Large social gatherings combined with nuptial induced social-anxiety disorder and an open bar are a dangerous combination. The closer the friend, the more I drink at their weddings. If I was a more mathematically inclined person, I could probably figure out a formula, but it’s suffice to say I was properly smashed at Simone’s wedding (so were most people actually, blame the assortment of good imported scotch).

Simone, my real life Penny Lane, the talented writer, with whom I have crashed while homeless so many times they started calling me the fourth roommate, the only person I know who can appreciate and laugh at the natural drama of life as much as I do, who almost wore fairy wings to her wedding, has up and got herself hitched.

I was so sad to see her go, but if the past few days is any indication, I think she and her rockin new husband Yoni Liss (of the JReport) will still be the funny dramatic, hilarious party people I love (they are taking their honeymoon in Amsterdam, after all).

As hard as my friends getting married, is I love the informality of Israeli weddings. Almost always outside under the stars, with hand made wedding dresses that cost a few hundred dollars, guests wear sandals and nice but not fancy clothing, assigned seats are rare and wedding crashers are expected, cause at the end of the day, everyone here is family. At a fraction of the cost of American goyisha style weddings and 10 times the simcha (from what i’ve experienced) there’s just nothing like it, even when The Grateful Dead is half the music set.

So Simone and Yoni, here’s wishing you the biggest biggest mazel tov in the world. Mamish a gevalt, you guys are the best, mamish.

About the author

Laya Millman

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