BEST WEDDING EVER. NO. SERIOUSLY. PART IV.

I don't know much about history. Don't know much biology. Don't.know much about a science book. Don't know much about the French I took (I never took French). But I do know that I loved Gillie and Brian's big day. And I know that if I get married some way. What a wonderful world this would be.

During the beginning of the two-hour dance session, my goal was to get redrunk. I didn't want to do this. I had to do this. It's the only way I can perform my signature dance, which probably will now be required of me at every wedding I attend, as long as I can walk.

After the eighth jack and coke (and third since the speeches and dinner), I was pretty sure I was back to a drunken state. Just to make sure, though, I spun around and looked at the bartender. Me: "One more, my man." Bartender: "Coming right up." Like I said yesterday, he knows me.

As I was nearing completion of J&C No. 9, a new song came on. The beat sounded familiar, and I knew it was time. Just a small-town girl. Living in a lonely world. I cracked my neck and did some stretching, Billy Hoyle style. I felt my arm being grabbed. It was Chuck, who then directed me to the left side of the dancing area and cleared some space. Greatest usher ever, I tell you.

The people that knew what was about to happen were down-right giddy. The rest of the peoples seemed confused. It would soon become clear to them. For a smile they can share the night. I chugged the rest of the drink, as Jenna took away the glass. Whiskey is to my dance what water/Gatorade is to an athlete. Yeah. I just went SAT on your ass.

My dance starts at the chorus. Strangers waiting. Up and down the boulevard. I'm not going to explain how it goes. You have to see it live. Unless, of course, Darren puts it on Youtube (as promised) and I link to it.

The dance started back in 2004 when I declared that year the Year of Gene (there was a symbol and everything) with the Journey ballad as my theme. The routine has developed over the years into the perfection witnessed Saturday night.

Lil' Joe told me afterward that he was standing next to some first-time viewers. The final chorus was approaching.
Lil' Joe: Now watch this. He's about to do the worm.
First-timer: No way. He's done too much already.

Don't stop believin'. Hold on to that feelin'. Streetlight people.

When that part of the song repeated, I knew another worm was expected. I hadn't planned that far in advance. I dropped down, but my drunk-ass body didn't move. I returned to my feet and slapped myself silly. Then, I did the second worm. Only for Gillie and Brian, though. Otherwise, it would have been one and done.

Gillie's best childhood friend Nicole was so impressed, she offered to hustle to the bar and get me my next drink.

Nicole: What'll you have?
Me: Jack and coke, please.

And that's how I reached the pedestal of 10 jack and cokes at the reception. I also had to take off the next three songs to recuperate. That shit was exhausting, yo.

After the six-hour reception came to a halt at 10 p.m, we moved the party to Pat O's. That bitch was crowded, and it took forever for the group to find each other. Eventually, we did on the patio. At work Tuesday, Jelly tells me she was also on the patio at Pat O's on Saturday night after a wedding she attended. Tragically, we didn't cross paths. That would have been legen - wait for it - dary.

Nick handed me a Hurricane right after we got there. What else was I supposed to do but drink it. I went to the bathroom after finishing half of it. However, I had to stop and chat with six (get that? six) members of the Rummel 2002 graduating class on my way. (I called one of them by the wrong name. Oops.)

By the time I got back, my drink was gone. I then accidentally spilled Kate's Hurricane. We decided to split the next one, though I drank most of it before spilling that one as well.

My car was in my driveway at home, and it didn't look like anybody there was going to be in any condition to drive me to H-town. I should have "accidentally stayed at the Ritz" like Jelly. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I sent out distress texts to several Yats throughout the night.

Paul got the message, and before you knew it, he was at Pat O's. He didn't quite fit in with the party, being how he was sober and all. The son of a gun saved the day by taking me home after I stumbled to his car. What a guy.

This is what I looked like for a good portion of the after party at Pat O's. At some point, I yelled: "Now, this is happening," and I put my tie around my head. I believe those star thingies with the red head strap belong to Gillie. Not quite sure how they got on my head.

And the elephant got passed around like a salt shaker. At least three other people (Josh, Darren and Brian) wore the elephant. I feel like I had it on for a really long time, though.

Paul made a recording on his iPhone of me blabbering on about something. I haven't heard it yet. Time must pass. I do remember I was telling Dara the story of Lil' Joe and me driving to Atlanta for the Cubs-Braves game in 2003. I don't know why I was telling this. Plus, I kept getting interrupted. But dammit, I finished it.

I also was high-fiving random people around us and screaming to the crowd (that includes people with us and not with us) that I was seeking a makeout partner. Me: "I have made out with 14 women. I'm looking for No. 15." Strangely enough, I didn't get any takers.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom doesn't like the next-door neighbors to our right. She refers to the two kids as animals. She's always saying, "They need to move to the country." She had to yell at them the other day. She tells me about it later. "The little shits were playing with the remote-control car on my lawn. I was like, 'What the fuck?' "

Mom is excited to talk about the Obama inauguration gaffe. "Not one fucking TV station had it. (A big smile comes across her face.) But the fucking paper did." ... "They also had four or five fucking pages on Michelle's fashion."

During House, FOX shows an ad for that night's 24. Except you can clearly tell it's for an episode a few weeks away. Morons. Anyway, Jack is talking to the president, who thinks he's a traitor. "She don't know who the fuck Jack is? Like hello. He saved the fucking president twice." (And the country several more times.)

Mom has a theory during Monday's House. "He's fucking crazy. I think he broke the fucking pipe on purpose."

HORNETS THOUGHTS: VERSION III.

1) I hope all the chirpers out there bitching about getting rid of West and Chandler saw the past two games. Sure, those two guys have been down a little. But when you look at CP3, his face says: "I miss my buddies. My buddies and me."

2) Ju Ju's first-half line Wednesday: Nine points, five rebounds, steal, 15 minutes. If that doesn't open Byron Scott's eyes, then I shall declare him blind and get him a seeing-eye dog.

3) The Hornets have several bad possessions a game. I mean really bad. Usually involves CP dribbling too much or multiple people passing up 3s. But they are forced to throw up crazy shots at the shot-clock buzzer an estimated three times per game. Somebody should keep these kind of stats.

4) Rasual Butler is money from the corner. I bet he's above 50 percent on 3s from either corner. He's not so good from the top of the key.

5) I love Antonio Daniels. Or as I like to call him: the anti-Mike James (who?). He's been more effective than we could have hoped as Paul's backup. He's done so well that Scott has him out there with CP sometimes.

PARTING SHOT

I refer to UNC as "we." Brick, who went to UNO, is aghast.

Brick: At least I went to the school I call we.

Liam: I also went to the school you call we.

Derry: We-We.

THE DAILY TOP LIST

My five favorite cover songs of all-time.

5) Always Be My Baby. David Cook. Mariah Carey.

Deep and powerful as opposed to soft and sensual.

4) All Along the Watchtower. Jimi Hendrix. Bob Dylan.

Probably the best of all-time. I guess that's what happens when you combine supposedly the best song writer of all-time and supposedly the best guitarist of all-time.

3) Last Kiss. Pearl Jam. Wayne Cochran.

A real tear-jerker. I always cheer for the woman to live.

2) Helter Skelter. U2. The Beatles.

Bono and the gang bring a lot of energy to this cover. Special thanks to Charlie Manson for the inspiration.

1) Smooth Criminal. Alien Ant Farm. Michael Jackson.

It's my favorite Michael song turned into a fast-paced rock-a-thon.