O.M.G. . . .

I just returned from a -- a -- a -- I don't even know what to call it. A spectacle? A wild and crazy party? A mind-numbing experience? An insane trip through the Matrix?

Allegedly, it was a wedding.

But there were wigs. Two kinds of wigs. Sparkly red vests. Top hats and canes. Dance routines. Arrhythmia-inducing Korean techno pop. Too many blasts from the past. Crabcakes shaped into little balls. Marriage solicitations. Carrot bits flung on the floor. Bongo drums. Yes, I said bongo drums. Married men going crazy on the dance floor . . . with women not their wives. Not enough sensation-dulling liquor.

I am overwhelmed. Brother and I kept looking at each other and asking "Are we really here? Are you in my nightmare? Can I get another glass of wine?" I'm too over-stimulated to sleep (oh, get your mind out of the gutter, you!). Instead, I shall lie in bed, debrief myself (again with the gutter -- this is so not intentional), try to restore the regular beat of my heart, and formulate my thoughts so that I can bring you all the full experience on the morrow . . . Until then, think "SPIRIT FINGERS." No, really.

(On a side note, Brother and I quoted scenes from "Finding Nemo" to each other all night in an effort to maintain each other's sanity. I HAVE to see it again. I must own it. You must watch it immediately. Brilliant.)