Hello, four remaining readers! Remember me? I've been rather busy lately, what with the fact I'm getting married in TEN DAYS. According to common (and sexist) stereotyping, my life right now should be a fondant-flavored blur of errands, meltdowns, manicures and utter self-absorption. Unfortunately, that's my usual state of being.
My bridal state seems to be one of eminently not giving a flying frick.
I started off with mild wedding hysteria. Towers of magazines, dress excursions, overly complex emails to my ever-patient bridesmaids, and a round robin of color schemes. I even had a nightmare where my bowling-themed wedding was changed at the last minute to a hotel ballroom wedding with ice sculptures, and I fell on the ground and wept. (Note: why DIDN'T I have a bowling wedding?)
A few weeks ago, however, a switch flipped. I achieved bridal burnout, which is sort of like a Demerol high*. If I could distill this stuff and hand it 'round like a flask of bourbon-flavored joy, I would. It's amazing.
I knew it was all over when I ordered a light-up plastic arch for ceremony decor, as, hell, it got stuff off the list and was on sale for $34.99. We'll just glue something festive to it and be done. I realized I didn't have something old or borrowed to wear, and fell upon the idea of kidnapping a nursing home resident for the day. Brando asked me about the menu, my response was, "Is there food on it? OK, that works." I even plan a ceremonial torching of my Martha Stewart Weddings, as there was never a time in my life I'd contemplate baking anything, let alone my own wedding cake.
I'm sure most of this is a sort of stress-induced catatonia. But at least some of it is a rare flash of maturity. Hell, I get to spend the rest of my life with someone who will gleefully watch homicidal bird films like ThanksKilling and Birdemic: Shock and Terror. We love bourbon, good food, and each other. He's my best friend.
And the wedding? Well, I've learned that the people who love you just want to wish you well and have something mind-altering to drink. Anyone who expects a shebang, or makes the event about themselves, isn't a true friend. Your wedding is as good a time as any to learn that.
In the comments, tell me if I should have held a ThanksKilling theme wedding, complete with a malicious rubber turkey as the officiant.
*No, I've never been high on Demerol. (Hi, Dad.)