Names have been changed to protect the innocent

One of the most celebrated smash-hits of the last decade, Wedding Crashers chronicled the ridiculous antics of two best friends whose favorite past time was attending weddings to which they were not invited. The characters, played by Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson, made it a point of celebrating the nuptials while playing fabricated familial roles in order to get into bed with various bridesmaids or guests.

In honor of one of the greatest movies of the 21st century, I, too, decided to crash a wedding…

The opportunity to be a Wedding Crasher arose this past weekend when The Great Snowstorm of ’08 befell the Smith-Johnson wedding. One of my college roommates and his wife, Stan and Helen, were in Boston for Helen’s cousin’s wedding, which was to be a small, but formal affair. Most of the bride’s family were to be arriving from the Midwest and with Logan Airport closing down on Friday, several key members of the bride’s extended family were unable to get into Boston.

Luckily, I decided to brave the winter snowstorm on that Friday evening and meet Stan and Helen at a bar in Allston after the rehearsal dinner. Accompanying me to the bar was another college roommate, who resides in Boston, his beautiful girlfriend, Beeker, and the gf’s bff. All in all, the five of us walked into the bar to be confronted with the only place to sit being a table for four.  Due to this unfortunate turn of events, and my then current mental status being that of a complete jerk-off, I decided to leave the other four at the table and head straight to the bar.

After grabbing a quick pint, I ponied up to the table where Stan and Helen were sitting with the bride’s family. After making quick pleasantries with each of them, and downing my pint in lightning quick fashion, the bride’s father, Rick, sent Stan and I to the bar to acquire a few shots for his daughter. The bride-t0-be and her bridesmaids were seated in a booth on the opposite side of the bar, sufficiently removed from the family, but not out of the line of sight of the bride’s father. As Stan and I headed over to their booth, two shots of Patron in hand, I noticed that there seemed to be a little extra room at the booth.

The bride-to-be quickly imbibed the shots and after making some small talk with her and the bridesmaids, Stan retreated from the table to tend to our other college roommate. I, on the other hand, seeing a window open, decided to crawl right in. I continued chatting up the bride-to-be and her three bridesmaids, eventually sitting down with them in the L-shaped booth after the bride got up to get some water. In the course of discussion, I asked when the wedding was taking place the next day; with some incredulity, the maid-of-honor “reminded” me that it was at 5PM. I looked at her with a hint of confusion, but it was quickly replaced with a grin when I realized they thought that I was also from out of town and was attending the wedding the next day. I informed them that I actually live in Boston and didn’t even know the bride or groom. I believe some of their confusion may have arisen from the several drinks they had imbibed at that point, or they were simply struck by my charm and good looks. Either way, I summarily received a verbal invitation to the next day’s wedding from the maid-of-honor.

I later sheepishly relayed the invitation to Stan without the thought that I would actually be attending the wedding. To my slight surprise, both he and Helen were ecstatic about the idea, even indicating that I could take the place of Helen’s parents at the wedding, who were trapped in wintry Toledo, Ohio…

The next morning I called Stan to see if his excitement had been enhanced by the several beers he’d had the night before or if the offer still stood. To my surprise, Stan told me that Rick, the bride’s father had actually asked him earlier that morning if I would be in attendance. [Disclaimer: A true wedding crash would not entail being invited by the bride’s father, but I am using artistic license in my description.] Knowing that I had absolutely nothing going on that evening, I whole-heartedly agreed to attend. The true dilemma then ensued. The bridesmaids from the previous evening had not been particularly attractive. The bride-to-be was quite attractive, but the bridesmaids left a little to be desired. In the spirit of Wedding Crashers, I knew that the night was meant to end with me literally charming the skirt off of some lucky lady. With the knowledge at hand, I decided it was best to bring a date of my own, rather than chance it.

Upon getting off the phone with Stan, I called my friend Bethany to see what she had going on that afternoon/evening. After a slight hesitation, she agreed to meet me at the wedding once she determined she had a “wedding-worthy” dress.

I arrived at the wedding nearly 30 minutes early even though I had been at the same ballroom for a Christmas party the weekend before. Bethany, due to my lack of detail in the location of the wedding, initially got off at the wrong T-stop and had to walk 10 minutes in the snow before arriving shortly before 5PM. I was quite apologetic for my indiscretion, but she didn’t seem to mind too much. By that time, nearly every one of the 60 attendees were present, along with a few random stragglers like Bethany and myself. For the most part, people seemed to know one another, and there were even several good-looking friends of the bride in attendance. Yet, I was not upset about my decision to bring a date to the event.

The wedding itself was a brief non-denominational ceremony, high-lighted by a touching, but thoroughly adjective-laden love sonnet read by the bride’s brother. The reception ensued as the ballroom was then transformed into a dining area and dance floor. When we finally took our seats at the appropriate table for dinner, Bethany and I were greeted with the name placard of her parents, whose first names were eerily similar to our own and their last name was only one letter off of mine. In a completely appropriate outcome, the couple seated next to us quickly assumed we were married.

When it came time to cut a rug, Bethany, myself, Stan and Helen decided to own the dance floor, despite serious competition from a wide-eyed three-year-old whose frenetic dancing must have been aided by at least 3 Red Bulls. The other wedding guests who were of the same generation did their best to keep up, but the four of us grooved to the never ending series of ’80’s hits that were spun by the DJ. By the time the weekend DJ decided to play something from the last 5 years, everyone still on the dance floor had consumed at least 5 drinks apiece (or at least the reckless dance moves seemed to suggest that). The 40+ crowd that remained seemed to be glued to the sidelines, wishing that their knees and hips still allowed them bump-and-grind in a similar fashion as to the 20’s crowd. Maybe they knew something more than we all did, or maybe they aren’t big fans of T.I., but I appreciated that they stayed out of my way as I spun Bethany around and Stan and Helen danced like it as 1999.

As the reception came to a close, our group of four was still dancing the night away… but like any true wedding crasher, I knew that the night didn’t end with the close of the reception. So Bethany, Stan, Helen, and I collected our things and headed out into the snow-covered Boston night in search of another party, another drink, and maybe something more in line an Owen Wilson inspired end to the evening…