by Jeff Somers

FRIENDS, everything I need to know about life I learned at weddings.

You have no idea how many weddings I have attended. No, you have no idea. You think you do, but there are secret weddings I have never admitted to attending, weddings that I am still under court order to deny attending, weddings that have stricken me from the audio-visual record. I have attended so many weddings I can:

• Perform Ave Maria from beginning to end

• Legally marry you, even over this length of space and time, to anything that happens to be near you, like, say, that chair. There, you are now married to that chair. May you be very happy.

• Sing Don't Stop Believin' with aplomb

• Dance every dance, with perfect dancibility. Dancibility, it's a word. I can do the Macarena, the Waltz, and, yes, sadly, the lamentable Chicken Dance.

• Cook Salmon, Filet Milon, and Roast chicken into a rubbery, indistinct mass of protein

• Drink at the open bar until I passed out. Though to be honest I could do that before.

These are skills I have now, thanks to my high wedding attendance, but in addition to these superhuman capabilities, I've also learned all the wisdom I'll ever need for life. Because weddings are microcosms of life in general, if you think about it. It's all there: Family, commerce, food, and dancing. And, frequently, death, although I'm still not allowed by The Kremlin to discuss that story.

There are few more formalized and established cultural institutions than the traditional wedding, no matter the religion or region. You've got birthdays, you've got funerals, and you've got weddings: Every other important event in your existence is subject to a great deal of personal modification, but the Big Three have a pretty rigid structure and symbolism. Oh, sure, you might buck the trends here and there, maybe. But trust me: Choosing to put your bridesmaids in hulu dresses or deciding to have a Black Metal band play at the reception does not make you a brilliant individualist, because you are still conforming to the basic outline.

You can pretty much predict the events you're going to witness when you attend a wedding. No matter the culture or religion or universe you're in, certain things will happen in a certain order. The deatils might change, but the basic skeleton will be the same. Once you realize this, you're free to stop paying any attention whatsoever to the ceremonies and start paying attention to the wisdom the cosmos is piling up around you. It's like when Neo starts to see the Matrix as code at the end of The Matrix: Everything else becomes meaningless set dressing, and you can start to figure things out. Things like

DON'T TAKE CRAZY GIRLS TO WEDDINGS AS DATES.

Artist's Representation

About a million years ago there was a girl who hadn obvious and unfortunate crush on me. I didn't dislike her, but I wanted nothing to do with her romantically, and frankly couldn't believe that any woman could become attracted to me unless it was 2AM and someone was flicking the lights on and off while scowling around. I gave her the whole 'just friends' speech and she invited me to be her date at a wedding. A smarter man would have known exactly how this was going to end and performed some sort of evasive action, but I was even dumber then than I am now, which is pretty unbelievable.

There was a terrible storm the day of the wedding, and driving around was a chore. The bride was a mutual friend I wasn't terribly close with, but somehow my date and I ended up accompanying her back to her parents house for the three hours between the ceremony and the reception. Those were some long hours, friends. The reception, when, some years later, we finally climbed out of the black hole we'd fallen into, was fun enough as those things go. I'm not sure how much of my date's mooning at me was my imagination—I went, after all, with the idea that she dug my action, so I may have floated about reading more into her actions than I should have. But I definitely got the vibe that she thought the evening would have an, er, magical end to it, if you get my drift. You know the equation:

So I played it safe, and when Mother Nature tried to prevent me from dropping her off at home with a mere Nor'easter, I plowed the car through floods and mudslides, risking life and limb in order to deliver her home. And a lesson was learned.

DON'T EVER DANCE SPONTANEOUSLY.

Once upon a time I might have truncated this rule to simply, Do Not Dance, but being married means sometimes you have to dance. I know there are married men out there who claim they don't dance, but I do not believe them. They are lying. Maybe they don't dance in public, but that just means their wives force them to dress up in costumes and dance at home. Let's not mock them. Married men have it hard enough, Bwana.

Millions of years ago I went stag to the wedding of a good (female) friend. I was sat at the Third Wheel Table of Doom (more on that later) and spent most of the reception pondering my life, which at the time was not exactly the best course of action. I felt awkward and ridiculous, and as the evening wore on I decided that I needed to break the momentum somehow. Suddenly the band started playing a fast tune and the bride boogied nearby. Seized with Wedding Madness, I leaped up and just jumped into the dance, suddenly appearing in front of her like a sweaty, unbalanced moron.

This was a mistake for my dignity.

Lesson learned: If you're going to dance, and let's face it, at wedding receptions with liquor and beautiful bridesmaids in deep supply it's going to happen, you're much better off planning for it rather than letting the spirit move you. The spirit is your enemy.

Beware the Third Wheel Table of Doom.

It happens to everyone, but if you get stuck in the wilderness at the reception, for god's sake don't stay there. Displace, and fast, before the funk of weird takes hold. Go stand by the bar. Dance the night away. Find some friends at better tables and horn in. Whatever you do, don't let the incredible spine-warping gravity of the Third Wheel Table get its hooks into you.

I've sat at so many TWTs I think they actually call these Somers Tables now. Believe me, I've spent some long goddamn receptions trapped in the syrup of awkward social interactions and connections with the happy couple so tenuous you begin to wonder if they invited you by accident.

Keep moving.

PACE YOURSELF.

The Open Bar is a temptation few can resist. It's magical. In normal situations, you walk up to a bar and place a drink order and they expect you to pay them for the alcohol. It's an onerous and unhappy situation. At a reception with an open bar, however, you've crossed into a magical land where you simply ask for booze and it is given to you, without judgement or hesitation. Sure, the liquor's third shelf (Dewars! MY GOD DEWARS!) and the mixed drinks are watery. But you shouldn't be bothering with mixed drinks anyway; man up and take it straight the way god intended.

When I was a younger wedding professional I had some bleary moments at weddings because the Open Bar is the siren call of the reception, luring you towards the rocks, and puking in the bathroom before the cutting of the cake is not recommended. So pace yourself. The key to pacing yourself is simple: Never, under any circumstances, do shots with people.

Comely bridesmaids want to do shots with you? Refuse. Old college roommates want to do shots with you? Walk away. Shots will kill a motherfucker. For real.

Also, avoid anything made with or near Jagermeister. That shit ought to be fucking illegal.

These concepts can be applied to a wide range of human experience, my friends. Attend enough weddings and you become like Phil in Groundhog Day: You won't be god, you'll just have been around enough to know everything. Once you master the wedding reception, the rest of life is easy, trust me.