Something along the lines of:

Occasion: WEDDING

Time: 2-4 P.M.

Location: OLIVE GARDEN

I typed in my address and asked her where the wedding was.

"At Mercedes's."

"The dealership?"

"LOL!!!"

I wasn't joking, but I quickly lost interest in the conversation due to the fact that despite my having spoken to Lydia at great length about misplaced enthusiasm, she insisted on using exclamation points in lieu of periods and continued pairing them with my least favorite invention, LOL. You wouldn't say LOL if you were out to lunch with someone, so why would you write it in an instant message or an e-mail? Just laugh alone in your office or house. I don't need to be notified that you're laughing. If someone is busy laughing, then how do they have the time to be typing the letters LOL? More important, I was midway through a letter to Dear Abby that I'd been constructing for the better part of the winter, and I wasn't about to lose my confidence now. I hated that after Abby crossed over, her daughter continued her mother's advice column without changing its name from "Dear Abby" to "Dear Abby's Fucking Daughter." It wasn't an easy pill to swallow for those of us who didn't read the column the day Abby's daughter informed readers that she was taking over. The one day she decided to mention her mother was dead happened to coincide with me taking a one-day tie-dying class at the Y, and for months I was left nonplussed by Abby's out-of-left-field advice.

"I'll be there," I wrote back to Lydia. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

I hadn't spent a lot of time with Lydia since she'd gotten herself engaged. It wasn't intentional at all; we just sort of drifted apart after she asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding, and I coughed loudly enough to pretend I didn't hear her.

I instant-messaged Ivory and asked her what Mercedes's was.

"Some new girl Lydia's made friends with who works a pai gow table in Vegas."

"Is she Asian?"

"No, she's blond with Orange County boobs."

"Well, the wedding's at her house, and Lydia should be instant-messaging you with the invitation shortly."

"OMG. I can't wait for Ted to meet Rooster. Do you think they'll duel?"

The thought hadn't occurred to me that I would have to bring Ted to the wedding and that he would meet several people I'd slept with, including Rooster. Rooster is someone I'd accidentally fallen into bed with several times in my twenties. He had taken up with Lydia shortly after I explained to him that I didn't want to deal with a long-distance relationship. The commute from Santa Monica to East Santa Monica was putting too many miles on my car, and his car hadn't started since I met him. Not long after we broke up, we all went to a costume party, and I woke up in an M &M's costume next to him and Lydia moaning.

A plethora of misfits from my waitressing days would surely be in attendance at Lydia's wedding, and it was bound to be fairly horrifying.

Two weeks before the wedding and fourteen days before I purchased her gift, Lydia e-mailed everyone telling us there was a change of venue. She was no longer having the wedding at Mercedes's house. It was now being held at a hotel around the corner from where Ted and I lived.

I e-mailed Ivory. "Lydia just changed the locale of the wedding. No more Merecedes. What do you think her game plan is?"

"With the wedding?"

"With life."

"Just be happy you're not a bridesmaid. You're bringing Ted, right?"

"Yes, I'm bringing Ted. Don't worry. You'll get your day in the sun."

The change of locale was perfect for Ted and me. His major issue other than having to attend a wedding for a person he was convinced he'd never met was that it was on the Saturday night before Memorial Day, and he wanted us to spend the weekend in Laguna Beach.

"How long do we have to stay at the wedding?" Ted asked.

"I don't know. It's probably like four or five hours with the ceremony."

"Four or five hours? We're not going to get down to Laguna until midnight!"

"Well, sorry, Ted, but this isn't a roller-skating party. It's somebody's wedding."

"Who is this person again, and what is in your hair?" he asked, squinting at my head.

"A hair clip, and her name is Lydia. You've met her three times. I've known her since I was twenty, remember?"

"Why does it say Doritos on it?" he inquired upon closer inspection of my head.

"Because it's a chip clip. I couldn't find any hair bands and I wanted to go for a run. Is that okay with you?"

"So what's holding the chips together?" he demanded to know.

"Really, Ted? The chips are more important than me getting some cardio in? I mean, seriously."

"Chelsea, answer the question."

"What is the question?"

"What is holding the chips together?"

"The chips are gone."

"Exactly. Those were the chips for the helicopter, Chelsea. I swear sometimes I feel like I'm living with a refugee."

I didn't want to travel further in the direction this conversation was headed, so I removed the chip clip from my hair and tried to attach it to his penis.

He dodged my attempt, retrieved the clip, and returned it to its proper surroundings.

"We're going to have to get a driver if we're going to be drinking, so if the wedding starts at five, is it okay for the car service to come at seven?"

"I don't know, Ted. Have you ever been to a two-hour wedding?"

"Well, what if I have the car there at seven and then we have the option to leave whenever we want?"

"That will be a waste of money, because we won't be leaving before nine. We need to be there a minimum of four hours. What aren't you copying?"

"But I don't even know any of these people."

"That's not their fault. I know Lydia. She knows me, and unfortunately I know you. You're lucky I'm even allowed to bring a guest. This could have gone either way."

"I don't feel lucky."

Ted has little patience for weddings or birthday parties and has no problem telling the person whose birthday or wedding it is that he doesn't understand why they're celebrating. I, on the other hand, take both of these events very seriously, as long as nothing more than attending and providing gifts is expected of me. I don't like to make speeches, and I don't like to wear assigned clothing. I love birthdays, and I love weddings. Funerals can also be fun, but only with the right mix of refreshments.

Ted and I have always had different policies when it comes to other humans. He's generally not interested in people and doesn't even pretend to try, whereas I am fascinated by anyone and everything, especially if it involves a childhood story about an inappropriate uncle or obesity.

I've attempted to explain to him that just because he doesn't think the anniversary of someone's death holds any real meaning, the person who lost his or her parent most likely feels differently.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," he told me on the second anniversary of my mom's death. "I wish I had something to say. I just don't understand what meaning this day holds." Then he rubbed the back of my head while I looked at him the way I looked at my father each time he'd ask me if I was a C or a D cup.

I thought it might be fun for all of us to watch Lydia get married. I've always wanted to see a bride in her wedding dress smoking a cigarette, and I knew Lydia was the one person I could count on to make that dream come true.

A week before the wedding, Ted's assistant happened to find out that there was a helipad on top of the hotel where the wedding was being held. That's when all hell broke loose.

"Chelsea, we could take a helicopter from the hotel in the marina to another hotel in Laguna. We could be in Laguna by seven!"

"The wedding starts at five."

"Eight."

"I'm not bailing early on my friend's wedding because you want to get to a beach community when it's already dark out. What's the point anyway?"