressed a little more than anybody hoped for. Just to clarify, there were two beds in our room—I slept in the other one.

For a good night of sleep, Ambien has nothing on a liter of Scotch. But a billy club to the skull doesn't compare to the headache Johnny Walker can give you. After a gallon of ice water and a cup or two of coffee, those of us who were awake recount the previous night with already fond memories. Mostly because I showed the naked photo of The Brian to everybody.

We pack up and leave the fine city of Boston. The drive home sucks worse than the drive there, but as I cross off "visit Boston" and "attend semi-Jewish wedding" from my list of stuff to do before I die, I decide to knock off "eat some New England clam chowda" too. Unfortunately, it was from a roadside Hooter's in Connecticut, so it sucks pretty bad.

Another friend of mine bit the dust, as did the 2009 wedding season. This year I actually attended all the ceremonies I RSVP'd for, unlike last year where I made one out of four. I don't know who's going to be next, or when, but you can rest easily as Deez Nupts 2010 is around the corner. I'm sure I'll be there, enjoying myself and the company of my best friends. And booze too.

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