Category Archives: weddings

Worst. Feminist. Ever.

This Royal Wedding frenzy has me thinking I would very much like to marry a prince right now. How fucking easy. What an awesome life you have when your biggest obstacle is that you’re too tired to go to another charity ball? Sometimes I just don’t want to work (but who doesn’t, right?). I want to be adored and appreciated. I just want to stand there in a chanel suit and wave. And not even wave strenously. 

I’m probably not supposed to admit this. But damn, I would really like someone to swoop in and take care of me right now. Someone to love me with reckless abandon. Someone who protects me and then announces to the world that I am theirs. Look. I love my life and I love writing and everything I do. But if a prince came up to me right now — hell, I’ll settle for a rich producer — with a gigantic ring I would take it and then immediately pose for the cover of People Magazine. I should not want this, right? I should want satisfaction to come from me. From my actions, my success. And yet…fuck. That. Shit.

Thus, I am the worst feminist ever. But goddamn, between my job and a Kennedy…I’m sorry. I am choosing the Kennedy. Oh, in this scenario my job is working in Ralph Lauren, which is what Carolyn Bessett did when he met her. So yeah, that’s not really a toss-up. (Unless you really like your job in retail! That’s ok! I’m not trying to hate on anyones’ life choices!)

I realize how fucking terrible that is. But I just want someone to point a finger at me and say, “YOU are FUCKING GREAT.” Like an Uncle Sam poster, but instead of Uncle Sam, it’s Jon Hamm. Why can’t it be you, Apocalypstick? Why can’t it be you pointing at yourself in a mirror? I don’t know, Grandmother Willow. I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S AROUND THE RIVERBEND.

Can I still be a feminist if I really just want to marry a prince and peace the fuck out? If I want to do that, isn’t that my choice, and isn’t that just as valid as any choice a woman makes in her life? Or am I just the little girl who wanted to be a princess who never grew out of it (I’M LOOKING AT YOU, ARIEL AND BELLE. BUT NOT YOU, SNOW WHITE, YOUR MOVIE SCARED ME. I WILL NEVER LOOK AT YOU AGAIN)? JFK Jr. was the closest thing we had to royalty, maybe this is why we’re going batshit for Wills & Kate. Who is American royalty to us now? Jon Hamm? Who would be the big “catch”? You are, Apocalypstick. You are! No, shut up. I am no one. I am a girl with a blog who wants to be a Princess. That ain’t right.

Actually, you know what really ain’t right? These bridesmaid dresses are rumored to be $30,000 something dollars.

I think I just snapped out of this princess shit.

 

Your Song – Elton John

The most unabashedly romantic song of all time. OF ALL TIME.

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I Want The Wedding. Not The Marriage.

One husband. One wife. Whaddya got? Two people sentenced for life. – Nina Simone, “Marriage Is For Old Folks”

Oh Apocalypstick, what is your deal? Do you like weddings? Hate them? Do you want to get married or condemn those who do? Tell me your stories. Your dreams. Tell me everything. Okay, imaginary questioner. I love weddings, as long as you give me a plus one. I read wedding blogs like it’s my job. (IN NO WAY DOES THIS INTERFERE WITH MY REAL JOBS. JUST WANT TO MAKE THAT CLEAR. CLEAR WITH CAPS.)

I want a wedding. Why wouldn’t I? I LOVE PARTIES. The ceremony, not so much.

Here’s what I want. I want a Non Wedding Wedding. The invitations will say, “This is not a wedding. It is a celebration of me and whoever I tricked into being with me. There will be a party with an endless open bar. There will be a fantastic DJ, Sarah Jurassica Parker, and yes, that’s me.” I plan on DJing my own wedding. I’m really controlling about music. I got it from my cool Silverlake dwelling hip music industry bass playing cocktail aficionado uncle.

I just hate calling it a “marriage.” Some people get that, that you shouldn’t have to label it, and others say, well if it’s just a word why not use it and definite as you like? That’s a really cool idea in theory but our society (or at least the one I’m a part of) won’t let that fly. Our society is real uptight about marriage. Not just the “precious institution” thing but the little things, the things that you “should” or “shouldn’t” do. I’ve always wanted to wear my engagement ring as a necklace because I hate my stubby little childlike hands, and I don’t wear rings unless they’re huge cocktail rings, but that’s not important right now. But I know so many people who would not understand that. And that’s ok. But damn will it get tiring.

And I want an engagement ring but not a wedding ring. Again, yes, this is partly because of my little fatty elfin fingers, but I don’t want anything that says I’m married. An engagement ring is more like, I am with you and you are with me. It’s like a promise ring but with a diamond. Because I want a diamond. And I would wear it on my middle finger or my index finger, because those are the most flattering fingers for rings. Yes, I know I sound insane. I just really hate my hands. They’re freakishly small. I’m not exaggerating this, I’ll be conversing with someone and all of a sudden they’ll stop and say, “Oh my God, your hands are so small.” Continue reading

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Plus One Or Get None.

Photo by David Pullum London wedding photographer

I have a feeling that what I am going to say is going to piss a few people off, so I may as well not mince words and just be blunt: if you do not give everyone invited to your wedding a plus one, you are a total fucking asshole.

Whoa, right! “How dare you, Apocalypstick, or whatever the fuck your name is! Fuck you! Do you have any idea how expensive weddings are?”

I do. I read wedding blogs like it’s my job, and it’s not my job, so it’s actually a little sad. A lot of people, rightfully appalled by how much weddings cost, especially in this economy, are doing a lot of DIY. If you don’t want to do that, then maybe try not buying a thousand dollar wedding dress. Seriously, what the fuck is that? By all means, I love fashion and expensive things, so if you want to spend your own money on that, that’s fine, but don’t get all surprised when you realize your wedding bill is adding up faster than the Sesame Street Count.

A wedding reception is a party. A wedding ceremony is something else, and if you want to keep that guest list limited, then I understand. But let’s not kid ourselves, your wedding reception is a big party for everyone to celebrate you and your husband/wife/partner. That’s totally cool, but how can you tell me I can’t bring a date? Because you’re paying for dinner? When I throw parties, I provide alcohol and food too, and if someone wants to bring a date I’m like, go for it, because that’s what you do when you want your friends to celebrate with you. If you don’t think more is merrier, then keep your reception to family only and your best friend.

Because here’s the thing: by not letting me bring someone, you are punishing me for being single. You may not see it that way. You may see it as trying to save money. I see it as you being a jerk. I’m not even going to talk to you much at your wedding anyway, and I may not know anyone there, and I don’t want to stand or sit awkwardly all by myself all night and think about how I’m alone. “That’s your problem,” you say. No, it’s yours too, because if you’re inviting me, it means I’m your friend and that you want me to be there. I’m showing up, I’m getting you a gift, and I’m happy about it, but it really bums me out when you tell me I have to come alone.

And you know what’s even worse than weddings that don’t let you bring a plus one? Weddings that dictate you can only bring a date if you’ve been together for ____ amount of years. Fuck. You. Is my relationship any less valid than anyone else’s because we haven’t been together for over a year? What are you, the social life police? Get the fuck over yourself. I don’t question your relationship based on how long you’ve been with your fiance, so cut it out with the draconian relationship rules.

“But why should I have strangers at my wedding?” you ask. So don’t. Keep it family only. But guess what, you’re not even going to spend much time with the people you know. It’s your wedding and you’re going to be mobbed. And it’s not like I’m going to bring Charlie Sheen. My date is not going to ruin your wedding because they’re a stranger. What are you, twelve? Is this a super special slumber party? If I’m bringing a date, they’re coming because they want to be there too. Their name is on our card to you. I’m not going to drag some knife-wielding asshole.

Let me get all of the obvious comments out of the way: “Bitter much?”, “I see why you’re single”, “You probably don’t get invited to many weddings” [I don’t, thank God, because my friends aren’t getting married yet], “I’d like to see you plan your wedding.”

Now let’s have some real conversation.

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My Dream Wedding.

I didn’t know that Catherine Deneuve married Wilson from “House”! Amazing.


Remember when I had my dream funeral? By the way, in the great migration from blogger to wordpress, all of my precious comments on previous posts were lost. I remember there being quite a few funny responses on my funeral post and I am practically inconsolable at having lost them. But life, like death, goes on. Mufasa. Or whatever.

I want to wear this:

wedding

Diane von Furstenberg
Zarita Lace Dress
$325.00

For one horrible moment I thought it was sold out [note: at the time I wrote this, the dress was not sold out] and I was actually upset even though I AM NOT EVEN REMOTELY PLANNING TO GET MARRIED ANY TIME SOON. Anyway, if you buy that last dress, I’ll kill you. Seriously. I mean, you’re reading it on a public blog so you think it’s a joke but you’ll read about some poor slain bride-to-be and it will make you pause and wonder if I really did it. And I did. I’ll deny it. Then people will try to point to his blog to use it as evidence against me. I’ll say, “It’s just a joke! It’s a blog! Free speech!” But it’s really not, I totally did it. Then people will point to the sentence I just typed. I’ll still deny it. However if that dress or this one is sold out, I will have to make do and do what my Oma did at her second (or maybe it was the third) wedding and wear a t-shirt that says “Bride.” Seriously. Her husband wore one that said “Groom.” I think there were even “bridesmaid” tees. I would show you the photos but it appears that my uncle has them. My uncle lives in Silverlake and channels dead people. Or, specifically, one dead Scottish guy. BUT THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW.

Your choice of food at my wedding, as far as meat or vegetarian goes will be either In-N-Out’s burger animal style or grilled cheese. There will be animal fries. This part is not a joke. We will enjoy our In-N-Out with endless bottles of my favorite champagne, Veuve. (Hear that Veuve? I think you’re such an amazing champagne that you would elevate In-N-Out to culinary heaven. Following you on twitter was the best move I ever made. I was more excited to find that Veuve Clicquot was following me than Ellen Degeneres. Don’t get me wrong, Ellen, I love you. But I also love free champagne. Eh? Eh?? Think about it V. Just think about it.)

I don’t want any DJs. I would rather use my ipod. Or get Janet Klein and Her Parlour Boys, because nothing says PARTY!!!!!!!!! like a 1920s style band. Or I’m going to get Train but ONLY on the condition that they ONLY sing “Hey, Soul Sister” and “Drops Of Jupiter.” THOSE TWO SONGS ONLY. I don’t care if they alternate or if they play one 6 times in a row. IF THEY PLAY “MEET VIRGINIA” THEY’RE GOING HOME. ON A TRAIN. HAHA. BUT BY TRAIN, I MEAN BUS. Under no circumstances do I want Phil Collins. If Phil Collins is even near my wedding, the whole thing is off.

For favors I will be giving each guest one of my framed headshots autographed by me, with an inspirational quote like, “Keep reaching for that rainbow!” They might know me from such films as every student film produced by USC, New School, NYU, or The Los Angeles Film School. Let’s not forget those commercials I did as a little kid. You’re welcome, everyone. NOBODY MENTION MY APPEARANCE ON A CERTAIN E! REALITY SHOW. If you do, you’re tossed out of the wedding and will have to give Train a ride home.

I don’t really like cake so I’ll probably have pie instead. Or maybe just more hamburgers. I LOVE hamburgers. Instead of having the wedding recorded on video, I want it re-interpreted as a puppet show. Instead of photographs, I’d like a giant fresco. But not on my wall, put it in my parents’ house. For giggles, sneak into their house and paint it while they’re asleep. Then when they wake up they’ll say, “WHAAAAA??” and it will be like a hilarious misunderstanding as seen in “Full House.” Wait, that show was never hilarious. Forget the fresco. Who am I talking to, anyway?

My vows will be composed entirely of Simpsons quotes. Something like:

Good morning, fellow employee. You’ll notice that I am now a model worker. We should continue this conversation later, during the designated break periods. Sincerely, Homer Simpson. Sit perfectly still. Only I may dance. We should spend more time with Bart. He’s acting isolated…and weird. It tastes like burning. Slow down, you’re going to give yourself skin failure. Enjoy the show, for one day, we will all die. Ow! My Eye! I’m not supposed to get pudding in it! People, please! We’re all frightened and horny! But we can’t let some killer dolphins keeps us from living and scoring. Where’s Bart? His dinner’s getting cold and eaten. Do you take me to be your dental plan? [I do.]

Finally, you may have noticed that I left out the most important part of a wedding: the description of who I’ll be marrying. Eff that, I’m marrying myself. I just want the party.

And now for something totally unrelated, my friend Dave, one of the founders of the Dealbreakers Blog, is a finalist in something called the Function: Party Crasher Contest. Dave should win because he’s very funny and he’s a great guy and he’s totally going to buy all of us tacos. Just click here and vote for Dave Horwitz. You don’t have to register or anything. Also, Dave is probably not going to buy all of us tacos, but if he doesn’t win, we’ll never know. [Note: the contest has since ended. Dave did not give us tacos.]

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