True Story Tuesday: Real Life Wedding Crashers

It's that time of year: wedding season. It's the time of year when your weekends fill up with weddings and all the related festivities. And once all of the craziness and months (or even years) of preparation have finally concluded and all the stress from all the details and events are finally out of the way, it's time to cut loose and celebrate!

Over the past several years, my husband and I have participated in several of our friends' weddings. And through the years, we have learned a couple of very valuable lessons: A) We should not be allowed to consume alcoholic beverages at such events or 2) We simply should not be invited.

Case in point: I was a bridesmaid in my very good friend's wedding 2 years ago this very day. At the reception, after a few too many glasses of wine, I thought it would be a great idea to go ahead and catch the bouquet. And yes, I was already married at the time. Not only did I catch the bouquet, but I DOVE for the darn thing, knocking all others out of my way to ensure that the bouquet was MINE. And by "all others," I mean a 4-year-old girl that desperately wanted to be the lucky one to catch the beloved bouquet. What followed it a bit of a blur, but I believe it was something along the lines of me spiking the bouquet into the dance floor as the little girl burst into tears. Needless to say, the bride was not too impressed...nor were most of the guests. In the end, I did feel bad, and I did give the bouquet to the little girl. The picture the photographer took of the bride with the bouquet-catcher was a photo of a splotchy-faced girl who had just been crying. As an aside, I'm not quite clear about this, but it's very possible that I passed out at a dinner table at the reception.

This past weekend was no exception to the wedding craziness. Only THIS time, it was my husband that acted a fool. The first sign that he had too much to drink was when he stepped on the dance floor. Let me tell you that in all the years we have been together, not ONCE have I ever EVER seen him dance. What he proceeded to do was a cross between skipping in place and a slow-motion running man. Apparently he thought he looked good because he continued to do this move throughout the rest of the night...first with the bride, and then with several other guests and bridesmaids.

By the end of the night, the man I call my husband had managed to vomit in a center piece, eject 2 glass vases from a moving vehicle into the middle of the street in a quiet residential area, drop and shatter a third glass vase in our driveway, and urinate in the corner of our bedroom. I'm not writing this post to entertain you...but more to WARN you: unless you want to see debauchery in full effect, DO NOT INVITE US TO YOUR WEDDING!

True Story Tuesday: The Lake Ninja

There should definitely be more true-life stories about Ninjas. My bestie and I both think so. Fortunately, we both have our own.

In this story my husband is actually the Ninja, which makes me a very proud wife.

This occurred in the wee hours of the morning, one drunken summer night at our favorite local lake. After a steady intake of Keystone Light for approximately 12 hours, my hubby and a small group of our drunken lake friends who were not yet passed out decided they needed to get something out of the boat house. When they got to the boat house, they realized that one of the drunkard's parents were in there sleeping.

"Dammit!" one drunk-ass exclaimed in a whisper that was almost louder than regular speech, "Now we can't get in there to get that shit!"

"Hey," my husband drunk-whispered back. "I GOT this! I'm jus' gonna sneak in there an' get it. I got this.... I'm a fucking ninja."

The fucking ninja then proceeded to enter the boat house with elephant-like reflexes, knocking over only a few random items which rattled to the floor, waking up the parents. Upon successful completion of the mission, he extricated himself from the boat house with the item.

"See? I told you... I'm a fucking ninja."

To all you ninjas out there... Keep on keepin' on.

True Story Tuesday: Ninja Edition

Since it's been an entire week since we blogged, we thought we'd throw a couple more TRUE STORIES your way to feed your bunger. Since we're ninja and all, we'll each share a ninja story.

My story takes place the night of the infamous "knee cancer." I was at a Widespread Panic concert in June of 2006. The booze was flowing, to say the least. Our group of 4 consumed 2 bottles of rum & too many beers to count while tailgating preshow. Once inside the gates, we ran into some friends from my home town and decided to kick it with them throughout the show.

Trying to keep up with the boys, I found myself drinking at their pace, but getting much more drunk. I was nearly kicked out for using my "forbidden" camera that I snuk in. As a compromise, the security guard let me stay in exchange for confiscating my camera. The booze kept flowing and we all kept dancing. At one point, I stood on my seat so I could see better. I kept dancing tho. Not a bright idea. Next thing I know, I'm falling into the next row of people and busted my knee open (hence the "knee cancer"). By the time I stood up, there was blood all down my leg from knee to ankle. My friends begged me to go to the infirmary, but I did not want to miss the concert. Eventually, they went without me and brought back alcohol swabs and bandages. They cleaned me up and bandaged my knee, against my will. Something about having battle scars from concerts makes me feel ninja. So as soon as they were finished bandaging my wound, I notoriously ripped the bandage from my knee and exclaimed "I'm a NINJA!"

And that, my friends, is a true story.


As a brief follow-up, we had our annual lake party just days later. My knee ended up getting infected from swimming in dirty lake water. It took months to heal and left a brutal scar, which is why we refer to any injury that lasts more than a month as cancer. I realize it is not funny to joke about cancer, and karma will one day prove that to me.

True Story Tuesday: "Jeans & Shirt Ashley"

Welcome to a new segment of the Bung Blog: True Story Tuesday. Here, we will enlighten you with TRUE STORIES (duh, if the title didn't give that away, then your 6th is probably non-existant....and probably your 7th as well) about our bungy lives. And if you don't feel fully enlightened by the end, then we stand by our money-back-guarantee that "if you're not paying us shit, then we don't owe you shit, so f off."

The TRUE STORY I'm about to share is entitled Jeans & Shirt Ashley.

This story took place in the fall of 2000. Melissa and I were getting ready for a typical night out at the bar, pre-drinking at the house we lived in and enjoying SEVERAL vodka beverages - heavy on the vodka (Bartons - the college drinker's vodka of choice - hey, it's only $10 and when you consume mass amounts of booze the way we did, you were gonna be hungover anyways so you might as well get the cheap shit). We proceeded to polish off the entire bottle of vodka and a few Busch Light beers before heading out the door to the bars.

Being the college bar flies that we were, we entered our favorite night spot and proceeded to make the rounds, saying hi to all the other regulars before purchasing drinks and hitting the dance floor. A typical night included lots of flirting with the bartenders, lots of drinking, lots of dancing, lots of cig smoking, lots of drink spillage, lots of trips to the bathroom, lots of number exchanging, occasional falling down, occasional cig burns, occasional puking, rare composure, rare sobriety.

At one point in the night, I realized I hadn't seen my partner-in-crime for at least an hour. I did a brief scan of the bar to see if I could spot her. No luck. I checked the back deck. Still no luck. I finally decided to check the bathroom. I passed the line of girls waiting to pee and poked my head in and yelled "Melissa??" Immediately, a girl grabbed me shouting "Oh good! You must be Jeans & Shirt Ashley!" as she dragged me to the very last stall. Thinking to myself, wtf...Jeans & Shirt Ashley??? I looked in the last stall and there was Melissa, with her head in the toilet, cigarette still in hand, and an innocent smile on her face. "See," she said, smiling, "Jeans & Shirt Ashley."

The girls proceeded to tell me that they could hear her puking in the last stall and asked if she needed some help. Melissa apparently asked them to find her roommate, Ashley. The girls agreed to help and asked what I would be wearing, to which Melissa stated "jeans.....and a shirt." Had she not been so specific, they NEVER would have found me! :)

Perhaps it's one of those stories where you "just had to be there." But I WAS there, and let me tell you, it was pretty efin funny. To this very day, I'm still known as "Jeans & Shirt Ashley." And just to prove the point, the pic above is a pic of me from that night wearing - you guessed it - jeans & a shirt.

Yes, my friends, this is IN FACT a TRUE STORY.