Marriage Is Like An Eggbeater...

Good evening. We are gathered here today to witness as I join some things I did last week in holy blogimony.

Newsflash: my two best friends from 3rd grade --Katie and Christine--recently got married. Not to each other, although that would have made my life considerably easier, as they both decided to do the ring thing on the exact same weekend. While attending two weddings in one weekend is a great excuse to drink and dance, being a bridesmaid in two weddings in one weekend is a good excuse to drink... and drink... and maybe drink one more...and then pass out under the DJ table.

Bridesmaiding for a friend is, of course, a great honor. But with great honor comes great responsibility, or so I have learned from a number of fortune cookies and movies featuring old chinese men. Responsibirrity... er, responsibility is cool and all... its just not really my "thing." So I was stressed enough when I learned a year ago that I'd be donning two dresses this past weekend, and then again several months ago when I agreed to sing a song for each wedding. In the weeks leading up to marriageapalooza, I was also asked to give a toast at Katie's wedding, the second of the two. At this point I considered wearing a name tag, since the wedding guests would be seeing so much of me that they might be confused who was actually getting married. But of course I was happy to comply with both brides' wishes because I'm an awesome friend and they could be reading this. And so, three days before the first wedding, when I received a message from Christine asking if I could possibly write just a quick toast to our 15 year friendship, I agreed without hesitation.

The hesitation, as it turns out, turned up when I attempted to actually write said toast. I hadn't yet started the other toast I was supposed to be writing and my mental batteries were already sputtering...I needed a jump. Diving into a box of old photos, I examined 15 years worth of incriminating evidence, hoping the perfect anecdote would shake loose from the dense ball of crud that is my memory and float to the surface. No luck. With time running out, I succeeded in crafting a half-page stumble down memory lane that was heartfelt and humorous, if not particularly eloquent. I then spent the rest of the afternoon in front of a mirror rehearsing these heartfelt words into a large yellow flashlight. it was an illuminating experience...

Now, when I got Christine's message, my first inclination was not to recite a rehearsed speech. Instead, my mind went immediately to grade school-era afternoons with the bride-to-be, doing page after page of giggling, side-splitting, drool-inducing Mad-Libs. So when I arrived at the rehearsal dinner later that evening, I joked, "Can I do a Mad-Libs speech at your wedding?" And now she didn't hesitate: "Yes," she said simply, with a thoughtful nod.

And that's how I found myself sitting in the bridal suite mere hours before the ceremony, scribbling a new toast on hotel stationary. After a test flight involving Matthew McConaughey and a couple of arachnids, we were cleared for take off. The wedding was brief and beautiful, and the guests were enthusiatic and familiar with nouns. The toast hit only a minor snag, when my request for an adverb was met with blank expressions. Special thanks to the bride for saving me by shouting out, "Something that ends in -LY!!!!"

And now, with out further ado, I give you the greatest Mad-Libs wedding speech ever written:

Thank you all so much for being here today; this is a very [putrid] occasion. I'm so happy to see all of you here, although [Bon Jovi] called to say he couldn't make it. But he told me to tell you [Ayayayeeeeee!]
Now, marriage is like a [glockenspiel], you have to [run] or [barf] really hard to make it work. But I know Christine and Jason will be [beautiful] at it, because they love each other so [swimmingly].
I've known Christine for [87] years, since we were just a couple of [cows]. I'll always remember that time we dressed up and went to [Chicopee], or all the time we spent hanging out, watching [nuns] and eating [golumpki].
So Chris, I want you to know how very [red] I am for you today, as you and Jay become [fireplace] and [rhinocerous]. I love you both, and I hope you have a very [humongous] life together.


I assure you if you'd ever been to Chicopee, you would find that very funny. Now go in peace, my children. I hope you found this entertaining and spiritually fulfilling, but if not you can go [flashlight] yourself.

Whoa, Baby

Good evening and holy crap.

Thanks to the awesome power of social networking, I just inadvertently stumbled across a picture of a guy I once hooked up with holding his... baby.

That's right…baby. And I'm not talking about his shawty with a fo'ty. I mean an actual pig in a blanket, where pig means baby and blanket stays the same.

Naturally, my first instinct when confronted with this strange and incomprehensible scene was to rationalize the elements before me into some quaint semblance of sanity. Hmm... let's see here. There's some wood paneling in the background. I see an infant... in a blanket... gazed adoringly upon by a scruffy looking man with a beard and longish hair (fabulous taste in men, I know). Could this not be a scene from a Nativity pageant? I flipped frantically through the next few pictures in search of a donkey -- no luck. All I found was I a trio of other dudes who were definitely not the three wise men, forcing me to conclude that my would-be Lord and Savior was actually begotten by he-whom-i-once-knew. (We are, after all, speaking biblically).

(Not to be confused with he-who-must-not-be-named in the Harry Potter sense. Although that would make for some HOT fanfiction.)

I don't even know how to begin describing the feeling of seeing an ex-lover, however insignificant, holding their infant child. Some things come close—that time in ninth grade when you ran into two of your high school teachers on a date at the movie theater matches it for sheer weirdness. Not to mention that same overwhelming desire to stare at something simultaneously revolting and irresistible, like an all-you-can-eat buffet full of Indian food. Just looking at it makes your butt clench, but you still can’t turn away.

Before we proceed any further, I feel it's necessary to establish that the individual in question--let's call him Joseph--was someone I knew very briefly (biblically and otherwise). He's the blank finger left pointing when I total up the romantic encounters in my life and find I forgot one. I haven’t the foggiest idea what he does now or did then... although I do remember a few key things that he didn’t do in the weekend we spent together, such as eating meat, wearing underwear, or showering. (fabulous taste in men, I know). But basic hygiene aside, this is someone I harbor no ill will towards because I harbor no will toward him at all.

That said, goddamn the smelly bastard for reproducing. Not because I even remotely care, but because I was just starting to wade reluctantly into the swamp of adulthood and come to terms with the fact that two of my close childhood friends are about to get married, when this jerkoff ups the ante.“I see your life-long commitment… and I raise you one tiny screaming person." Time to go home everyone, the keg of irresponsibility is kicked.

The point here, if there is one, which is doubtful, i love commas, is that if it hasn’t happened to you all ready, it probably will. Someday, you’ll be innocently clicking through the photo album of some mutual acquaintance and then WHAM! You’ll fall out of your chair because George Michael and that other guy will have reunited the "Manliest Pop Band of All Time.” The one person that got that will think its really funny. No, you’ll fall out of your chair because there before you will be a photo of someone you once “knew” standing there holding his tiny, pink… baby. Not a bong, or bottle of Jack Daniels, or a golden freaking marmoset, but an actual child--another life sprung from a life you'd forgotten. And when that happens, I promise you... you will look for the donkey.

New!!... and Economically Unimproved

Good evening and we're back; thanks for sticking with us through that year and a half-long commercial break where I was occasionally employed and thus could actually afford to do things other than sit at my aging and decrepit PC. i didnt mean it im sorry pleasedontbreakpleasedontbreakpleasedontbreak.

Yes, dry your eyes my cubicle-bound friend, for I am back on job hunt and here to relieve your oh-my-god-its-only-11:07am boredom attack. I know you missed me and I'm sorry. I missed you too. It was wrong of me to leave you like that, leave you for a social life brought on by work that actually generated income. I should've listened, but the joke was on me--after all this time, here I am again with you. And now I'd like to welcome the deep-voiced guy from BoyzIIMen to the stage for the heartfelt, repentant, and obligatory mid-song spoken-word plea for forgiveness...

Baby, I'm sorry
I never should have done you wrong.
If you just give me one more chance, I swear
I will never leave you for another day of real work
practice of another hobby
or another drink with a friend
i can't afford those things anymore now that I'm unemployed again anyway.

Aside from the obvious and numerous transitions in and out of employment, alot of other shit has gone down in the past year, first and foremost that I've moved out of my parents basement. GASP OF SHOCK AND AWE, i know, but don't fear, I've still got plenty to complain about -- I moved to New Jersey. The reacclimatization to sunlight wasn't easy but fortunately Jersey's thick smog cover has allowed me to adapt my subterranean powers for use above ground. My eyes are still a little oversized and lamplike, but I think I've adjusted fairly well, in that I'm just as thoroughly bored and jaded as ever before.

In fact, I'd just love to hang around and fill you in on all the intricate details of this vibrant paradise I'm currently occupying, but I was just reading a PUMA T-shirt tag that I found on my floor, and I've discovered in what must be their new corporate tagline a shockingly relevant statement that echoes my own sentiments at this exact point in time:

Start Tomorrow.