Sebbeth Heaven.

The Sebbeth this month wil be a tribute of sorts. Darren and AnnMarie will tie the knot in Anguilla, BWI. Never before invited to a wedding in the Carribean, I rsvp'd promptly. Those who know me know I am no good at prompt response. Prompt response. Prompt response. Animanipia. Tangent. The dense gaul of my fine friend to enslave friends and family to come to this Extreme Wedding Edition is ginormous but the fact that there was no return postage provided on the response card was beyond. It really was the turd olive in the urine martini. Maybe that's harsh. It's raining and I'm surly.

Prompt response. Prompt response. So I've bought the madras plaid, the linen clam diggers and the sunscreen. I celebrate my road to forty in a tribute to love. Love that makes you cross continents and credit cards. Love of a man from New Orleans and an Italian princess. Darren and I met at a mutual friends birthday party five years ago. Darren used to babysit my co-workers at a little irish pub in Santa Monica after their shifts. He's now gone legit and babysitting people's bigger money. When we met, we had heard much of each other. He had just come from a wedding of a stranger and his date was lost at the party. I had decided to go out and be social for a change. The mutual admiration society was made that night. My rye friend is quite the metrosexual and to find this little 'playa' settling down, I'm beholden. So off to Anguilla (just learned how to say it, an-GEE-uh) to a destination wedding. Sounds like heaven, smells like cocoa butter.

Prompt response.