The Reception

Welp, it's over now. Actually, it was over two days ago, but whatever. I now officially have a male high school friend who is married. It's still a little hard to believe. The wedding itself went off without a hitch. No one fainted. No one stood up in the back of the church and yelled "I object to this wedding!" No one left anyone at the altar. A baby started crying at one point, but that was pretty much it.

The reception was a little different. Everyone there was treated to the charms of DJ Mike. This guy had the biggest poof in his hair I've ever seen. He's one of those "I refuse to admit that long hair on men is dead" type guys. He wore a ponytail, but the hair that was supposed to have been smoothed over the top of his head in its way toward the ponytail was, in fact, bunched up on the top. He looked like Scarlett Johansson. And not in a good way.

DJ Mike's ability to MC a wedding reception seemed to be limited to telling people to quiet down and getting made fun of for his hair. He isn't much of a DJ, either. Apparently, today's music is so bad for dancing, the best option is to revert back to that old classic, Lou Bega's Mambo No. 5. I'm serious. DJ Mike is crazy. I don't think he was too fond of me, either. He kept looking at me the way Larry David looks at Republicans.