If That Ain’t Country…

    I’m not the only altar-bound woman at my place of business. Which is great, because if there’s anything in this world I don’t like, it’s too much attention. Besides, this chick’s wedding is a helluva lot more interesting than mine anyway (country wedding! Cowboy boots under the wedding dress! Leather & lace! I can’t wait!), so I’m flying super low under the radar at work. Yessss.

    As I mentioned in yesterday’s post, I’m currently occupying nearly every hour of available free time in my life with wedding appointments. I have 5 appointments this week, each taking about 2 hours. So yeah, 10 hours of my time this week will be spent on the Wedding That’s Eating My Life. 10 hours is practically a job. Uh, or at least, that’s the amount of hours I used to get at Starbucks (“we guarantee 4 hours on your schedule, but if you want enough money to live on, it’s up to you to pick up open-then-close-then-open shifts that directly violate our employment policy. Smootches, sucker!” Srsly, do not get me started on working at Starbucks.) No working out for me, no leisurely walks with the dog, no time to prepare nice dinners, no showering (seriously, you don’t want to know). I’m really starting to wonder if it’s all worth it. I love Mr. Panda, he’s my best friend, and he makes me so happy. I just want to be married to him. That’s all I want, and yet here I am, sinking the GNP of a small country into this pretentious fucking party.

    Don’t mind me, I have good days where I’m soooo excited about my pretty dress, the thought of my man in a hot-ass suit, and the fact that I’ll be seeing all my relatives and old friends that I miss so much. But I also have bad days, too. This would be one of those. Anyway, back to the point of this post, the other bride at my office. Let’s call her “Fancy” (for no other reason then the fact that that Reba song is the hottest shit ever). Lately, I’ve been all “woe is me” about all the work I have to do for my wedding. Fancy’s wedding is in, like, 2 weeks and just the other day there was an exchange between Fancy and her mom (who also works here) that made me realize how good I’ve really got it:

Culture Clash Wedding: Western Customs

Last post we explored the weird world of Cajun wedding customs. Now it’s time to tackle the nuptual rituals we should all be familiar with:

Culture Clash Wedding

   So far on this blog, I’ve just been taking the piss at tacky wedding shit. I don’t want to make this too much about my own wedding, because I’m just not that self-indulgent and I realize that the funny tacky shit is a helluva lot more interesting. However, there are some meaty and interesting issues with regards to my own relationship that are actually worth posting about.

(interracial LOLcats are hard to find, so settle for a tabby-calico mating and shut up.) 

 

   Mr. Panda and I are… Different. I’m a Southern, white, crazy Cajun and he’s a Korean-American Yankee. Neither one of us has a problem with it, obviously, but planning a wedding with so many different cultures and customs involved can be difficult. But, you know, I’m not about to post about this as if Mr. Panda and I are the only mixed couple from different backgrounds to ever get married in the history of the world EVAR, or anything like that. I know the gals over at Buttercup Punch will give me crap if I even tried to take myself too seriously about this topic, being that the two married Buttercups are they themselves in multi-culti marriages. (Which, I hope that they will come over here & post about sometime *hint*, *hint*)

   So yeah, I’ll avoid getting too deep and just tell y’all some stories. Pull up some rug, grab your blankies and your juice boxes, and I’ll get started:

 

Cake or Death: Part I

   

   I’ve only been engaged and wedding planning for 8 months, and yet I can’t tell you how many parental roadblocks I’ve encountered. Over really stupid shit like sash colors and fonts. Until now, I was never so aware of the degree to which Parents Just Don’t Understand . MY idea of classy and stylish is worlds removed from my parents’ ideas of class and style. Seriously, if it were up to my mom, I’d have sent my invitations out on postcards from Graceland and there would be nothing but pulled-pork barbeque at the reception. But at least she’s laid-back. If I had some uptight, Emily Post worshipping, Kennedy Dynasty type mom, then I’m sure I’d really have something to cry about.

  One place I didn’t count on a lot of static was from my fiance’s mom. This weekend we were casually discussing wedding stuff, and out of nowhere there was a very heated yet restrained pastry-related meltdown.

(after the jump!)