We’ve decided there is just no way that we can possibly have the wedding of our dreams with everyone six-feet apart. So, let’s be even further apart, but feel closer together. Since we can’t have the wedding we originally planned, we’re going to meet online on our same wedding date for a virtual ceremony. We sure hope you’ll join us in making our day as special as can be. We thank you all so much for your understanding.

Homer Simpson once famously gave a toast to his longtime mistress, proclaiming “To alcohol! The cause of, and solution to, all of life’s problems.” Although his wisdom does not necessarily apply to everyone, as it turned out, alcohol played a major part in solving a problem that long plagued me. Without alcohol, I might have remained unlucky in love indefinitely. But one fateful night I visited the right bar, at the right time, and with alcohol playing the role of Cupid, I was in just the right state of mind to raise my flirting game to an all-time high. And I did what I’d always thought impossible. I picked up the hot bartender. With some playful banter built on little white lies like – “No thank you, I don’t drink. I’m five years sober.” – in response to her asking if I wanted another. And telling her I worked for the excise police (Jersey’s Alcohol Beverage Commission to those that don’t know what that means). And with a case of mistaken identity referring to a conversation I’d had the previous weekend with another slender, black-haired bartender, I got her talking and laughing and flirting back right before her shift ended. Then she asked if my roommate, Neil, and I wanted to go to another place for a night cap and I knew I had to seize my chance. She told us to think about it while she went to the bathroom. I responded by promptly turning to face Neil and say in a very friendly manner, “Go the fuck home.” She came back to just me waiting and we took our adventure out the door. From the next bar, after a discussion about gambling and our favorite casino games, we were suddenly on Route 78 heading to Pennsylvania at roughly 3:00 AM – all while my tired, 31-year-old ass was thinking, “just go with it, just go with it, you’re never going to get another shot at a wild, fun night with a girl this gorgeous and spontaneous.”

...So, 20 oz. Red Bull from Wawa in hand, I did my best to stay awake and keep the good times rolling… by belting out every lyric to the Pitch Perfect soundtrack. Naturally, the beautiful 24-year-old driving us to the Sands began to wonder if she’d goofed and picked up the hot gay guy. As I DJ’d us through the dark New Jersey night and she wondered which of the Backstreet Boys I preferred, our adventure came to an unexpected halt. It turns out you can be pulled over in this dumbass state for having your high beams on in the middle of the night despite the presence of precisely zero other cars on the road. And, it turns out, not having your license on you when you’re pulled over is a bad thing. Since my hot bartender had dropped it at the last bar, we unfortunately never made it to the casino – though thankfully she did get out of a way worse ticket because of her cop father’s gold card. With the sun rising upon our return to the scene of the crime – the bar where alcohol and fate changed our lives forever – I thought our adventure was over. Instead, we made out in her car like teenagers – HA! he’s not gay after all – and we met for lunch later that day, when the alcohol had fully worn off and the buzz of the night had settled into a somber, peaceful, sunny Sunday in April. We talked over tacos and then walked through a street fair in Maywood. We learned a bit about each other – she’s deathly afraid of clowns and ice cream trucks – and we held hands as we walked. Alcohol had “solved” my run of bad luck with love. Even in those first 24 hours, something I’d never experienced before began falling into place. She just felt like home. Everything felt natural. Our adventure, it turns out, will never have an end to it.