11 AM...

Flask is filled. I don't know the meaning of a "dry" wedding. There may or may not be a cooler filled with Michelob in the car. And my mother and I may or may not have shouted in glee when we realized there was a bar at the hotel where the "dry" reception is being held.



Is this called alcoholism or being the black sheep? I don't know, but you better believe my next post will be about the absurdity of being forced to partake in the joyous event of two souls being united in holy matrimony...."sober."

Fingers crossed for some good ol' drunken slurs out of my classy assed mouth while talking to the southern bapist groomsmen.