Mysteries of Shittsburgh

OK, so my pal in bloggydom, Bewildered Housewife, tagged me for a meme. I think all I have to do is post about 6 quirks that I have that are personal to me. Um, I’d love to do that and all, but I really should keep this blog about my wedding. So, prepare to look behind the curtain into the 6 as-yet-unknown quirks about my wedding!

But you know, a lot of the non-traditional aspects of my wedding have already been revealed here. There’s not much more to tell, except maybe that I’m effing tired of planning this thing. Srsly. It feels like I’m single-handedly running a little town. If that town were a real place, I’d call it “Shittsburgh.” Not because planning a wedding is really that shitty (um, but it kind of is), but because I love how Sienna Miller famously insulted the city of Pittsburgh by labeling it thusly.

It was such a career-suicide move, but GOD was that some delicious faux pas. Sometimes when the beautiful people fuck up, it’s just dreadful and infuriating (Tom Cruise and every TV appearance he’s done in the last 3 years). But other times, it’s really humanizing. “Shittsburgh” is funny in the way that one of my friends could have said something like that to a PA resident by accident and caught the same case of foot-in-mouth disease. I love it. I’d totally have a beer with Sienna Miller. Anyway, onward:

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Oh! You Pretty Things!

Don’t you know you’re driving the modest-budgeted brides insane? (Yes, I’m trying to invoke Bowie, and I’m pretty sure I’m failing.) Anyway, it really is torture that I can’t afford 90% of what follows in this post, but that’s life.

When doing a post about wedding gowns I love, It’s hard to know where to begin. Because, contrary to my acidic tone on this blog, I actually like a lot of stuff.  I mean, just look at Dorothy Dandridge up there in her Oscar de la Renta gown. I’ve pretty much spent my life wishing to have occasion (and funds) to wear such a dress. Unforch, my wedding is not such an occasion. But whatever. Let’s look at the pretty things after the jump.

(WARNING! This post is very long, b/c I felt like if I edited the images down any, I’d be cheating you guys. Who doesn’t love pretty dresses? Prepare to glut yourselves on the gorgeousness.)

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Monsoon Wedding

I’m kind of obsessed with Indian weddings right now. Pretty much every episode of Whose Wedding is it Anyway? so far this season has been an Indian wedding, which just adds to my fervor over these gorgeous, colorful events. Also, I know I’m really, really behind the times on this one- it came out in 2001 but I saw a fabulous film about Punjabi weddings a few weeks ago. Monsoon Wedding follows a modern Delhi family in the days leading up to a traditional marriage celebration.

If you haven’t seen this one, I highly recommend it. I could talk your ear off about how much I love this movie, but I’ll spare you b/c the film pretty much speaks for itself once you’ve seen it. Video teasers after the jump!

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Pretty: Ur Doin It Wrong

I honestly find it shocking how often people need to be told what looks good and what doesn’t. I’m talking, of course, about the most alarming trend in the bridal world this side of baby’s breath: the Used Kleenex Dress.

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Loves Me Not

That was pirate-speak, did you get it? Hoh-hoh! Have you noticed? The news is very gay lately. I don’t understand how the AFA can even stand it!

First, put on your bullshit goggles, because this is kind of priceless:

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My White Whale: Call Me Ishmael, Yo.

  Ask any bride what she went through in order to find her dress, and the answer you’ll never hear is, “I walked into a store. I saw a dress. I liked it. I bought it.” Ohhh noooo. That is not the way of it. The buying of the Dress of Your Life is never such a simple, pedestrian affair. Nay, the arrangement of one dressmaker making, one store selling, and one consumer consuming belies the epic, Melvillian odyssey that is the quest for the One. The stalking and procuring of the garment encompasses every plot conflict in the literary world: Man vs. Man (have you ever been to a bridal shop? Claws at the ready, people), Man vs. Nature (while dress hunting, it’s as if the whole world- the flora and fauna, the atmosphere, the very firmament of heaven all conspire against you), and -most assuredly, Man Vs. Himself. Or, as Disney chose to put it:

Please to be getting your sea legs on, for after the jump, we board the Good Ship Nuptualus and decend into a madness as deep as the fathoms of the Sea.

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It’s All About the Benjamins, Baby

Now tell me:

What y’all wanna do? Wanna be ballers? Shot-callers? Brawlers?
Who be dippin’ in the Benz with the spoilers?

(Look, I know that ‘Benjamins’ Is a Puff Daddy song, but I couldn’t find any good 90s-nostalgia-trip pics of Puffy. But mostly, I just really love this pic if Fiddy, and I’d be loath to do a post about money and *not* use this spectacular image. Please take a moment to really observe the look on this man’s face. He’s got a fistfulof dollars and is trying to look hard, but he’s just not pulling it off. I haven’t seen a more benign visage since Alan Thicke as the patriarch of the Seaver clan on Growing Pains. Really, it looks like Fiddy is giving his son a scolding. “Now boy, I may have a panty on my head, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to listen to what I say.” )

The average American wedding costs $25,000. Think about that for a second. My entire college career cost, like, 10 thousand less than that. Over the course of five years (shut up, OK?), whereas the average couple blows all that cash on ONE DAY. It’s kind of a mindfuck, isn’t it?

And then think, pop culture offers up shows like Rich Bride, Poor Bride, Platinum Weddings, and My Big, Fat Fabulous Wedding as a kind of consumer porn spending-orgy. Uh, needless to say, I’ve seen pretty much every episode of these shows. Yeeeeeah. I like to think these shows keep me grounded and stop me from spending insane sums on bullshit like hologram-monograms and cinematic lighting concepts. But the fact remains, until today, I had no idea how much I was actually spending on this wedding…

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