is THIS where we're at now? ho shit wedding cake toppers?! holy matrimony, bitches. i fucking love this. look at how passionate these two plastic people are! i mean, they really love each other, right? i want to feel this way about somebody. i want to be SO HOT and SO EXCITED to spend the rest of my life picking up his dry cleaning and falling into the toilet because he left the seat up and hawkishly tracking every bit of money he spends and listening to all the dumb shit he's going to talk about for the rest of our lives that i clown and act a goddamned fool in front of everybody in the church and jump on my handsome betrothed and shove my tongue down into his stomach. that's still classy, right?
is it bad manners to wear white to someone else's wedding? even if you are a foul-mouthed whore for whom the donning of a white dress is purely ironical? cj's wedding is in three goddamned weeks and, as usual, i am thoroughly unprepared. and i just ordered ANOTHER black dress, but i put it on and immediately hated it. barf. and i don't have any goddamned time for bullshit like dress shopping. i'm too busy considering slitting my wrists at work. seriously. i am at the point where i don't want anyone to speak to me directly. EVER. i can't answer another fucking question. i can't pick up the phone. i don't want to see another dog as long as i live. i'm EXHAUSTED. and my apartment looks like afghanistan.
glad to see the wedding industry is taking all of you filthy sluts into consideration. why shouldn't your raggedy shotgun wedding be just as dreamy and perfect as those of the silly "traditional" brides who managed to keep their legs shut (or learned how to properly employ a condom into their out of wedlock lovemaking)? convention is boring. and why should anyone have to pretend not to notice the burgeoning baby bump stretching out the midsection of your overpriced dress? why pretend you've just put on a couple pounds? everybody is going to know anyway, when your ho ass spends the entire reception with your shoes kicked off drinking apple juice and seltzer. so fuck it. let's celebrate that little bastard. i have a date, though. and he's fucking HANDSOME. i bet he has a huge dick, too. that's always the hard part, isn't it? getting some hot dude to go to a wedding with you? especially when he's not bound by the boyfriend contract? i'm sure i am going to have to let him stick his finger in my butt or something for asking him to go to all the trouble of putting on a suit. fuck, man. with all the pissing and moaning you would think that you're asking them to walk down the fucking aisle, not put on their fancy shit and eat some free food and drink some free booze. when my sister jane got married i went to that shit BY MYSELF because the dude i was dating at the time was so noncommittal that even being in the proximity of two people who were devoting their lives to one another was too fucking much for him. idiot. so i did the next best thing: wore head-to-toe black, texted during the ceremony, drank a hundred vodka sodas at the reception, and hit on the minister outside of the hotel while i was waiting for the valet to bring my car.
i should probably think about marrying a woman. is that legal yet? i am not sexually attracted to women, but i need someone bossy and controlling to run my household, because i am incapable of doing it. obviously. i have to get my shit together. and i feel totally incapable of doing so. but if i had a lesbian bossing me around it might totally work, right? dudes don't pay enough attention to detail. this marcie needs a peppermint patty to tell me what to do and make sure i fucking do it. i'll even call her "sir." i like that both the butch and the femme are equally represented in this cake topper. totally obvious that a straight woman designed this. because if a man had it would just be two big-tittied, small-waisted barbie dolls wearing thigh-high fishnets and licking buttercream off of one another or sticking rolled fondant replica dildos in each other's vaginas. and if a lesbian had made it they'd be wearing carhartt coats and tool belts and covered in dirt from softball practice. has rachel maddow been to vermont with someone with a crewcut and a pickup truck yet? if not, i want to marry HER. doctor maddow is my JAM, and you already know how much smart people wind my watch. i can do her fact-checking and help her pick out tasteful pantsuits to wear on the air. i can pretend to enjoy a vagina. plus, she can introduce me to keith olbermann! with whom i am OBSESSED. maybe she'd be into a little polygamy...?
i'm a really good gift-giver. but i bet you kids already knew that. anyone who loves wasting money as much as i do is the BEST person to invite to anything. anything that involves presents, that is. especially if they're lazy, like i am. because i'm not going to go out of my way to try to get the best deal and order shit online from some discount place. i'm going to get on the 147, get off at crate and barrel downtown, and spend a couple hundred dollars on something fancy and white and breakable. that can be wrapped and packaged while i wait. then i'm going to buy a card, write my name in it, put some cash in it, and not think about it until i've cursed and sweated my way into my spanx and whatever shoes i can find (FUCK! shoes?!) and am on my way to the church. the church i might burst into flames upon walking into.
now THIS is some sam shit. my future benefactor better not be a prude, because this is totally going to happen to him. except i will be sticking my finger IN. i would like to have a wedding someday, mostly because i absolutely LOVE the idea of having all of my friends together in one place, screaming and dancing and having a good time. so many people whom i adore live so fucking far away, and a wedding would be a convenient excuse to get them all together. while receiving excellent gifts that i've already picked out, too? amazing! plus, there's drinking. AND CAKE. i can't really ask nina to fly in from san diego or jonny to hop on a plane from italy for a housewarming or my stupid birthday, but it's totally acceptable to ask someone to break his ass to do something for your WEDDING. isn't that hilarious? what's the divorce rate, 800%?! bitches want you to quit your job and sell your goddamned house to come to their shit, without giving YOU a guarantee that their asses might have a chance of staying TOGETHER. i didn't get a second mortgage on my shit for you to fuck around with the babysitter. and HOW SALTY DO YOU GET when some dumb whore who registered for $95 napkin rings (a set of six, please) gets divorced before you've even finished paying for those ridiculous things. TRUE STORY. i want to have a wedding that you dudes are still recovering from three weeks later. so much fun that you have a seizure from all the excitement. what, you didn't think you'd be invited? bitch, please! the day some idiot puts a ring on this filthiness it's going to be national news. and all of you need to be there, if for no other reason than i might need witnesses in court when he tries to back out of the contract i'm going to make him sign. and read aloud during the ceremony.
jenny's wedding is in may. you whores remember that i'm officiating it, right? isn't that going to be something. ten months away and i am ALREADY worrying about what to write and how i'm going to say it blah blah blah. let's be for real. the BIGGEST thing i'm worried about is who i'm going to take to spend a weekend with me in michigan. i knew this bitch was going to do this, book some fabulous house on the beach for us to kick it in for three whole days. if i can find a date, 1 that dude is stuck with the bitch OFFICIATING THE CEREMONY 2 that dude has to make conversation (or listen to me snoring) DRIVING BACK AND FORTH FROM MICHIGAN and 3 that dude HAS TO LIVE IN SIN WITH ME FOR THREE WHOLE DAYS. with jenny's entire family listening. if this sounds good to you, HOLLER AT YOUR GIRL.
i don't even know how i'm going to sell that shit. "hey, um...exactly how much do you enjoy my company?" and then when he says, "you're the greatest!" i'm going to drop the net and kidnap him to the UP. i'm a last minute kind of girl, too. so we'll see how well this pans out for me. i could always drag ginger with me, but that almost guarantees that neither of us will get laid. and i hate to inadvertantly cockblock. unless it's on a dude, because fuck dudes. i never mind doing anything alone because i am by far the most awesome person i know, but three days is an awfully long time to stew in my bitter spinsterism. and i need someone (not jenny) to listen objectively to what i write for the ceremony (not jenny) and tell me whether or not it's brilliant.
i'm honored to do it. but what a big job for such a big retard. you know she told me "no swear words," right? and i reassured her that my wolf mother did instill some basic courtesies in me when she let me leave the forest and strike out on my own. at first i was like, "i've known this asshole half my life! she thinks i don't know how to behave?!" and then i remembered that time i said "fuck that bitch" when i was in church and thought, "well, she might have a point."
call me old-fashioned, but this shit is moist. if my dearly beloved was like, "hey bitch, wouldn't it be fun...?" my immediate response would be "should i breast feed you, too?"
on second thought, that might be hot. anyway, laura might have solved my dress problem. she suggested that i wear leggings and flat fancy sandals with that black dress i just got and LOATHE. which means i now have to buy leggings and fancy sandals. well, i have these leopard print sandals from last summer but in my mind those seem old and i will be obsessed with people knowing i'm wearing old shoes and they aren't really that comfortable anyway and i should really just never go ANYWHERE. i shouldn't. ever. other than dimly lit bars and dirty ass taco joints. are leggings really a thing i can actually wear? the jury is still out. i know all of you whores are out here accentuating your bullet wounds and cellulite in see-through stretchiness, but i'm not sure i'm there yet. it's low self-esteem time in the land of sam right now, so i'm not just going to have my ass all out in some sheer ankle-length panties. but they're cheap, so i might just try some out. plus, they'll be under a dress. i'm anxiety-ridden about this shit ALREADY. seventeen days. and counting.
meet my new friends, "curvy bride" and "burly groom." well, this is some bullshit. first off, the only "curvy" thing on my homegirl is her juicy melons. and maybe she's got a little bit of a saddlebag. but come the fuck on, kittens. THIS is a fat bitch?! you poor white women. they hold you to such crazy standards. where are her extra chins and her arm waddles? and other than some EXTREMELY broad shoulders and a puffed-up bird chest, my man burly looks almost, well, average. i'm all for representing people equally, it is your wedding after all, but can't we REALLY represent people? i want to see a broad stuffed into a wedding dress so tight that she looks like an encased sausage, with wet spots underneath the armpits and sweat beading on her forehead. and old big n' tall here should have a beer belly straining against the buttons of that jacket and a neck so thick his the end of his tie rests right below his throat. i couldn't find any plus-sized black people, though. maybe they're too busy eating pigs feet and chicken or whatever it is precious cooked for her mom all the time. that movie was fucking disgusting. what a disgrace.
i always get too everything at weddings. too drunk, too full, too loud. i don't embarrass myself on the dancefloor, though, because the music is always SO BAD. i'm too lazy to really throw a wedding or be involved with any of the planning, so hopefully i'll find a closeted homo who needs a beard and he can take care of all that extra shit that i don't give a damn about. i don't give a fuck about flowers or place settings. fuck that noise. i'm not wearing a dress, i'm not having bridesmaids, no one is removing my garter belt with his teeth, and no bouquet is being tossed over my shoulder into a crowd of cockthirsty dick hounds. i need it to be someplace fancy and fabulous with a dj who blow your asshole out with the awesomeness of his jams. or i'll dj that shit myself. because my taste in music RULES. we will have an open bar, and tacos will be served. real talk.
the only thing that's missing here is a red-faced, shotgun-toting father and a mother doubled over and weeping silently into her handkerchief. you can buy individual figurines of different sizes and ethnicities posed in different ways, then they ship them to you and you put them together yourself. cray cray! because in these modern race-mixing times you never know who is going to marry what. the hilarious thing is that they don't have any racially distinguishing features. i hate this PC era. i want some big lips and giant hook noses and slanty eyes. the "mexicans" look just like the "asians!" how the fuck am i supposed to tell the difference? do the mexican ones smell like suavitel? do the asians come with a side of rice? I NEED CLARITY. black cake toppers come with drink tickets, i bet, as i have yet to attend a negroid function with a well-stocked, totally free bar. NEVER. at my sister jane's wedding this dude stopped me on the way into the reception to make me buy a fistful of tickets and i just shook my head and said, "we were raised better than this. this must be HIS fucking family." i rsvp "hell to the naw, cheap ass sonofabitch" to any wedding i suspect i might need to bring a mastercard to. i can't come all the way out of my pocket and then PAY SOME MORE. i can sit at home and watch bridezillas for free. and i don't have to put on fancy clothes to do it, either. or find a date. god, this is wearing me out. and i'm not an antsy, neurotic person, but i haven't heard from dude in a minute and i keep thinking "he doesn't want to go to this shit" over and over. but THEN i feel like i'd look dumb calling him up to re-confirm. maybe i could be slick about and be like, "so...um...should i write your name on the card?" although that might land me in an awkward carrie and big situation. and that whole thing was GROSS. i don't want to be that idiot throwing a tantrum over a signature i'm going to have to fake anyway. jesus, this is stressful. i've already started the process, though. i waxed my underarms (holy shit) and scraped off all of my leg hair. the hair on my head is looking pretty good, and i'm going to get a pedicure because i did a lot of the heavy lifting in the shower with a swedish file, but the rest of this work needs to be done by a bitch cursing my lazy ass out in laotian while using gardening shears to cut the gnarly parts off my feet. which will look SO GOOD. until i fuck up the nail polish trying to kick a homeless dude out of my way and cut my foot on some shattered glass during a bar fight or whatever other horrible thing that can happen only to me. why is everything so fucking hard?
okay, so i'm a nerd. and this is what i want. and if you are willing to give it to me (and not talk my ear off all the damn time) i'll love you forever. or at least until someone more exciting comes along. i bore easily.