I have this friend (for anonymity’s sake, we’ll call her
“Kristen”), she is a party monster and a party dominator. She informs
me that she’s going to get married at an apartment party. There’s a
marriage certificate made with crayons, a thrift-store wedding
dress, and a whole van full of drunken fashion punks who will be
commandeering the party. Her fiancé, whom we’ll call “Albert
Hammond Jr.,” has known her for a month and lives out of town. They
swear they’re in love and that the wedding is for real. Kristen asks me
to give her away at the ceremony. They take wedding photos out by some
Dumpsters.
The wedding is going to take place at a cocktail and pizza
party hosted by Spike and Shaine. I’m told there is some “DIY
pizza” in the kitchen. I look, but can’t find any. Then it makes
sense: If you want some pizza, you have to do it yourself. Kristen
shows up with her van full of drunks to find a major wedding
complication: three of her ex-boyfriends are at the party. One
of them takes all the cushions off a couch and puts them on top of the
people sitting on the other couch, then he lies on top of them. He
challenges me to thumb wrestling. It makes my hand smell weird, like
baked goods. “Just ignore that,” he says. We wait and wait, but the
wedding never begins. Albert Hammond Jr. is out in the hall,
distraught. The wedding has been called off. Oh, well. They
probably would have had a divorce party soon enough
anyway.
Want to ask The Stranger to start a militantly gay Fugazi
cover band, Fag-Uzi? E-mail the date, place, time, and party details to
partycrasher@thestranger.com.