-I’m flying back East this week because two people I’ve known since childhood – my old roommate Brian and my doctor friend Christina – are getting married only five days apart.  The only way it could be more convenient for me is if they were marrying each other.  (I pitched that idea, but it got shot down for some reason.)  The only other wedding I’ve been to in my adult life was two years ago, so with two weddings this month and my Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends of 2007 already booked up, this marks the official beginning of the Holy-Shit-Everyone-I-Know-Is-Getting-Married phase of my life.  Clearly, I’m not emotionally prepared for this, as every time someone under thirty introduces me to their “husband” or “wife,” I do a double-take and ask if I heard them correctly.  As I navigate through the thicket that is my friends’ impending nuptials, I can clearly see a line being drawn in the sand.  There are twentysomethings who are looking to get married, are about to get married, or are already married.  And then there are those in no rush at all, who rock ill-fitting rented tuxes and try to bang bridesmaids.  In other words, those who have the desire to tie the knot (“the Haves”), and those who think they might have swallowed a cufflink with that last shot of open bar Jack.  You can call us “the Have-Knots.”

-To me, a wedding registry is merely an opportunity to say, “I like you guys this many napkins rings much.”

-In reality, when shopping from a registry, I almost always buy alcohol-related items (or “barware” as those fancy fucks at Williams-Sonoma call it).  The way I figure it, that’s the only way I’ll be able to partake in my friends’ usage of the gift.  Of course, I’ve never actually drunk anything from a flute or carafe.  But I figure as long as there’s an opening at one end, the beer will know where to go.

-At Brian’s ceremony, the groomsmen will outnumber the bridesmaids by about three to one.  The strangest part is that, since there are not enough chicks to go around, as Best Man I have to walk down the aisle by myself like a lost drum major in a marching band.