I hate Kanye West

My girlfriend had it right: the perfect wedding. A wedding some girls only dream of. Girls like me. You see, most women have been planning their weddings since they could walk. The long flowing gown, the bridesmaids’ dresses, the groom and all the guests turning around to watch as she walks down the aisle and blinds them with her beauty. Cap it all off with white doves being released into the heavens. Beautiful dreams.

I didn’t have a dream wedding. I had a reality wedding. The kind that makes the bride crazy. The kind that drives wedges between family members. Where you want to bribe your photographer so that she will kick your wedding planner’s ass. Believe me, I tried to have my own dream wedding. I’m not a traditional girl and I didn’t want a traditional wedding. The thought of everyone watching me walk down the aisle made me sick to my stomach. I wanted something fun. I begged and begged my fiancée Poptart to elope to Vegas. I had a dream. I was going to wear a red dress and be married by an Asian Elvis. And we were going to live happily ever after. My dream was crushed by a traditional fiancée who wanted to have a traditional wedding. Complete with conservative in-laws, an overbearing aunt, and a dad I loved too much to disappoint. It was no longer my wedding. It was theirs.

Cut to two years later. One of my best friends called me with the news.
“Joey and I are getting married and we want you to be there,” she said.
“Oh my God! You guys have been together for 10 years and you’re getting married now?”
“We think it’s the right time.”

Joey and Kristina weren’t the kind of couple to avoid marriage because they were gun-shy. In fact they have always been one of the best couples I’ve known. It was love at first sight. Kristina and I were living in an apartment in Pacific Beach not too far from the water, when we see three guys move in across from us. Naturally, the first thing we did was check out the merchandise. First there was Tommy. He was cute, but he didn’t really fit either of our “types.” Then there was Scotty. Tall, tatted, long hair, criminal surfer…. Just my type. Finally, there was Joey. Joey was tall, with olive skin, long hair, and beautiful green eyes.

“That one is mine,” Kristina said, in the same way that you may say, “the sky is blue.” She was right. Nothing ever happened on my end with Scotty, but Kristina and Joey got together and have been together ever since.

“We want you and Poptart to come. No one else. “
“What about your parents?”
“I told them not to come. I just want this to be simple.” That’s when I realized that my friend was having my dream wedding. I envied her. She was always a spitfire and did what she wanted in life, and that is always something I will forever respect.

The wedding was to take place in Vegas over New Years weekend. It was Friday night and Kristina and Joey were already in Vegas. Poptart and I had to take a later flight because I couldn’t get off work any earlier. When we got to the airport we did what anyone going to Vegas should do. We ordered drinks at the airport bar. We stood at the bar drinking our drinks and we got giddy just thinking about the good times ahead of us.

That giddy feeling lasted right up until we got on the plane. The flight from San Diego to Las Vegas is a relatively short one, but in this case it seemed like an eternity. Poptart and I ordered gin and tonics from the flight attendant and were just settling back for the flight when we heard her. The most obnoxious woman ever. I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her. Her voice reminded me of an anti smoking commercial. She must put away at least 3 packs a day.

“HONEY! I WANNA JACK AND COKE!” She barked at the flight attendant.
Poptart and I chuckled a little bit, but went right back into our own world and enjoyed ourselves. For about 15 seconds. Then it came again.

“HEY, SWEETIE! I WANNA JACK AND COKE!” Feeling bad for our attendant, I tipped her $5 for having to deal with the jackass up front. Then it happened a third time, but before the Hound from Hell could finish her demand, someone yelled back, “FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I looked around the plane to see who I needed to thank for trying to quiet the flying menace when I realized that I had said it. Poptart looked at me, stunned, and whispered, “Is Stacy going to have to smack a bitch?” Then I heard a very slurred “WHO SAID THAT?” Not wanting to get into a drunken brawl, and miss my best friend’s wedding, we sunk down in our seats laughed our asses off. As our flight attendant walked by, she smiled at me and gave me the thumbs up. Feeling generous, I flipped her another $5. And….we’re off!

We eventually arrived at the hotel and hooked up with Joey and Kristina. They were saucy and also drinking gin and tonics so we were on all the same page. We partied, we gambled, and we went down to the cigar shop and smoked cigars. It was a great night. We knew the night was coming to a close when the bride-to-be started complaining about her beautiful knee high boots were hurting her feet and took them off and threw them. Then the future married couple went to bed, but I have a feeling they didn’t sleep. Poptart and I also decided to retire to our room. Drunk and hungry, we scoped out the room service menu.

“They want HOW MUCCCH fer a burger?” I slurred. “Thatsh highway robbery!”
“You know whaa we should do?” Poptart asked, swaying and pointing in my general direction.
“We…yep. We should go downshtairs. They’ve got food down there.”
“Haaa! Now thasa great idea. But wait, I’m in my PJ’s.”
“You look great. And so what? It’s Vegas,” he replied. This made perfect sense.
“Thanks babe. I love you”
“Right back atcha.”
So there we are. Two rocket scientists on our way to locate food. We hit the elevator and try to find the button for lobby.
“Looobbby.” Poptart pushes the button that is going to take us to the holy land.
We go down about two floors when a man enters and says to me, “You’re in your pajamas.”
“You’re very observant.” I tell him.

We get to the lobby and make our way to the restaurant all the while people are staring at my choice of clothing attire.
“You mean to tellllll me I could dreess like a HOOKER and no one would say a word? But I’m in my pajamas and everyone is suuuurprised. Givvve me a break.” I say.
We order our food, which we had originally intended to take back to the room but decided it would be much better to stay completely drunk, in pajamas in public. Because first impressions are so important.

Done with our food we make it safely back to our room. We pull out our keycard that is adorned with Kanye West’s face. Apparently, Kanye was performing for New Years. Whatever. We slide our keycard though the lock, but instead of the comforting green “welcome” light, we get the red light of rejection. So we slide again. Red light. This went on for some time. Slide, red light. Slide, red light.

“DAMN YOU KANYE!” Poptart yells.
We both take turns, because two drunks are always better than one. When I decide I’ve had enough, I go to the lobby to get this straightened out. Poptart takes a seat by our door because he needs to guard it. It is very important that no one gets past that area of the hall.

Back into the elevator, push the lobby button. Up to the front desk.
“My keeey doesn’t work, pleassse help.”
The kind woman at the front desk resets the lock and assures me everything will be all right. On my way back to the elevator I hear, “Hey, you’re in your pajamas.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I mumble as I make it back to the elevator and back up to my floor. We then try to swipe Kanye again. No luck.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!!!” I say as I storm back to the elevator. Press the lobby button. Back to the front desk. Now I’m starting to sober up a bit.
“Still no luck with the key. Can you send someone up?”
“I’ll send security up ma’am (I hate being called ma’am),” She said in her best “I’m doing my job to pretend I like you, you drunken idiot” voice.
“Thank you.”

Back into the elevator and back up to my floor. The elevator doors open to reveal Poptart asleep on the floor with the receiver of the house phone in his hand. I gently nudge him, and when that doesn’t work I yell, “WAKE UP! They are sending security.”
We wait by the door and are eventually greeted by a woman from security.
“You’re in your pajamas.”
I give out a low growl.
“May I have your key please?” She takes the key and swipes it and nothing happens. Genius! Like we hadn’t thought of that whole “swipe the key card” trick. Now I know we’re drunk, but it’s not like we spent our childhoods hitting ourselves in the head with blunt objects. I’m pretty sure we can master such a thing as a simple key swipe.

“Hold on, I have to call my boss,” She says.
“Oh good. Her boss is coooominggg,” Poptart slurs. At this point I’m just happy he’s awake. I don’t want him to miss this because I plan to make fun of her later.
After about another 20 minutes and another Poptart “power nap”, here comes the head of security. He looks kind of like Humpy Dumpty with an authority complex.

“Let me have the key,” He tells his co-worker. Apparently you need security clearance to open one of these doors. He swipes the key into the lock. Wanna take bets on whether it worked this time?
“It’s broken,” He tells us.
“Oh thank God, I thought it was just me,” I tell him. At this point I’m dripping with sarcasm and visibly pissed off.
“We’re going to have to call Maintenance.”
Maintenance finally shows up and the A team leaves. It’s now 3:00 a.m. We can’t go to sleep because the maintenance guy has to re-key the lock. We get a new Kanye key. We begged to get a Howie Mandel or even a Celine Dion, because at this point we both really, really, hate Kanye West. No luck. The maintenance man finally leaves. I lay my head down around 4:00 a.m, and wake up around 5:00 to ride the porcelain bus. Poptart wakes up the next morning and is looking pretty good. I’m a nice shade of yellow.

We meet up with the future bride and groom for brunch where I immediately start pounding champagne because I’m pretty sure the only help for me is to get drunk again as soon as possible. We end up having a great day. We did the gondolas at The Venetian, we had a great lunch and then it was time for us to get ready for the wedding. I was right that getting a little drunky was the best idea I had ever had. It was a beautiful wedding. The bride wore purple and it was exactly the way she wanted it. Stress free. They got married on New Years Eve, and we ended the evening watching the New Year’s fireworks.

I learned to hate Kanye West on that weekend, and I still do. But I will always love Kristina and Joey. And I would puke, strut around a Vegas casino in my PJ’s, and sleep in a hallway for them again in a heartbeat. Only I promised Kristina I would get it on video this time.

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com


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