I remember saying “try some water”, but it was no use. She was guzzling that goddamn Cleveland winery swill like it was Kool-Aid.

Hey, this is off the subject, but why don’t restaurants serve Kool-Aid? That would be sweet!

Anyways, my lady was chugging this wine like she was at a frat party.

Her emotions were running hot that night. We were at a wedding after all; one of the most romantic places a single gal of 30 could be. To make matters worse, we are preparing to separate because of a pending move. And just to put a little gas on the fire, she didn’t know a soul at the wedding. Then to put some napalm on the fire, she was feuding with her father.

This last line is important to us fellas. When we know that a gal is angry at her dad, we know that we can do all kinds of stuff to her…dirty stuff that would make her dad real mad.

Again I digress. This isn’t about doing dirty stuff to my lady. This is about her getting so goddamn drunk at this wedding that we almost went to jail.

“Jail” you say? Indeed. Be patient and you will be rewarded.

So after the wedding, she was putting down these glasses of red. By the time dinner rolled around, it was an unwelcome distraction to her drink. She goofed on the helpless rubes at our table while tried to dine.

A few entertained her and accepted her challenges to be “drank under the table.

I began to tally up her drinks in my brain. “Let’s see, 3 glasses of red while we talked to so and so, then a shot of rum when we were seated, then 4 more glasses of wine with appetizers, 2 glasses of Champaign with the toasts, then a Grey Goose and tonic while others ate dinner, then 2 cups of Bailey’s and coffee after dinner…

The register in my head was dinging like the one on The Price is Right. I quickly realized the gravity of the situation.

Her speech was slurred and she started to stare off into oblivion. Her hand motions looked like she was conducting a symphony in slow motion. Then she started talking Chinese.

My lady is half Chinese. The only time she talks to me in Chinese is when she’s really mad or completely wasted.

This is when I offered the water and tried to move the alcohol out of her reach.

She was now slumping over in her chair. She looked like an ice sculpture of a cherub that was melting in the summer sun.

Suddenly she shouted, “You fucking pussies. I’ll out drink all you fuckers!” Just when I thought she was going down, she jolted back to life.

I leaned to her neck and said, “Come On Babe, let’s go for a walk.”

But she wasn’t having it. Her eyes understood what I said, but her body was no longer accepting commands from her brain.”

I turned to one of the knuckle heads who was part of the drunkery, “Dude, help me get her up and to the lobby.”

The Lobby! I almost forgot about the goddamn lobby. This wedding was in this really old country club which looked like an old castle. The lobby was where the wedding coordinator, valets, and security had set up post. It was like a fucking museum in this place; cold and quiet. The furniture was purposefully uncomfortable so one would not dally too long there. It was full of art for saving, not savoring.

So the dude grabs hold of one side and I get the other side. We get her up from the chair and her body is shifting like a sack of Jell-O. We would apply leverage to one side and she would shift another way. It was amazing.

We got about 12 feet when she tore herself free in an unprecedented feat of strength.

“I’m fine…I’m fine!” she insisted, pressing her pack to cement pillar.

“The fuck you are! You’re drunk as shit and starting to make a scene. Now, let’s quietly head out to the lobby,” I said assertively.

By the time dude and I got to her, she had made a bolt for the door. We were once again shocked at her agility to even coordinate the motor skills to pull off such a maneuver.

I followed behind at a snail’s pace. It was important not to run after her. After all, we didn’t want to make a scene.

The goddamn lobby. Blood suckers in every direction. “How may we assist you sir?” one enquired.

“I’m looking for my lady friend. Can you instruct me on which direction she may have wondered off to?”

“Sir, if you are referring to the young lady who just ran through the lobby, she went in to the restroom.”

“I thank you,” rolled off my tongue as I directed myself to the bathroom.

Another thing, why do people act snobby to snobs? Is it just to show them that any asshole can talk that way? I guess you sound really ignorant when you use street talk to snobs, but that is another subject.

I found a torture device which resembled a wooden bench and sat there for 20 minutes or so watching the women go in and out the bathroom.

Meanwhile, the Gestapo was keeping a close eye on me. I might have tried to steal some of their shitty art.

Finally, I had enough. I went back into the reception and got my old friend Marsha to scout out the situation in the ladies’ room.

We walked through the lobby nodding at Nazis. Then Marsha slipped into the ladies’ room.

She quickly came out with her eyes bulging out of their sockets. “Dude, there is some crazy crack head chick sitting on the floor in front of the bathroom stall. She’s talking to Jenna and saying some really crazy shit.”

“What? Fuck this, I’m going in,” I scowled as I pushed my way through the door.

“Immediately, I saw this dark lanky girl curled up on the floor next to the stall door. She was wearing a red Asian dress and had her hair in braids. Her face was shiny from the piercings dangling from every orifice. She smiled at me exposing several missing teeth.

“What the fuck is going on?” I exploded.

“It’s cool. There’s a girl in here that’s having a psycho somatic break. I was talking her down and I gave her some Valium and some Percocet,” she replied.

“Are you on fucking glue? She’s drunk as a skunk and you gave her pills you dumb bitch!” I shouted.

“Okay, I have my Associate’s Degree in Psychology. I can see that you are tripping on something so…

“Get out of the way Toofy,” I blurted as I moved her to one side. I opened the door to find Jenna sitting on the pot with her head against the stall.

“Tell that crazy bitch to shut the fuck up and get the fuck outta here. She’s making me sick,” Jenna announced.

“Did you take the pills?” I asked.

“No. They’re on the floor,” she replied as her head slumped back. “I just need a little more time in here to get my fucking shit together.”

I looked down and picked up the pills from the ground. I tried to dispose of them by dropping them in toilet, but Jenna would not budge. I walked out of the stall and put them in my pocket.

“You heard the lady, FUCK OFF!” I scowled at the kook.

She picked her skeleton self up and shuffled out the door.

Unfortunately, we now had a crowd. There were at least 18 ladies jammed into the bathroom to see what all the commotion was about and another 12 outside the door.

I excused my self from the bathroom, apologizing for being in the ladies room.

By the time I reached Marsha out side, every yenta at the party had come to take a look. We were now the center of attention.

The bride and groom had even come out to see what was upstaging their wedding.

As I was apologizing to the groom’s father, the head of security came barreling through the crowd.

You know the type; crew cut, overweight, couldn’t make the police force. He was gathering information from various party goers. By the time he had reached the bathroom, he had ascertained that there was a girl in the bathroom overdosing on pills that her boyfriend had given her so that he could rape her.

His tubby frame finally landed at my feet. “And you are the boyfriend?” he barked.

“Yes sir. My girlfriend had too much to drink and just needed a moment to collect herself in the restroom,” I said directly. “This whole thing is being blown out of proportion.”

“Well that’s not what I heard,” he replied in his best tough guy voice. “I called the police and the ambulance. They’re on their way now son. You can talk all you like to them.”

“I was outraged. “What? Are you mad? This is ridiculous! She had too much to drink and this crack head was bothering her so…”

“Oh really? So what’s in your front right pocket then son?” He was now in my face.

God damn, that rotten toothless bitch must have told him where I put those fucking pills. I just wanted to throw them out, and now I’m about to go to the clink for drugging a poor girl and attempted sodomy.

This was now out of control. The thing had spun out of some evil game of telephone to the point that I was now in some shit. Fight or flight? I choose fight.

My forearm began to dance magically as I pushed him from my space. “Out of my way Tubby,” I mustered. “Marsha, give me a hand. We’re taking her out!”

We crashed through the door and pressing our way through the bodies who had amassed in the bathroom to witness the spectacle. Old Tubby had enough sense not to grab me.

I flung the stall door open and hooked Jenna from underneath her armpit. Once standing and out of the stall, Marsha grabbed the other side.

As we started to get through the crowd, Jenna began heaving up what looked like Gene Simmons blood. And let me tell you, nothing moves people like puke. We had instant access to the door.

On the way out, I scooped up a small plastic trash can and wedged it between myself and Jenna. She was coherent enough to angle her neck in a way that would let the can collect the vomit as we careened through the lobby.

Tubby was now walking behind us ordering me to “halt” and insisting that he was detaining us until the police arrived.

“You have no authority. Furthermore, if you try to detain us any further, I will sue you and this establishment for unlawful imprisonment and breach of faith.

Goddamn it, my attorney is Jerry Pate!” I hollered back.

“Valet’s, Stop them!” he shouted.

Suddenly a wall of red jackets blocked the door way. We stopped.

Jenna’s bucket had fallen because of the inertia force from the sudden stop. Now there was red puke all over the lobby.

There was a collective groan from the mass of onlookers.

The wedding coordinator was almost in tears as she accused us of “ruining the wedding.”

The valets would not take orders which would cover them in puke and they quickly disassembled.

We brushed past them when I realized that I had left my ticket in my coat and my coat was in the reception. “Marsha, get my coat from the table.”

She darted back into the reception.

The crowd watched on with anticipation. “What would happen next?”

I couldn’t wait for the jacket. This was time for action.

I opened the valet box and searched for my keys.

There was a gasp in the back from the head valet, but he was powerless to stop me.

“Fucking goddamn rental car! Where’s the fucking keys?”

“Are you looking for these?” the head valet asked as he dangled my keys from his thin index finger. This really illustrated how delicate his fingers were, which made me think that his small finger was the only thing between me and freedom.”

Just then Marsha showed up with the jacket.

“Dude…” I said to the valet as I fished into my pocket, “I have $20 dollars that could be yours right now. Or I can add you to the law suit. Do you know Jerry Pate?”

I glared at him. He stared back.

And in one swift move he looked at Tubby, grabbed the $20 from my fist and ran into the eternal blackness of the night.

I could hear Tubby reciting codes that he may have heard on some TV show. Jenna sat on the stoop with her face in the bucket telling him, “Fuck his fat ass off with fat fucking dildo,” as if he were in the bottom of her puke bucket.

The car pulled up. I got Jenna into the passenger seat with little difficulty. I quickly fastened her seatbelt and went around to the driver’s seat. The valet winked at me as he held my door.

I could here old Tubby shout something about license plates as I jammed the car into gear.

Jenna was knocked the fuck out for the one hour ride home. I gave her a shove every few miles to make sure she was still alive. She responded with some primal groan, which brought me much comfort.