Partly Cloudy

prerequisite: Dinner and Losers

Betsy's wedding and reception took place at a winery up in the hills of anachronistic Woodside, CA. The reception ended unusually early at 8:00 pm. All the rich people who live up in the hills of anachronistic Woodside, CA set a noise curfew because, you know, seclusion can get so damn noisy.

Le Papillon, an expensive French restaurant, catered the wedding. There was an hour between the ceremony and the reception during which guests mingled and drank and ate hors d'oeuvres. In this time, I developed an addiction to an hors d'oeuvre that looked like seasoned ground meat in a cracker shell. I had consumed at least 20 of them and was about to get more when I heard a woman ask the waiter what this particular hors d'oeuvre was.


I had a flashback to when I discovered I was eating horse sashimi at a restaurant in China.

Along with the guestbook, there was a commemorative plate for guests to sign. As I was looking for a place to sign, I noticed a large sans-serif "signature" in the middle of the plate.


I went to take my seat for dinner and sitting at my table was none other than Mr. So Funny.

Oh joy, I thought.

Earlier in the day, about ten minutes before the wedding ceremony, I saw Sunny approach Tom holding a clipboard.

—Harro. Ah you an Amelican citizen?
—Ah you an Amelican citizen?

Tom was changing his baby's diaper at the time.

—I'm sorry. Can we do this later?

Trying to register voters at a wedding. Un-fuckin'-believable.