Occasionally I get feedback about The Dirty Dish. The other day a friend commented that I had lost my edge a little bit in the last few months, and oddly enough I had been thinking the very same thing. Hopefully I won’t disappoint her in this week’s column because I have plenty to rave and rant about.

Last Friday was Aug. 8, 2008. Aside from Valentine’s Day, this was THE wedding day of the year. For many there is something significant about the number eight. In China the number is associated with wealth. Place the number on its side and you have the mathematical symbol for infinity. “OUR marriage will last forever and ever, until the stars burn out and unicorns will rule the earth.” Blah, blah, blah. Good luck.

A few months back I wrote about parties thrown by folks in the restaurant biz, and how fortunate one is to be invited. I by no means meant to neglect the mention of wedding receptions. The husband and I were invited to attend such a wedding and reception on this lucky date, and oh baby, were we lucky.

My newly nuptial-ed friends, Lilli and Kevin are technically not in the restaurant biz but nevertheless are extremely gifted in the art of indulgence. Lilli is a wine salesperson and Kevin is a culinary instructor and renowned truffle hunter. Honestly, I shouldn’t have to say a whole hell of a lot more about the evening, but I will.

After the lovely outdoor ceremony, which started 45 minutes late (I’ll get back to that later), we all drove back to the newlywed’s home for the reception. Waiting for us upon arrival were bottles among bottles of chilled Prosecco. I volunteered to bring the non-alcoholic beverage (I know, shocking) of sparkling lemonade infused with lavender.

Poor overachieving Kevin put all the food together himself, excluding the sushi and spring rolls, which Lilli begged him not to make, so they bought them from Metropolitan Market. He spent a good hour preparing a massive cheese, meat, fruit and nut board, bacon wrapped scallops, chicken skewers, Swedish meatballs, roasted olives and grapes, baked brie, chilled prawns and a red velvet cake from Wagner’s Bakery in Lacey that was to die for.

Soon after opening the Prosecco, Lilli broke out the Ebeneezer Shiraz from winemaker Chris Ringland of Australia. This 93-point wine boasts an extraordinarily deep, dark purple color that blows your mind with decadent coffee and cherry-chocolate flavors — dessert in a glass, so I stuck with the Prosecco. Don’t get me wrong; I just couldn’t drink it all night. Only $18.99 in short supplies at Tacoma Boys and Stadium Thriftway.

Now I have a few wedding rants:

RANT #1: HEY! If you are invited to a wedding, and you don’t know where you are going, leave EXTRA early for piss sake. It is rude as hell to leave people waiting because you didn’t give yourself enough time and got lost.

RANT #2: If you are invited to a wedding, can you at least attempt to dress up? Dingy sweats and Birkenstock sandals just don’t cut it unless you are attending a hippie wedding in Eugene and the reception consists of tofu, broccoli sprouts and Yerba Mate.

RANT #3: I’ve been waiting a long time to bitch about this one. I have about had it with giving wedding shower and wedding gifts and not receiving a thank you note in return. I’ve given about five gifts so far (NOT including this one) and nothing. Sadly, most of these gifts have been for couples in their 20s. Somewhere along the line a sense of entitlement has replaced graciousness, and they should be ashamed. There I said it.

Eat out, Tacoma. We need your love.