People,

Saturday morning in Chicago was a beautiful sunny day. As such, it was the perfect setting to have a knock-down drag out fight with your fiance about absolutely nothing.

You see, I shaved a ridiculous handlebar moustache into my face for the rehearsal festivities Friday night. Everybody liked it, including the parents of both bride and groom and I myself thought the delicate mix of sophistication and cousin-marrying redneck that I achieved was nothing short of sublime.

Of course, Sarah is smarter than I am and told me I couldn't go to the wedding like that. I disagreed and we fought about it for.....well....it felt like forever, but was probably a couple hours. Oh well. I have since conceded that I was wrong and we're friends again.

Anyway, the wedding itself was the bomb. I stood up for Gordon as a groomsman and will be the first to admit that I cried my goddamn eyes out during the service. I cry at all weddings. I'm a 74 year old woman at heart.

Afterwards I cut a rug like nobody's bidness, which is odd because I hate dancing unless I'm plastered, and even though I drank about 739 diet cokes I don't think that counts.

All in all, the whole night was pretty damn great. Gordon and Karen both have wonderful families and they work hard to make you feel like one of your own.

Oh shit, I'm getting weepy all over again. Damn these filthy emotions!