BEST WEDDING EVER. NO. SERIOUSLY. PART III.

As the days since Gillie and Brian's wedding mount, I will look back on it with more and more fondness. So many people I've missed over the past few years (you know who you are) were all gathered together Saturday night. It reminded me of the good ole days from 2003 to early 2005. And boy, did we ever celebrate it right.

I wanted to say something nice about Gillie and Brian. You know, the reason we were all able to reunite. But then I read Lisa's reflection on the weekend. I can't say it any better. Here's an excerpt: "They are people who open others' eyes, who make everyone around them better and happier. Bri and Gill are excellent apart, but together they form a beautiful team, a rarity among couples."

In the middle of the reception, it was time for three things: dinner, me sobering up and speeches. Our first speaker was Gillie's sister, Melia. I felt bad for the rest of the speakers when she was done because they stood about a zero percent chance of being able to follow her.

She started by talking about their bond as sisters (they finish each other's sentences) and Gillie as an infant. Love the image of Melia dragging a blanket down the hall with baby Gillie attached. She quoted Zoolander, saying how the couple was "ridiculously good-looking." Hope you don't mind me using that at wedding receptions for the next 10 years. Good.

Melia mentioned that Brian was the perfect fit into their family. Awww. She then expertly explained the reason for Gillie's overwhelming popularity. "Every body likes her. Girls like her because she'll do girlie things. She'll put on makeup and have girls night out and go dancing (that was a paraphrase.) And boys like her because the day after that, she'll play tackle football with them."

To which I 3/4 yelled out: "BALLS TO THE WALL!" That stopped the speech. The seven or eight tables that could hear me all turned around. There was a mixture of laughter and stunned silence. One of the Virginian Triumvirate sitting next to me said: "If anyone asks, I didn't tell you to say that."

To her credit, Melia picked up her speech in stride and finished with a touching I-love-you-both-so-much-have-a-happy-life spiel. I think Chuck and Nick really liked my joke, as evident by their hearty chuckles. At first, I regretted yelling it. But then I saw Gillie look my way and point as if to say, "Right on, Gener. Right on."

Balls to the Wall merits an explanation. In my sophomore year, Chuck (aka JAWBREAKER), Nick (aka CRIME FIGHTER), Gillie (aka PRIMETIME), Jenna (aka OLD CROW) and myself (aka PAPER BOY) started a football league called BALLS OUT. Cuz that's the way we played, bitches.

The teams were Nick and Gillie against Chuck and Jenna, with me as all-time QB. Gillie and Jenna had white shirts with green sleeves made. The front said BALLS OUT, and the back had our nicknames. Before every game (ironically played at Loyola's Peace Quad), Gillie would get a serious look on her face and say: "Balls to the Wall, man." (Gillie, do you remember the time North tackled you? One of the strangest moments ever.)

So, uh, yeah. Try yelling that out at the next wedding reception you attend. Trust me.

The final speech came from Brian. It was so freaking cool and romantic and insane and exhilarating and dashing that I nearly didn't believe him. It almost had to be from a movie or TV show. Notice that the first letter of the five words I used to describe the speech spell CRIED. As in people cried after hearing the story.

Gillie and Brian had been dating for a year when they drove from New Orleans to California and back after Gillie graduated in 2005. There was an accident in Texas, and their car did several flips. Thankfully, they weren't extremely injured. In the wreckage, Brian came across an intact bottle of wine they got from a wine tasting in Sonoma.

That romantic bastard kept the bottle of wine for the next three and a half years, and he opened it Saturday at the reception for them to drink on their wedding day. How awesome is that? If I can one day get married and half a story 1/4 as precious as that one, I'll be a happy man.

By the time Brian finished his speech, I was, dare I say, completely sober. I took care of that by getting five more jack and cokes in the next two hours. On my eighth one of the night, the bartender cut me off mid-sentence.

Me: Yes. I'll have ...
Bartender (with a knowing smile): A jack and coke?
Me (in my J.D. voice): It's like you know me.

After the speeches, we rocked the dance floor for the next two hours. We wore that sumbitch out. The best songs to me were SHOUT!, any Beatles song that played, Shake Your Tailfeather (our 2003-04 apartment theme song) and, what was that other one? Oh yeah. Don't Stop Believin'. (More on that tomorrow.)

I'd hate to end this portion of the Best Wedding Ever. No. Seriously. on a sad note. But I am. I don't remember the song (and am glad I don't), but the final jam (which it was announced as before it played) was a slow-dance song.

Most everyone paired up. Except I was left alone. I watched the final dance from my Table 13 seating position. That sucked. Sorry for the downer. Despite that low, it was still the best wedding ever. That should tell you how awesome the rest of the night went.

In tomorrow's final installment: I dance for the kiddies, and we hit Pat O's for the after party.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

As I'm waking up today, I hear my mom from the living room. "What the fuck is happening? This can't be. What the fuck is going on? This is crazy. Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell? I need this fucking thing to walk. I don't understand. This is fucking crazy."

Mom was talking about her treadmill, which is in the process of breaking. She tells me later: "The fucking belt is coming off on my shoes." ... "I'm just going to use it until it fucking brakes."

Mom is upset that I didn't download some book that Oprah told her she needs to have. "You had a whole fucking week to do it."

I tell mom that the FBI chick in 24 should have realized Jack was good during the ride in the van. She didn't quite understand me. "I think she realized it in the fucking grave."

Mom is in awe of Clint Eastwood. "He's got some career under his fucking belt. Fucking still acting. His mom is still alive, too. She goes to all the award shows."

Mom opens a letter from T-Mobile. It tells her they can't accept her rebate check. "Are you fucking kidding me? I'm so sick of getting fucked every time. They fucked me. She fucked me at the store, and now they fucked me on the rebate."

I read the letter. Her monthly plan isn't expensive enough to warrant a rebate. Of course, the lady at the store failed to mention this.
Me: Do you understand what happened?
Mom: Yeah. I got fucked.

Mom is watching the President and First Lady walk the streets. "How long they got to fucking walk? Her feet must be fucking killing her. Yeah. She looks like she's fucking tired."

Mom tells me about Obama's mess-up during the swearing in by swearing. "He fucked up. Yeah. He had to start over. He fucked up."

PARTING SHOTS
D asks me if facebook has important information about people. I say sort of.

D: Somebody'll come and kidnap you.
Jelly: Gene? I don't think so.
D: Oh. They'd probably bring him back, wouldn't they?
Jelly: Uh-huh.

We're discussing Marcus' habit of asking us when a sporting event will end.

Me: He'll ask about anything, even motorcross events.
Brick: Well, that one is understandable. I don't know how long those take. Hey, do motorcross races have fat ladies?

Gamby doesn't believe how much I drank at the wedding.

Gamby: I don't think it was jack and coke. He may have been drinking cherry coke.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
I'm in the wedding mood. My top five TV weddings.

5) Monica and Chandler. Friends.
The classic husband getting cold feet thingy.

4) Amy and Robert. Everybody Loves Raymond.
Jungle Love. It's driving me mad. It's making me crazy.

3) Lily and Marshall. How I Met Your Mother.
A beautiful outdoor ceremony.

2) Carla and Turk. Scrubs.
Even though Turk went to the wrong Church.

1) Kelly and Woody. Cheers.
A dead priest. A drunk priest. Wild, rabid dogs. Quitting caterers. An unapproving father. A cheating wife with an angry German husband wielding a knife. A bride and groom more interested in having sex than having the ceremony. And yet Sammy's hair never wavered.