I just attended my cousin Sara's wedding in which:
1) I put out a fire with my bare hands,
2) The police showed up,
3) We made a soul train line while dancing to "The Hora" because we're SO Jewish (and by "we" I mean my mother and other guests and definitely not me),
and 4) I had possibly the worst drinks ever in my life (a Dirty Martini and a tepid cup of Earl Grey).
Later on you shall find:
1) A recap of the aforementioned events,
and 2) A rant -- sorry, thoughtful discussion -- about cocktails.
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Julia hates Los Angeles. Los Angeles hates Julia.
One is snarky, the other full of impossible traffic.
Face off of the century.
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