Smashelorette

I love that word, it’s the perfect title for this post. My friend the Magpie posted a pic of me from Saturday night using the hashtag Smashelorette and I fucking love it so much.

You guys don’t even know. And I don’t even know if I know how to tell this story… but bear with me. The fog of booze around my brain is clearing, this might start coming together as we go.

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I’ve been waiting for this so long. This night. This amazing night out with my girls, getting drunk, laughing. Celebrating like only girls can. With lots and lots of shrill yayys! and wooooos! to accompany every sentence. Excitedly hopping and bopping everywhere and into everything. Chanting deliciously filthy chants at every male we encounter along the way. “SHOW-US-YOUR-PENIS!”, “JUST-THE-TIP!”, and “EAT-MORE-DICK-CHEESE!” among the best  of them.

That’s what girls do. We make ourselves look as classy and lovely as we possibly can, then we go out into the world causing all the mayhem we can muster. And I do have a lot of mayhem in my heart, believe you me. I’m pretty sure that I head-butted one of my friends on the d-floor. Mistakenly, of course. But only because a bunch of mayhem had bubbled over and was going to translate into some insanely rad dance floor head-banging. I just forgot to step back first. Oopsies! It’s not the first time though, definitely won’t be the last either. Very sorry, friend.

That must be why my neck is still so sore two days later. I fucking head-banged the shit outta that dance floor. But when you’ve got a band of rad motherfuckers ripped on heroin and playing the same Led Zeppelin song on a constant loop, there’s nothing you can do but head-bang the fucking shit outta life. The power of Zeppelin compels you!

At one point I had a little chat with the guitarist, about the recent passing of Tommy Ramone. And I begged him to rally his band buddies and play me a killer Ramones cover. He nodded semi-agreeably and went to talk to his musically inclined chums. When they hit the stage again after the intermission, the guitarist tossed me a sly grin and started cranking out yet another classic Zeppelin tune… Oh man! Another 22-minute guitar solo. I shot a look of long-suffering at The Magpie, as if to say “oh well, what can you do?” and she didn’t even have to say a word. She perfectly mimed the tying off of a vein and shot a finger needle into the crook of her arm while rolling her eyes back in a perfect pantomime of druggie bliss. It was so excellent. We just laughed and danced. Then laughed and danced some more because that guitar never stopped.

But I’m getting way ahead of myself. This story clearly won’t be linear, that fucking ship has sailed. It was never going to be anyways, because I don’t remember it that way. I’m slowly remembering my way through the events of the Smashelorette. And every time I talk to someone about it, another little gem of memory is unearthed and lovingly relived.

Like when Joce reminded me that she stole a platter of 20 sliders off of someone else’s table and our motley group of girls gobbled them up in a feeding frenzy! No I didn’t dream that, it actually happened. It’s such a perfectly Joce-force thing to do.

Or when I put on a fake moustache with Dame Edna glasses and Shannie told me that I looked like Freddie Mercury. Dreams really do come true. Playing dress up in general. I mean, if you’re at a party and your friend gives you a box of costumes to dress people up in, it’s going to be a wicked time.

shannie the raver

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Playing the underwear game! Everyone bought a pair of panties and I had to guess who bought them. An absolutely hilarious idea. Especially when one of your friends decides to buy you a pair of 3XL men’s tighty whiteys. Oh, Caitlin! You’re a beautiful little sexual harassment just waiting to happen.

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Twirling and swirling around the dance floor with a very tall gentleman who didn’t speak a lick of english. But he didn’t have to. He spoke an even more important language: the language of the dance!

Eating a piece of penis cake. Thank you Bec. I always wondered what chocolate ball hair would taste like. It’s sweet. A little sticky too. Not unexpected at all. An unsavoury delight. Much like the dick cheese my friend Hoben moulded to glorious perfection. I’ve also wondered what green onion ball hair tasted like. Cross another thing off the bucket list, darling.

Doing oh so many grapefruit wedge Jell-O shots! Best summertime booze treat you can have.

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And of course, chugging dirt cheap champagne that made me throw up in my mouth a little…

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When Caitlin found me a hunk with a ponytail to talk to. I got to touch it! The ponytail, of course. It was curly and sweaty and magnificent. Mmmm, oh yeah. That’s the real dream, a man with a ponytail. I’m totally being serious right now. Just wanted to make sure nobody thought I was being purposefully flip about that. Gimme them long luscious locks any time. Let me run my fingers through your hair, baby. Oh yeah, just like that!

Omg. THE MIDGET STRIPPER. *facepalm*

He was small and sweaty and he blew in my ear. Aggressively. It wasn’t sexy. It was like the blast of a backfiring car right in my earhole.

Oh right, this is an important detail: my Smashelorette party was Star Wars themed. Yeah, that’s fucking right. My friends lovingly coloured a bunch of images from a Star Wars colouring book and used them as decorations all over Joce’s apartment. It was very beautiful and meaningful to me. There were also bottles of chase with Yoda’s picture on them and labelled “Yoda Pop”. Brilliant! There was a hand drawn “Pin The Penis on Darth” game. Oh Sara, words cannot describe how much I love you for making that. And how much I loved seeing the bad first attempt at a drawing of Darth showing through the sliding glass door when I was out on the balcony. Priceless. He’s a hard dude to draw, I was very impressed with the end result.

But back to that stripper…

We were grooving along to some sweet pre-drinking tunes when suddenly the music changed. A very recognizable piece of music started to play. Is that…? Oh yeah, it is! It’s the frigging Star Wars theme music. I got really excited at that point. I sat on the special chair and buzzed with excitement. I’ve always wondered what Darth Vader’s penis looked like and tonight I was finally going to find out what he’s been hiding under that codpiece.

Just as the epic entrance music was fading out, he stepped into the room. All 4 foot 8 of him. Probably more like 5′ 3″, but who’s measuring? And he’s… um. What the fuck? He’s a cop? And now he’s making some lame cliché joke about a noise complaint… that’s something, I guess.

i'm so impressed

Actually, this worked out really well. Even though he wasn’t dressed as the Dark Lord and I couldn’t climb him like a mountain, I’ll never forget pointing and laughing at his sweat-stained underwear while he shook his crotch in my cousin’s face. AND, most important of all… he wasn’t supposed to show us his wiener but he did anyways. Joce told me she wouldn’t pay extra for him to do the full monty. So he was either such a trooper or our rowdy chants just eventually wore him down, but either way, WE GOT THAT DICK FOR FREE!

I just had a great idea for him! He should dress up like Prince when he strips. He’s got the perfect build for it… dammit. Someone should call and tell him that. I bet there are a lot of ladies out there who’d love a lap dance from The Purple One. I know I would.

There’s so much to remember! Too much to remember really. I’m grateful for cameras. And I’m thankful for all of my wonderful friends. I’m so in love with all of you.

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my lovely family

Dreams come true. I should probably divorce D and then re-marry him just so we can have another party like this. Another super mega-awesome blast of a time, just us girls.

But I guess even though I’m getting married, that doesn’t mean I have to slow down my bad ass partying ways, does it?

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Maybe we just need to do one more of these before the wedding. It was always going to take more than one really excellent bender to get it all out of my system anyways, right?

A Colourful Wedding (In More Ways Than One!)

I still feel a little tingly from Saturday night. Some residual happiness just kicking around my heart. I wish it would last forever. That feeling you have after a really amazing wedding. It’s a feeling of clarity, because everything makes sense in the world. Like a perfectly matched pair of mismatched socks.

One of my most beloved and wonderful friends, The Magpie, got married to the man of her dreams. And they threw one of the best weddings I’ve ever been to.

It wasn’t about a perfect white dress, sweeping landscapes as backdrops for the perfect pictures, or lavish spending. There’s such an emphasis on weddings these days. Such high expectations. People get consumed in the details, trying to control every aspect of it, forcing perfection. The Magpie’s wedding was a departure from all of that over-stylized bullshit we’ve come to expect from weddings.

It was real. All of the emphasis was exactly where it should have been, on the marriage itself. You could hear it in the way they said their vows. You could see it in the way they looked at each other as they danced. You could feel it the very second you walked into the room. They meant it. They meant it with every fibre of their beings. And they’re going to keep on meaning it, every day, from this day on.

It started with a simple, heartfelt ceremony at city hall. With music and friends.

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The vows were honest and sweet.

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They kissed and signed the paperwork to make it stick. Time to get back to their place. Time to celebrate!

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We’re gunna need a bigger tub…

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There were brilliant toasts. Curse toasts even. I’ve never heard a bride drop an f-bomb in a thank you toast before, but it was a delightful addition!

Cue the music, time to dance.

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Twirling and swirling in a twelve dollar dress. Something only the Magpie could make so magical.

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Stealing a laugh with her new father-in-law.

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We drank til our faces hurt, partied like there was no tomorrow.

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I’ve never been in a room with so much happiness. Which is probably why I was practically bouncing off the walls! The steady supply of drinks may have had something to do with that as well…

I was very happy that night. So happy that I thought my little heart was going to burst in my chest at any minute because it couldn’t possibly manage to hold anymore joy. I love my friend, and I love how it’s all turned out for her. Wildest dreams all coming true.

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Cheers buddy, you’re a wife now and it’s gunna be awesome!

Ring-a-ding-ding

Finally!

Finally I get to wear my engagement ring. Now I’m starting to feel like it’s a reality.

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I don’t wear rings. I never have. My entire life up to this point, I’ve lived it totally ringless. For one reason only. The paralyzing fear that a ring would get stuck on my finger. It happened once when I was little and scarred me. I was never the same again.

It was a nice afternoon; sunny, summertime. I’d used every available wile in my arsenal to sneak away from nap-time. My mom worked nights and had three rambunctious little girls all very close in age. My dad worked all day. She had to work at night and be a mom during the day. Sleep was just peppered in wherever it could fit. So every afternoon we’d have to have naps with her. And because we weren’t particularly trustworthy, we’d all have to nap in the master bed together with my mom. So she could keep an eye on us and catch some Z’s herself.

I hated it though, I never wanted to nap. More often than not I’d just lay there, eyes closed deceptively, biding my time. Eventually, everyone’s breathing would slow down just enough. And I’d know they were out. I’d take my time, slinking inch by inch towards the end of the bed. I couldn’t jump off the side of the bed because I was put in the middle to prevent just such a thing. So I slinked and slid my way to the end of the bed. I was stealthy. I slipped off the bed without a peep. Then I crawled, very slowly towards the door. I pushed it open with the utmost care, making sure it didn’t creak. Then, once I’d crawled through it, I would shut it just as tenderly as I’d opened it.

Yes! Home free at long last! I’d scuttle off to my room for some quality play time. And it was the best. I didn’t have to share my toys or play nice. This was my time and nobody was going to tell me what to do. Not my parents, not my sisters, not anyone. My room was an oasis, filled with treasures for the taking. And I revelled in the splendour of it that day. A little bit of colouring, blew some bubbles, made a few play-doh figures. Like I said, it was a nice afternoon. I was going to play with some dinky dinosaurs next. I’d just have to find them first. Most likely in that wooden abyss on the other side of the room. Otherwise known as the toy-box.

I was rummaging around, looking for a triceratops for the T-Rex to eat when I noticed the ring. Some piece of crap ring. Either from a machine at the grocery store or a birthday party loot bag. Just sitting at the bottom of the toy-box. I grabbed it and shoved it on my finger, forcing it over the knuckle. I admired it for a minute or two, then decided it was lame.

But when I tried to take it off, it wouldn’t budge. Uh oh. I tried again, the ring stayed put.

Bad, scary thoughts starting swirling around my head. I was going to be trouble, big trouble. I snuck away from nap-time again. Third offence that week, an offence worthy of a spanking. It never occurred to me to sneak back in and maintain a ruse that I’d napped. I just played and played, wrapped up in my own little world, until they all woke up and I was caught red-handed. And this time I’d be caught with this disgusting little ring stuck on my finger. Which was starting to look slightly purple. Hell, I’d probably lose my finger long before they woke!

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING TO ME!

I started to panic. I really just freaked the fuck out. My heart thumped in my chest, I thrashed around wildly on the floor while I wrenched on the ring. Desperately struggling with all my might to liberate my finger. It wasn’t working. Nothing was working. This is it, this is how I’m going to die I thought to myself. I’d never been so scared in my whole life (up to that point anyways.) I started to sob, silently into the carpet.

Just when I’d resigned myself to the loss of a finger, and possibly death, a thought occurred to me.

Water. Soap and water. Lots and lots of soap and water!

I dashed into the bathroom and cranked the faucet full blast. I scrubbed my hand furiously with the bar of soap. The ring started to turn around my finger. I kept at it. Dousing with water, scrubbing with soap, turning the ring. Round and round it turned, a little bit further up my knuckle at a time. Just a little bit more, come on.

Finally, I felt it give and I was free.

The ordeal was over. I breathed the most grateful sigh of relief and dried my hands. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The wide-eyed girl looking back at me was visibly rattled. Still worried that someone would find out what had happened and there’d be hell to pay.

I poked my head out into the hallway. The door to the master bedroom was still closed. I couldn’t believe my luck. They were still napping! Nobody had heard a thing.

I went back to my room and resumed playing, quietly. I swore to myself that I was never going to put a ring on my finger again. They were nothing but trouble. Evil. Pure evil, sent from the depths of hell to destroy you.

Then D went and flashed me the bling. It was beautiful. Nothing like that piece of crap that had traumatized me some 20 years ago. It was too beautiful to resist. I put it on, nervously at first. I had to be brave. I had to champion that old fear of mine. So I forged ahead, bravely popping that rock on my finger. Unfortunately, it was way too big. D had to make a complete guess at the size. He had absolutely no point of reference. It sucked that I couldn’t wear it, I genuinely wanted to.

We took the ring in to be sized immediately once we’d gotten home from our trip. A week later, we got the call that it was ready. I was so excited. For the first time in my life I’d been given a ring that was made just for me. I was going to wear it, and I wasn’t going to be scared of it!

D went in and grabbed the ring while I waited in the car. When he came back, he handed me the ring, anticipating my happiness. I put it on. I had a slight difficulty getting it over my knuckle. But, I reassured myself that it was fine. They were professionals. They had measured my finger, so it was going to fit perfectly.

I looked at it for a minute. Something didn’t seem right. My finger looked kind of smushed to me. A feeling of dread swept over me. It’s too snug. They made it too small. I tried to get it off and it wouldn’t budge. I was instantly transported back in time to that summer afternoon when I snuck away from the nap. I started to freak out, pulling at the ring. I twisted and pulled. After a minute or two, I was able to roll it off my finger.

“Fuck that shit,” I said. Shaken and upset again. My old fears coming back to haunt me.

Mar was with us at the time. She tried to reassure me that it was fine, it would loosen up over time. But I knew that wasn’t the answer. Something was wrong.

I went back into the store with D this time. We asked the girl behind the counter to check the size of my ring. It was the same girl who did the sizing for me a week ago. I didn’t find her particularly helpful the first time we’d met. She seemed like she’d rather be anywhere else. Unenthusiastic and dim. Those are the two words that best describe her.

Sure enough, they’d fucked up my ring. It was a size too small. I was livid and I let this girl have it. Tore a strip right out of her, I did. She gave me a half-hearted apology and said that they’d size it again. Another week of waiting…

We got the call, and went out to get it this weekend. I wasn’t holding my breath. I told D, “when you get it, ask them to measure it and make sure it’s the right size. Don’t even bring it back to me if it’s wrong or I will flip the fuck out.”

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rocking the bling

Luckily for everyone involved, this time it fit. Perfectly.

White Wedding

Well, it happened people. That sister of mine, the star of the infamous bachelorette party, got hitched. The vows have been exchanged, the license signed, and hands have been fastened. It was a beautiful day and everyone had a good time, some more so than others… but we’ll touch on that later. In retelling the story of the wedding there are so many things to mention that this post runs the risk of becoming quite tedious. So I have decided to lend a little structure to what will surely be a lengthy post. I am going to count down the top 5 best and worst things about my sister’s wedding!

THE TOP 5 WORST MOMENTS:

5. The Waiting

I expected the wedding day to be incredibly hectic and frazzling. I pictured frantically running around, being late for every appointment, rushing to get ready, and being irrevocably warped by the frenzy of it all. Such was not the case though. In fact, we almost had too much time on our hands. The hair appointment was at 9:00am and then we were to head down to the venue for 11:30am to have makeup done. We left the hair appointment by 10:50am and had a really quick drive down. Makeup was equally quick and painless. I was finished all that by noon and then didn’t have to be ready for photos until 2:30pm. And there really wasn’t anything to do but wait. For an impossibly impatient person like myself, this was particularly brutal. But I suppose it was preferable to being on the move the whole day through.

Just killing some time at the hall once makeup was done.

4. Venue Was Too Public

The wedding was at a golf course, a perfectly fitting setting for Mar. It was a beautiful course and the weather was perfect. I know they’re not going to shut down the course for a whole day just for one wedding, but there were a few critical times where we really would have benefited from some privacy. For instance, the couple opted to do first look photos. The idea is that they get all done up and see each other before the ceremony for a private session with the photographer. Just the two of them, the photographer, and a little alone time. As my other sister and I escorted Mar to the gazebo to meet up with Neill the fucking wedding co-ordinator was standing around with a group of people (in the gazebo no less!) trying to sell them on the idea of having their own wedding there. Intrusive, much? Seriously. YOU COORDINATED THE WEDDING! You knew where and when they were having these photos… it was totally unprofessional. Also, the asshole sitting in the lounge on looking the ceremony and honking his fucking schnoz like a goose right in the middle of their vows. That was pretty unbelievable too.

3. Taxi Nightmare

It’s a wedding, people drink at them. People also need to arrive alive when they’ve had too much to drink. The venue was also a little bit of a trip from the nearest hotels, about a 20 minute cab ride. So naturally, one would assume that taxis would be readily available and the staff at the golf course would work diligently to ensure that all guests leave via safe and sober means of transportation. Again, such was not the case. We called a couple of hours ahead for our cabs (we needed a few of them), but of course only one showed up. So we let the bride and the groom go ahead first and waited for the next one. That wait was 40 minutes! And when we finally did get in the cab, the fucking driver had no clue where he was going! Instead of stopping and trying to use the GPS to figure it out he opted for driving around jacking the meter up. So that ended in a very unpleasant screaming match and swap to another driver when we reached the first couple’s hotel.

2. Rushed Ceremony

Mar was very specific in that she wanted a relaxed, easygoing ceremony. She planned a grand entrance for the grandparents and parents of the bride and groom in addition to the bridesmaids walking down the aisle. It was a nice touch, it made people feel recognized and appreciated. However, the wedding co-ordinator was way too forceful in pressuring people to get down the aisle. AND, if that wasn’t bad enough our uncle showed up as we were walking down the aisle and cut ahead of the procession so he could dash to his seat. Wildly inappropriate. It was also the only thing that Mar had a pissed off moment about all day. Rightly so I think. She didn’t get the relaxed procession pacing that she wanted, but the ceremony was still very beautiful.

1. Inappropriate Uncle

I’m all for the charmingly inappropriate. Not the kind of inappropriate that would really hurt someone’s feelings, step on toes, or cause conflict. Also, I usually don’t pull my punches on this blog, but for the sake of family members that I know read it on a weekly basis, I am going to censor this entry a little. So, as it turns out the uncle that showed up and cut off the procession during the ceremony had arrived on time. The reason for his intrusion? He was humping his girlfriend in the parking lot. And that’s putting it lightly compared to what he told the ushers when he showed up. I was standing in the receiving line between the groom’s brother and best man and they were snickering. I asked them what was up and they said “Oh, don’t shake this next guy’s hand”. I looked over and sure enough it was that uncle. I asked them what the problem was and they then relayed the news of his indiscretion. Seriously? It’s one day, just a couple of hours really, of getting dressed up and socializing with your family. You seriously could not control yourself long enough to get through the ceremony, the dinner, and a little bit of dancing and then go home and bone like a normal person? And if you really couldn’t control yourself, then why couldn’t you at least be discreet? Instead the ushers got a very graphic account of it and the story proceeded to be blabbed the whole wedding over. Terrible.

Alright, now a little bit of positivity for my darling sister!

THE TOP 5 BEST MOMENTS:

5. Photos Before The Ceremony

As I mentioned before, the bride and groom planned on having first look photos and bridal party photos before the ceremony. Best idea EVER. I loved it! The bride and groom get to have some privacy before the ceremony, a chance to loosen the tension so that all the building emotion doesn’t vent itself in an ugly crying face when walking down the aisle. Not that crying is ugly, just sometimes when people cry too hard it can be quite disgusting. And not that they really cried anyways. Neill took one look at Mar’s chest, said “Wow!” and honked her boobs. So much for pomp and circumstance. But it was great. We were all a lot more relaxed going into the ceremony, we caught the best lighting of the day, and we all got to enjoy the cocktail hour and mingle more with guests.

enjoying the pre-ceremony photos

4. Minister/Ceremony

The groom’s background is Scottish, so there were some very cool nods to his heritage during the ceremony. The minister wore a kilt for the ceremony and played the bagpipes while the bride walked down the aisle. He was also a great speaker, with a loud projecting voice. I’m pretty sure he could be heard clearly from the back rows, which is great when you don’t have microphones. He was also funny, making cute little jokes that relieved any emotional tension, and made everyone feel comfortable. They also included a hand fastening ritual in the ceremony. What does that mean? A length of fabric with the groom’s family tartan on one side and the bride’s german heritage colours on the other bound the bride and groom’s hands together. It was pretty cool.

3. DJ

The DJ they hired was just awesome! He was a super mellow dude, and didn’t cop an attitude when you went up to him with song requests. He very perfectly blended in with the couple’s laid-back style. He hosted a cute centrepiece game, had perfect volume control, and worked the crowd just enough. I’m always wary of DJ’s because you never know if they’re going to treat you like dirt or go with the flow. Todd was wicked cool. Also, the music selection was great. Current stuff for the younger crowd, but not abrasive for the older peeps. Classic tunes that get the party started, and songs that got people to shake their groove things.

2. “Fucking Cupcake”

Mar opted for cupcakes instead of a traditional wedding cake. Awesome! The cupcakes were totally delicious. I was out on the patio and didn’t realize that the “cake” had been cut. We were enjoying some cigars when we heard that it happened. D promptly hopped up from his seat and announced that he was going to get “a fucking cupcake!” He also very politely offered to get me “a fucking cupcake!” too. D’s colourful adjective for the dessert was totally warranted. They were fucking cupcakes. Fucking awesome cupcakes indeed! And pretty too!

Fucking Cupcakes!

1. Neill’s Boner Speech

The standout of the night was by far Neill’s speech. It was well written, heartfelt, and hilarious. I would even go so far as to call it riotous. He had some great anecdotes about how he met Mar, their first date, etc. But the best part by far was when he unintentionally referred to having a HUGE boner. He was describing the first time he met Mar and how he had an instantaneous big crush. “And when I say big, I mean it was HUGE!” That’s what he said verbatim. The dining room erupted in laughter. I looked over and saw my aunt stuffing her napkin in her face so she wouldn’t rattle the room with her gargantuan howls of laughter. I also saw one of my uncles literally slapping his leg as he LOL’d. Let’s be honest, most of the time wedding speeches are dull. They’re dull because certain people are obligated to do them, not because they are necessarily the best speakers in the room. But Neill proved himself to be quite skilled at entertaining the crowd.

Neill is gonna drop a sweet boner joke soon…

This countdown is officially over. Thanks for sticking with me. That’s really the essence of a wedding though, isn’t it? A few hurdles punctuating a steady stream of very happy memories. You take the hurdles in stride, make the very best of the day, and have fun.

Oh, and you cross your fingers in the hope that people don’t hump in the parking lot then brag about it to strangers…