Love is sacred. When our friends or family get engaged, it demands our heartfelt respect.
Thats why I just ordered an monogrammed bathrobe for my soon-to-be-married friend David—even though his initials spell “DIK”. It’s why I spent last Saturday night at a cordial house party for my friends Luke and Lindsey which was, according to the host, “functionally serving as a small get-together so that everyone could meet before the equally small engagement party”. She scoffed into her glass of chardonnay when I joked, “Oh, so its a pre-engagement party party.”
I don’t mind putting Save the Date magnets on my fridge. I don’t mind dropping a thousand dollars to fly to my cousin’s wedding in Aruba (his wife-to-be has always wanted to get married on a beach, not that they don’t have those in, I don’t know, Pensacola, Florida or somewhere like that). I truly and honestly don’t mind forgoing all selfish desires and celebrating the miracle of marriage.
You think you’re going to be popping bottles while dancing in slow motion to “Shout!”? “Open bar” means “wait in line for an Amstel Light”, not “Here you go fine sir, please take all the bottles of champagne!”
Do you really believe that every young damsel at the reception is just going to throw themselves at you because weddings send them into some kind of hormonal trance? Out of all the ladies you have your eye on, some of them are already married or engaged. Consider the remaining talent pool, and you’ll quickly realize how many are just there to dance with each other. Seriously. They are there to find a spot on the dance floor, kick off their heels, and only dance with each other the entire night.
Wedding Crashers is to actual weddings as 300 is to a high school production of Oedipus Rex. Just focus on being yourself. Don’t try to be Vince Vaughn. Mostly because he’s not funny anymore (see: The Internship).
Old people really wheel out for weddings. Don’t get stuck in conversations with them too long; it will tire you out more than the dance floor. You don’t have to be a jerk, but you need to be able to avoid their lecturing stories and meaningless platitudes. “Excuse me, your breath smells like old newspapers”, or “My spaceship is here, I really must be leaving” have worked for me in the past. Either way, once you excuse yourself they’ll stare off into space and mumble (to no one), “What a nice lad…”. Also, they’ll be gone early. Those fuckers pass out at like 8 PM. The clock is like your help defense.
Just don’t eat it, it will spike your blood sugar while you’re trying to keep your buzz on. I don’t really know more science than that but I don’t need Stephen Hawking to tell me that whiskey and frosting sloshing around in my stomach might make me vomit on everyone and everything.
Even if you don’t drink—which is fine; I’m too old to call people out for not trying to have fun—you would probably be happier abstaining. You’re full already, you don’t need it, and it might not even be good.
You’re going to hear “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey at every wedding you go to. For being the worst song of all time, it isn’t really a bad song, but you will survive wedding season more easily if you hear it less. Go to the bathroom during it. Go smoke a cigarette, even if you don’t smoke. You could even leave the wedding. When people ask you why you left, tell them the truth. It has become a signature move of mine, and my friends and family have been pretty understanding: