“Ugh, where did I put my flask? I genuinely cannotttt fucking do this right now,” Feldman said as she pulled a seventh Pink Whitney shooter out of her bag and passed it to Micah, the chillest cantor. “I’m the oldest one on my mom’s side of the family. I’ve been to like, 25 brises. It’s soooooo boring and like, you can’t even talk during it, even though the dude’s up there snipping for a whiiiiiile.”

“I hope it works out for the little guy… Seems like a rough start to life if you ask me. If I was born and then you chopped my dick off 10 days later, I’d be pissssssssssed. I just hope by the time I walk in there’s a goooood vibe going,” Feldman commented as she tried and failed to stuff her shooters back into her purse without having them clink every time she moved. “I should do this more often—I feel fucking littttt. Oh my God, Micah, you have to help me walk back in there, I might fall. No-no seriously, take my arm, the world is spinning sooooooo fast.”

At press time, Feldman was seen asking the Rabbi where the afters were.