12/14/2010 10:44 am ET | Updated May 25, 2011

To The Unhappy Couple: A Toast

At the wedding, we all sat and watched the endless speeches, personal jokes and the "crazy" college stories that are so innocent they make my college years look like a Rick James Christmas orgy.

We listened to them drag on forever and we ended up looking like a heartless asshole trying to get another double Maker's while the maid of honor quoted yet another Chicken Soup for the Soul book.

But now, the party is over. It didn't work out. Some of us saw this coming. Some of us were blindsided. Either way, I have always wanted to hear the unhappy, separated couple toasted after all the communal property has been divided.

And with that said, I now present to you The Divorce Toast, as told by the best man and maid of honor at that fateful legally binding party. So if you could all make your way to your tables and raise your glass of champagne, I believe DJ Mark Goldberg is calling Dave, the best man, to the podium.

Cheers. L'chiam. Proust.

Bruce. The Brucester. Bruceroni and cheese. Bruce the Moose! I remember standing in front of everyone at your wedding and just thinking, "Her?" I gave it five years. But you proved me wrong, as you often do. Just four months shy of four years, just like college. Now I don't want you to think I didn't like Dina. I think she's a great girl, just not for you. I remember hanging out after college before you met Dina. It was fun. Really fun. Tailgaiting. Going to Munich for Oktoberfest and wearing lederhosen. Life couldn't have been better. Then the Dina years came. Instead of barbecuing, we went to brunch. You changed a lot, and quickly. You got pillowcases. That was a good thing. But you also started getting "really into reds" as you put it, even taking sommelier classes. That isn't Bruce the Moose behavior. I get it; you guys had a nice apartment. But offering me the "tour" every time I came over wasn't necessary. And I never thought I'd see the day where you put on a pink polo shirt. Some guys can pull it off, but you weren't being you. You kind of lost your identity, it seemed like you didn't know who you were. But hey, stranger things have happened (Re: the double date we all went on where Dina insisted on going to P.F. Chang's). Things didn't work out. You guys gave it your best. In all honesty, I wish you both nothing but the best. So let's raise our glasses and toast to Bruce and Dina's new freedom and for the fact that I will probably never have to see Dina again. Ok, I'm being told to pass the mic to Dina's maid of honor who is going to say a few words.

Hello everyone. Bruce, Dina, I have known you both since college. Bruce, the first time I met you I remember genuinely liking you, but as I got to know you there was something off. You weren't lazy, you just had no drive to do anything but what you had to in life. Your wedding was really nice, sans the best man who kept making up stupid nicknames for Bruce. I don't think chanting "The Bruce is loose" while doing the "hora" is ever socially acceptable. Dina, you're a great girl, and for a while I thought Bruce was really maturing. He turned me on to Chilean Pinots and seemed earnest at his willingness to develop a finer palette. But after reading about him getting thrown out of a P.F. Chang's for what the news described as some sort of competitive drinking contest gone awry, it was clear that old habits die hard and the inevitable was approaching. You seemed to carry this burden with you. You knew it was ending and everyone could see that you were genuinely unhappy. But once the decision was made, you looked so much happier. I mean, it was never really endearing having to hear you referred to as his "bronze medal in The Special Olympics." I have always felt that in life, you live many lives; this is just one life ending and another one beginning. When one door closes, another door is locked tightly to make extra sure your ex doesn't come back. I'd like to make a toast. To You and Bruce, may you both find happiness and may Bruce be your Nicky Hilton and not your Richard Burton.