for better or worse

You know how sometimes you just can’t predict ahead of time whether or not a wedding is going to suck?

I mean whether or not it’s going to suck for me, the selfish guest. It’s pretty likely that the wedding will not suck for the people getting married (although I’ve been to a couple of those, come to think of it).

When college or high school friends or family members get married, you know at least half the people there. I’ve gone to a jillion of these weddings, as we all have. When it’s the wedding of someone that you didn’t get all edumacated or share DNA with, it’s harder to know what’s in store for you at the blessed event.

My friend Jeff is two years younger than me and we’ve known each other since we were kids. Actually, his parents used to work with my parents (yes, back in the day, my parents met at work) and they’ve all been friends since their 20s. Jeff’s parents were thinking about having a baby (read: him) and they came over one day when I was hanging out and drinking some orange juice and thought I didn’t seem so bad, so as they tell the story, his dad agreed to knock up his mom. So when I say that Jeff is my friend, what I really mean is that the man quite literally owes me his life. But we won’t dwell on that.

So, yeah. Jeff met A Girl, who is lovely and smart and once dressed up as Ms. Pac Man for Halloween, and over the weekend she became his New Wife. Of course, my parents were at the wedding. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my parents. Big fan. Love their work. But the only wedding that I ever want to attend with them is my own, and that’s simply because it’s the only event that won’t lead my mom to ask questions like, “So! Who was that young man you were dancing with? He seems nice! Is he single? What, I’m just wondering!”

Even better is the fact that my parents and I were seated at separate tables (God love you, New Wife) but my mom was really concerned about this. “How are the people at your table? Are they nice? Are they easy to talk to?” I tried to tell her that I actually function in the world and converse with people on a daily basis, but she wasn’t buying it.

Predictably, I love dancing at weddings, or anywhere, for that matter (would you judge me if I told you that I did Dance Dance Revolution for like two hours today?). Places where you can dance are getting fewer and further between, because clubs are for drunk 24-year-olds and sometimes your friends don’t like it when you get freaky in their kitchen, for whatever reason. Weddings can be funny because they loosen people up, sometimes in a bad way. It’s so great how some relatives (and we all have them in our families, let’s face it) are either totally buttoned-up or they’re grinding with bridesmaids on the dance floor with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a piece of cake in the other. I love people who have no reasonable middle ground. I want more of them in my life immediately.

I also love the high drama factor of the songs that you end up dancing to with random men. “Oh wow, hi! Of course I remember you! So-and-so’s bonfire, I know, a million years ago! How have things been? Where are you living now?” and then suddenly you’re dancing with him to Unchained Melody or How Do I Live Without You. Nice to see you again, and incidentally, were we ever drowning in the Atlantic, would you let me float on the door while you froze to death in the water?

I ended up knowing a few people there after all, one of whom I met years ago and really liked but had forgotten all about. She lives in DC and, well, she liked to get funky, I’m not going to lie to you. Honestly, I’m a fan of any event that goes right from hava nagila to SexyBack.

By the way, we’re so hava nagilaing at my wedding. I don’t care if I marry anyone Jewish, or actually, I don’t care if I even get married. We’re doing it at my 30th birthday party next year (next year, dear God! I’ll be the one sobbing in the corner about how I should have made different choices).

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