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.

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The Bridal Blogosphere Hive-Mind

 Sonofabitch. The internet is a small fucking world. So, earlier this week one of my fave commenters on Jezebel, Jessicalovejoy, posts a pic of the Hostess/Twinkie/Lil’ Debbie wedding cake in the comments 5 minutes after I published the CoD: Insanity Interlude post. And now, since yesterday when I posted the wedding theme post, I’m seeing my theme ideas freaking everywhere.

 

One of my favorite touches from my Blush and Bashful post was the floral arrangements in tea tins thing from an old copy of Martha Stewart Weddings:

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“My Colors are Blush and Bashful.”

 

“Her colors are pink and pink.” (Fucking, seriously? There are no pics of the Steel Magnolias wedding online? Fuck you, internet! I’m’a put up a hot Vespa wedding instead. Get yer shit together, man.)

   Sooooo, due to my name-dropping my wedding theme in Cake or Death II, I’m sure a lot of you are going, “Her wedding theme is what now?” or “What the hell gave her that idea?” I know, it’s a little bit… esoteric. My wedding theme is Mid-Century Chinoiserie. I really don’t want to have to explain what Chinoiserie is, so here’s the wiki. Just trust that this style of decorating is currently experiencing a revival. You know those little birds that folks are painting or screenprinting or designing onto just about everything these days? Yeah. The combination of birds, branches, and blooms are Chinoiserie themes.

   Anyway, I could say that I chose this idea because Chinoiserie style reflects my heritage in that it’s sort of pan-European, with an emphasis on the French, and the oriental traits represent Mr. Panda. But that wouldn’t be entirely true, and it would call to mind some of the icky colonialist undertones involved with historical culture cross-pollenation. We can all agree that it’s just pretty, right? But that’s not the whole of it, either. This style has been around since the 17th century, but it was particularly popular in America in the 50s and 60s. Which brings me to the actual source of my inspiration:

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Cake or Death: WTF? Interlude

This next post can best be summed up as: Things That Make You Go, “Hmmmm?”

   But please, don’t let my bad taste in 90s club music defer you from scrolling through my annotated gallery of crazy cakes I came across while researching my Cake or Death posts. The following cakes were not applicable to any of my CoD rants, but the’yre hardly rejects. No, in my book, the following cakes are ALL winners, and if I refrained from showing them to you, it’d make me a bad blogger. I think you need to see these cakes.  Your life will never be the same, trust.

   In writing classes (of which I need many, many more, thx), I remember being told that you have to start your story or whatever with a “hook.” Something to draw the reader in. Because the “hook” brings you back, I ain’t telling you no lie. The “hook” brings you back, on that you can rely. (ka-POW! It’s the one-two punch of bad 90s music up in here! I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m just not) Anyway, I you’ll agree that the first cake up on the carving station more than qualifies as a hooker (and on several levels, in fact!):

There are no words. Really, there aren’t. About the only observation I can make at this point is that the cake is shaved. (*retch*)

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Ugly Dress of the Week: Herpzilla Invades Korea

I found this weeks ugly dress while researching my Korean Wedding Customs post. I remember reading a while back that Paris Hilton had gone to Korea for god knows what, and now here’s the photo to prove it:

(Britney did it, too, and worse!)

   Now, I have no real problem with the dress itself. Hanbok dresses are quite lovely. It’s the Paris part, and the Pepto pink color, that qualifies this dress. You know what else? I don’t even know why celebs have to dress in traditional clothes when they visit foreign countries. I mean, it made sense for R&B singer Amerie to do it, since her mom is Korean (though there is no excuse for how ugly that dress was), but why do all these randos have to wear hanboks? If it were me, I’d feel super-weird, which is why I’m not gonna wear a wedding hanbok at my nups.

To help scrub the image of Herpzilla: International Skank of Mystery from your minds, here’s a gallery of Hanbok done right:

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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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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:

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