brownies, California, cannabis, dope, drugs, grass, hemp, marijuana, Napa Valley, pot, pot brownies, reefer, sweet sweet cheeba, wedding disaster, weed
It’s a truism that something always goes wrong at a wedding. Usually it’s something small (or several small somethings), but other times the happy event can descend into a scene straight out of the Jerry Springer show. The story that follows falls somewhere in the middle.
Not long after I graduated from college, my friend Ramon asked me to be in his wedding. Ramon was my ‘little brother’ (a fraternity designation; I have no natural siblings), despite being about three years older than I was, and had actually managed to land one of our professors–a sizable victory. The wedding was to be held in some high-toned winery in Napa, California. The wedding would be a dignified affair, with a great many guests from both sides.
However, one of the guests brought marijuana brownies to the party. Significantly, this first-time chef had improperly followed the recipe, and had inadvertently created super-brownies. It’s impossible to say just how many guests helped themselves to brownies, but it was at the reception when the affair quickly began to go south.
It started when a couple of guys from my frat convinced the wedding photographer to take a few pictures of them pressing their naked asses to the windows of the reception hall, displaying their matching tattoos for all the world to see. I was talking with Ramon when all this went down.
In the middle of my conversation with Ramon, his hot little sister broke in and began speaking to him rapidly in Spanish: ‘Taco burrito chimichanga, guacamole por favor!’ Ramon’s face darkened as he answered, ‘Tostada margarita, tortilla no bueno!’
He turned to me. “Do you know anything about people showing their tattoos?” But before I could answer, a knot of angry voices rose over the din of the party–Maureen, Ramon’s new bride, had just heard about the photography snafu. Maureen had lived on the West Coast for over ten years at this point, and as a professor, had struggled mightily to rid herself of her braying New Jersey accent. Now, more than a little drunk and entirely pissed off, the Jersey Girl buried deep within Maureen began to assert herself with a vengeance, “What the fuck is goin’ on heah?” she bellowed.
By the time Maureen was halfway pacified, we had bigger fish to fry. Our buddy Mike had apparently gobbled one too many brownies and had become convinced that the brownies were laced with LSD. For the rest of the evening, a twitchy, barely consolable Mike insisted that he’d been dosed. Mike would experience brief periods of lucidity when he would appear to be convinced that the brownies contained nothing more than an overabundance of cannabis. Then, slyly, he’d ask, “So how much acid is in these brownies, anyway?”
Finally, when my responsibilities were through, I managed to sneak away to my hotel room and collapse wearily onto my bed. Although I was beat from a long, grueling day, I took some satisfaction at least that my brownies were a big hit.
Adrienne schmadrienne said:
I’m cracking up at my desk right now!
That’s a wedding I would’ve loved to be at. I hope you have now perfected your baking skillzz since then.
Reminds me, tonight I’ll be seeing Orlando’s own Betty Cracker. I hope she’s got some peanut butter fudge on her.
And I thought putting EX-LAX in the brownies was bad! But it did keep Half-a-Ton away from our lunch table for three days. When he came back to school he didn’t look any lighter, but claimed that he’d “had the worst shits of my life” for three entire days. 1985 EX-LAX was powerful stuff. I put one box in the brownies and another in the frosting. He ate the whole pan. 🙂
We smoked the herbal medicinals- or whatever it was in the Marion County Homegrown. I think it was a pinch of cheap Mexican weed cut with a very large amount of catnip, but it it was all us po folk could afford.
Although my wedding was marijuana- and blue-moon free, despite what our budget of $2000 to spend might imply (tackiness is lost on the young, which in my case proved useful), I do have videographic proof that my very-nervous husband said “Awfully-wedded” instead of “lawfully-wedded.” Considering he was the one pushing for the nuptials, I accepted it for the honest mistake that it was. However, considering he’s now been subjected to years of my oddness, it might have been a Freudian slip, after all…
Oh, by the way, love your Spanish. I can tell you’ve spent years studying it.
Great post! I did one about my big day…I was late, my wedding party had a pool going that my man wouldn’t show, my best friend burnt the crap outta my forehead fixing my hair, AND the night before, we took the racks out of the fridge at the church to put the wedding cake in – turned out to be a standing deep-freezer – froze that sucker like a block of ice! (I laugh about it today)
El Guapo said:
This is why we let people know just a few days before the cfact that we were getting married and prevented the making of heinous (hilarioous) plans like this.
That’s good thinking, Guap! Plus, you and your wife probably have a better quality of friends than do my friends.