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:

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.

Back-Alley Bride

(This is the first post by TheNot guest-writer Skinny Bones Jones!!)

Recently, the California Supreme Court overturned a ban on gay marriage, and in a few short weeks gay and lesbian couples all over the US can lawfully wed one another in our beautiful golden state. A few weeks after that, we will see whether or not the conservative Christian right has collected enough signatures on petitions which would introduce an initiative on November’s ballot that could, once again, rip the foundation of equality from under us, like so many SF weddings undone in 2004.

In celebration, hope and as a testament to my amazing loverbird and our unprecedented love, I’ve written a funny little story about the time she proposed to me three years ago.

I Am Trying to Break Your Heart.

  

I had a curious epiphany on my way to work this morning. Fiona Apple came on my ipod (shut up, ok?), and, as I stated on this amazing and fabulous Jezebel thread, Fiona Apple is a key player in my breakup sountracks. And apparently, lots of other people’s, too, if you follow the thread. Apparently, the power Fiona has to plumb the depths of your inner abyss of self-indulgent, lonely, heatbroken, sadbastardness is universally recognized by the generation of people born under the signs of Gen-X and Gen-Y, respectively. But lately, when Her Waifiness pops up in the shuffle, I skip the song.

(Gawd, I’m about to sound like such a fangirl, but for serious, I really only like this chick’s music when I’m dumped and need the type of encouragment that can only come from such a truly, truly unhinged bitch.)

   Not long ago, when I listened to a Fiona song I’d almost always get a brick in my throat thinking about whatever douchecanoe I had split with most recently. Now that my Single Girl Angst had subsided, all the lustre has faded frm the Apple. I don’t sing along and beat the steering wheel and think about What WAS and What Could Have BEEN anymore. Which is great & all but… In truth, actually got a little nostalgic for the brand of heartache that, if all goes according to plan, I’ll never experience again. It has really, truly dawned on me that a chapter in my life is closing.

    Don’t worry, I’m not going to mourn my single days because I’ve not forgotten (and you all know this) that being single pretty much sucks. So, in the place of all the symphonic recollections of unrequited love, a new and different musical yanker-of-heart-strings has appeared:

(pack an airsickness bag, y’all, it’s about to get serious….)

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Hand in Glove

Welcome to my newest feature! I’ll be combing the Knot wedding profiles, online announcements, and magazines for people’s weddings to profile. But I can think of no better way to kick this puppy off than with a gallery of notable celebrity nuptuals:

Hand in glove

Come with me, my love, to the sea, the sea of blogs.

   So, I feel like I cant start this blog without giving a nod to my humble wedding blog beginnings (“humble” as in, I’m humbled to be included in a group blog among such fantastic writers) over at Buttercup Punch. When I came aboard they told me I could write about whatever, so I penned a couple of posts about my wedding crap. The metallic taste of bridal blood was on my tongue and I wanted more.  Self-indulgent as it is, I’d really like to go a little more apeshit about my wedding planning than I feel comfortable doing over there.  So I started this little jewelbox of a wedding blog. I have every intention of still posting on Buttercup, but I thought narrowing the wedding focus could be a good thing. 

   I find temporary states of life to be pretty interesting subjects. Like pregnancy, you know, being a mother is forever, but being pregnant is a temporary state. I’ll be married (hopefully!) for the rest of my life, but the whole “bride” part is only for a little while. So, sucky and stressful brideliness makes for a great temp topic, like a travel journal or a captain’s log on a voyage or some Jules Verne-ish crap like that. So yeah, I’ll be Captain Emo aboard the Good Ship Nuptualus over here, whereas I can just be me minus the white dress over on Buttercup. Get it?

Anyway, a quick intro to my wedding blogging process thus far, so you can get a taste of my writing style and blah blah, peep my Buttercup entries:

A Night Without Flatware: Registry Woes

A Night Without Flatware II: The Revenge

 

Leave me love in the comments, and perhaps a giant squid or two.