My bride and I giggling after I accidentally tried to marry the priest

One year ago to this day, I found myself kneeling before God praying that I wouldn’t pass out in front everyone I’ve ever known and the most beautiful girl in the world. I had made the unfortunate mistake of ordering a five-cheese omelette that morning at breakfast. The quintet of cheese was making monstrous noises in my stomach and the holy altar at St. Paul of the Cross was strangely hotter than hell...

So I looked up to the giant wooden Jesus on the cross above and prayed that I could stay conscious long enough to make it through the ceremony. Although a sweaty groom who foolishly ingested 100 times his daily dairy intake was likely not #1 on God’s to-do list, I hoped he’d spare my wife the embarrassment of watching her soon-to-be-husband take a swan dive on the same altar where she received her first communion.

The night before, friends and family had gathered at Carlucci in Rosemont for a rehearsal diner party hosted by my parents. The past four and half months had been a total whirlwind of photography appointments, list making sessions, DJ meetings, and in-depth wedding day discussions –most of which I was completely uninvolved in. Shannon had done it all. Making my way through all my Irish relatives and red-faced groomsmen and ushers, I was amazed that in only a few hours I would have my wife for keeps.

It was eighty miles north and four years prior that Shannon and I had our first real conversation in her brother Brendan’s dirty Marquette dining room. My first thought when she began talking to me and smiling that gorgeous smile at me was 'what is wrong with her.' Why on God’s green Earth would a girl this lovely give me the time of day? Nevertheless, we chatted the night away amongst a blur cheap beer and playing cards. She even let me share a part of seat with her at the crowded party. We talked about music, our families, people we knew, and I’m sure many more things, but all I could think about was how big and blue her eyes were up close. Sauntering back to my house on 19th street that night, I couldn’t help but feel that something monumental had begun in my life.

I still had my doubts about my chances with Ms. Sullivan. Although some may believe that one shouldn’t place romantic limitations on oneself, I strongly believed she was out of my league. Shannon was a daughter of a Chicago politician and carried herself with such elegance that I assumed she would only date the classiest of guys, not a guy whose wardrobe mainly consisted of cargo shorts and Bruce Springsteen t-shirts. I needed to find out if her flirtatious smiles and willingness to talk to me for more than hour was the real deal or just a momentary lapse in sanity on her part.

So I did what any hopeless romantic would do. I stalked her. OK, so I didn’t like stalk her in the creepy hiding behind the bushes sense. I would go eat lunch everyday in the cafeteria at Schroeder Hall in the hopes that we would run into each other by “accident.” I would look out across the cafeteria and scope the crowd for Shannon’s curly head of hair. I loved the fact that she had the kind of hair Irish dancers would have killed for. You could pick her out of crowd anywhere.

I eventually spotted her one day getting up to get another bowl of tomatoes and quickly set my bowl of jello aside and ran over to her. Acting like I just so happened to be finishing lunch at that moment, I gave her an awkward hug and said we should have lunch sometime. We began to talk more and had a few cafeteria lunch dates chaperoned by her brother Brendan.  At parties we would sneakily hold hands when no one was looking like a pair of toddlers who fell in love in the sandbox.

I had already told most of my friends about my ongoing courtship of Shannon and received tons of solicited and unsolicited advise from the gang on how to win her heart. My roommates suggested everything from asking her out while wearing a chicken costume to arranging a middle ages-styled meeting with Brendan to negotiate his sister’s hand. Instead, I just waited for Brendan to go out of town and invited Shannon over to a party at our house. We danced to eighties music (the only kind of music Shannon listens to) and finally I got up enough courage to kiss her. It was easily the best decision of my life. And although there’s much more to our journey to the altar, that magical night in Milwaukee felt like yesterday as I awoke on our wedding day.

Upon my waking at the Courtyard Marriott, I immediately realized I had failed to pack many of the basic essentials necessary to make myself appear to be a respectable groom. I had to rely on my best man, Bill, for: a razor, shaving cream, deodorant, socks, and tooth brush. I even needed to borrow a pair of his boxers. Apparently, not everyone wears their own underwear to their wedding.  I felt like I was in second grade again at St. Edith’s, fumbling through my desk for my homework. Nervous, excited, and overwrought with hope that my bride would get everything she ever wanted on her wedding day, we set out for the ceremony.

My brother Terry, his wife Jamie, and Bill made me calm my nerves by telling me jokes as we rolled through the familiar images of downtown Park Ridge. Over the past two years since I had graduated from Marquette, I had spent countless hours in Shannon’s suburban hometown. Working all day at the Park Ridge Library on various freelance writing gigs and besieging her parent’s refrigerator at night for make-shift dinners, Park Ridge had almost become a second home to me.

Seeing my brothers, soon-to-be-brother-in-laws, and friends dressed in tuxedos when we got out of the car settled down the butterflies moshing in my stomach. I had never seen Terry, Tim, Brendan, the Sullivan Brothers, Cradick, March, Kearney, Bill, and Big John more dressed up in my entire life. I was so accustomed to seeing my friends wearing ill-fitting jean shorts and hoodies that I couldn’t help but smile at the change in our attire. We took pictures outside the church cracking jokes until everyone was rushed off into their designated pre-wedding posts.

Inside the church, the sweat began forming on my forehead as the music played and each of my groomsmen walked out to greet a bridesmaid along aisle. Eventually. I was left at the altar to await my bride. Eternity seemed to pass while I waited for the big doors of the narthex to open. Shannon had absolutely forbid me to see her before our wedding. I smiled a big smile for everyone as the seconds passed as I awaited my first glimpse of white. Finally the music stopped and the pianist began playing “Canon in D.”

The doors of St. Paul opened and there, smiling like a saint, walked my bride.  Wearing a classically beautiful dress of white and her cheeks as rosy as the day I met her, Shannon glided toward me in arm with her tearful father, the most honorable Dave Sullivan. It felt like all the faces in the church washed away and I was left with this radiant beauty starring at me with her perfect smile. People later said I looked like someone had punched me straight in the stomach when Shannon walked down the aisle. She, literally, knocked the air right out of me and again I wondered how I had tricked this babe into a lifetime of love.

In the end, Jesus came through. I preserved through the hot lights of the almost sixty year old church to make it back down the aisle and into the forgiving June air. I had married my dream girl and my dream girl had married me. Despite my flirtations with blacking out, I will look back on that day as my best day. A man couldn’t have a more caring, more beautiful, more wonderful wife than my Shannon. She loves me and all her close ones with such a ferocity she can barely contain it.  This past year with Shannon has been the best year of my life. Thank you my love.

Happy Anniversary Shannon,

Sean

Exactly what it sounds like. And hilarious. Check it out after the jump.

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by Sean Heffernan

The Windy City is one of greatest places in the world to be a guy. A sports fan can find a professional sporting event almost every night of the year to attend. There are more sports bars and Irish pubs than any single drunk’s liver could handle in a lifetime. And the city is world famous for two of the greatest guy foods in history: pizzza and hot dogs. What else could you want in a city? Here’s my list of five things for a guy to do in Chicago, IL...

1. Enjoy the Best Baseball Town in America

The dislike between Chicago Cubs and White Sox fans is legendary and as fierce as any intercity rivalry in the country. I have a friend that will in the middle of any conversation burst into a “Cubs Suck” tirade without any apparent warning.

The Cubs’ Wrigley Field is one of the most hallowed sports venues in America. There’s truly nothing like watching the Cubs stumble all over the diamond and run face first into the ivy while sitting in the bleachers drinking a cold Old Style. Outside of the stadium awaiting you is block after block of bars and restaurants. Whether you’re looking for a sports bar, dance club, hole-in-the-wall, or reggae joint - you’ll have a good, dirty time in Wrigleyville.

On the Southside of town the White Sox have bragging rights after bringing home the World Series in 2005 (a feat the more popular Cubs haven’t done in over a century…seriously). The neighborhood might not be as trendy around the Sox’s U.S. Cellular Field as Wrigleyville, but the food inside the stadium puts The Friendly Confine's cuisine to shame. “The Cell” as its nicknamed has all the modern amenities Wrigley lacks as it was built in 1991 and since U.S. Cellular bought the rights in 2003 the stadium has been renovated regularly. After the game I suggest you hit up Schaller’s Pump for the bar’s legendary butt steak. It’ll kick your ass.

No matter if you’re a pompous yuppie of a Cubs fan, a classless degenerate of a Sox fan, or just a guy looking for a good time at the ballpark you’ll fit right in Chicago.

2. Viva Football/Futbol

It should tell you something that the most famous person in Chicago is none other than Mike Ditka - the mustached and pompadoured coach that led the 1985 Chicago Bears to the organization’s one and only Super Bowl victory. “Da Coach” eventually fell out of favor and was fired, but no one remembers that. In the fall, the city stops brawling over baseball and comes together to support the Monsters of the Midway. As it gets cold later on in the season, tailgaters’ polish sausage and Italian beef will keep you warm outside Solider Field. The Bears are on the front page of the Tribune and the Sun Times daily during the season, regardless if they are winning or losing. The team's home stadium may look like a weird spaceship from the outside, but inside it is a great place to watch a sporting event.

Bears tickets will, however, put a nice dent in your wallet. If you’re looking for a good time at a discount price, I suggest you opt for the type of football played just south of the city in Bridgeview, IL. Toyota Park is home to the MLS’s Chicago Fire as well as summer concerts, and the occasional national team game. I recently attended a Chicago Fire playoff game and sat in the Miller Lite deck. For the price of admission you get four beers and all you can eat concessions until the 20^th minute of the game. Needless to say I was a happy guy before half time with my pockets full of hot dogs and condiments. A Fire game is definitely one of the best bangs for your buck in the city. If you're into buck banging.

3. Go Watch the Ponies Run at Arlington

Your fortunes await you in the Northwest Suburbs at Arlington Park. Spend the entire day eating crab cakes, drinking cheap bear, listening to live music, and blowing as much or as little cash as you want at the over 80-year-old race track. You’re welcome at Arlington whether you’re a high roller or just a guy willing to part with a few bucks. You can dine on shrimp cocktail and filet mignon while wearing a monocle in the Million Room or slup it with the Regular Joes eating cheeseburgers and corn on the cob outdoors. People look forward to the track's trademark race, The Arlington Million, all year long when a million clams is awarded some midget on a horse. It’s a good time.

4. Eat Something Bad For You

Chicago isn’t famous for its salads. However if you’re looking for great guy food and willing take a few years off your life, you can’t find a better place than the Windy City. Chicago’s deep dish pizza is world famous with the likes of Gino’s East, Art of Pizza, Giordano’s, and Lou Malnati’s battling it out to be the best deep dish pie in Chicago. When I'm not in the mood for the city's trademark style of pizza making, I prefer to grab a jumbo NYC style slice and a free pop at Bacci Pizza for five dollars. Best deal ever.

When it comes to hot dogs you’d be hard pressed to walk down the street in most parts of Chicago and not run into a place that serves Vienna Beef wieners on a poppy seed bun with relish, mustard, tomato slices, dill pickle, sport peppers, celery salt, onion, and cucumber (can be smothered with cheese of course upon your request).

The Chicago style dog came about in the Great Depression when hot dog had to be your entire meal. Just don’t let any mustached Chicagoan catch you putting ketchup on your dog or you’ll get an earful. The general rule is for Chicago hot dog eating is that the dirtier looking the place the better the dog, but a few of the more popular places include Portillo’s, Superdawg, Gold Coast Dog’s, and Hot Doug’s.

Italian beef is another Chicago delicacy that no man should pass up in their lifetime. Hot beef on a warm bun dipped in Au Jus has probably killed more Chicago males than cancer in the last century. Al’s Beef and Buona Beef have taken the tradition into the mainstream, but they’re plenty of original places for a beef lover to sample all over the city.

If you want to avoid a heart attack or you’re a bit more of a classier individual, the city has some of the best restaurants in the country in every category imaginable, but personally I believe the city’s true soul is in its working class guy grub. Here’s to antacids! I think I just gained four pounds writing this article.

5. Laugh Until You Puke

For 50 years, The Second City has been at the forefront of improvised comedy. Since the theater opened in Chicago’s Old Town neighborhood in 1959, the company has expanded to Toronto and Hollywood. The theater’s famous alumni include John Belushi, Bill Murray, Chris Farley, Steve Carell, and Tina Fey. I went to see a show for my brother’s bachelor party and it was hysterical. A few months later I saw one of the actors on T.V.

Feature shows are always playing at Second City and training classes are available if you think you got what it takes to make people giggle. In the spirit of Second City a number of other improv troupes perform all over the city including the Improv Olympic and ComedySportz.

Chicago continues to be the leading city in American comedy so when you see a show you never know if you are watching the next SNL cast member or comic legend. So after you catch a game and eat entire deep dish pizza, go see a show and laugh until you puke.

Do you have any thoughts about what's a guy's good time in Chicago? Please comment below!