You’re on your own.

I picked up my wedding dress yesterday, and I found the entire experience hilarious.

(I really apologize for this becoming wedding central. I’m not that crazy woman- I swear! Other than my burst of productivity when I emailed a bunch of DJs last weekend I’ve done exactly nothing. Except stress eat* and break out.**  But the only other thing I do is school, and, well, let’s just say a post about the progress I’ve made on my thesis would be…quite short.)

(Kind of like my actual thesis! Ha!)

Anyway!

I picked up my wedding dress yesterday. They had ordered a version that was (hopefully) lacking in other women’s makeup and weird boob sweatstains.

I asked to try it on, just to make sure that it wasn’t ripped or a size 0*** or something ridiculous like that. They were all, “Oh, okay, let’s get you a consultant.”

Now, when I bought the dress (when there was commission involved), the consultant was all attentive. Like, uber attentive. Like, I had to tell her I was perfectly capable of putting on a bra by myself (been doing it for years!) or she would have been in there with me. I had shoes brought to me. I had help with the hangers…she did everything including ask to wax my eyebrows to complete the look at one point, I’m pretty sure.

This time? After the dress was paid for? Not quite so much. The angry-looking consultant handed me my dress (in the bag) and my veil (also in a bag) and showed me to a changing room. She stared sullenly at me for a minute before saying, “So, do you, like, need a bra or something?”

Uh. Yeah. I’m wearing a black t-shirt. Do you really think I’m going to be wearing a bra that will look awesome with my white strapless wedding dress? I’ll take one, please.

She returns a few minutes later with a bra that was washed last during the Clinton administration, I’m pretty sure, and a slip, I’m not even kidding, without a zipper pull. And then leaves again to go bitch to my mother about how she has to prepare Thanksgiving dinner for her family.

I had to put my dress on by myself. Now, I’m not exactly the Cinderella princess bridal gown type. My dress is, I guess A-line? Sort of? Anyway, no huge skirt. But still. Do you know how hard it is to get a wedding dress on by yourself? Really hard. I had to wear my knee high boots underneath because there were no shoes pro-offered.

After we decided it was, in fact, the same dress, she got to sell us a $10 garment bag. I’m sure that eight cents commission she made was totally worth it.

*My fiance and I both stress eat. We’ve decided we need to keep each other really really happy or we’ll end up being featured on a TLC show about a family that can’t leave their home.

** Seriously. I had PERFECT skin until I hit 24 and then it went to hell. Like God decided to make all the seriously disturbing aspects of my life seems far less significant because GOOD LORD DOES THAT PIMPLE HURT and HOW DID IT DEVELOP SINCE DINNER SERIOUSLY???

***I shall spare you my rant on bridal sizing for now…but seriously, I’d spend more money if you didn’t MAKE ME TWO SIZES BIGGER THAN I AM EVERYWHERE ELSE.

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Colors

I’m getting married.

Previously marriage to me meant that my post-menopausal body wouldn’t be found in my apartment while my forty feral cats ate my PhD diploma and the Nanny episode I had been watching played constantly on a loop.

Even after I met my fiance, it still seemed like  a pretty cool, easy experience. Of course we would get married. We loved each other and wanted to be a family. That was obviously the most important thing. And the incidental stupid wedding stuff seemed kind of cool- I’d get to buy a wedding dress! And register at Target! (For, as of today, four things. Any suggestions? We’re good on Crock Pots.) That’s pretty awesome.

But apparently the incidental stupid wedding stuff is OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE OMG.

I don’t know if you guys realized this (because I didn’t) but apparently the most important thing about marriage is not the sacramental joining of two (wait, three) lives. Nope. That’s adorable, but the really important thing? COLORS.

“What are your colors?”

“We need to think about colors.”

“You should do something in your colors.”

“You really shouldn’t be thinking about your relationship or the wedding Mass or your master’s thesis or that baby because you DON’T HAVE COLORS YET ARE YOU EVEN A WOMAN?”

Say what?

I mean, my first reaction when somebody asked what my colors were was to think, “Uh, whatever colors make my guests cry the least? Are you new here? I’ve got way bigger fish to fry than frickin’ colors.”

Colors are, apparently, what makes or breaks your marriage.

Photographers ask about them. Minimum wage dress consultants ask about them. The Knot.com (a wealth of useless information for people who don’t really understand what marriage is or are maybe trying to avoid writing a seminar paper *cough*) has a helpful chart and then links to “hundreds of decor ideas in every hue!”

Well. That’s unfortunate. Because I’m bad at picking colors. I just…really don’t care.

I’m wearing a white dress. (Because I’m one of approximately three women left in the United States that can legitimately wear one so dammit I am going to.) I told my two bridesmaids to buy long black dresses or short whatever I don’t really care just show up okay and here, have some Kleenex, the groom has the box. (Because I’m nice and black is flattering and easy to find outside of a bridal shop.)

Finally I got so irritated with people asking me that I was like, “$&*# it, my color is red.” I’m carrying red roses, there’s exposed brick at the place we’re having the reception. Red. That’s our color. Will it show up anywhere else except those two things mentioned above? Probably not. Because I think colored vests are usually tacky and I don’t want to make people think I’m more of a whore than they already do, probably not, no. But LOOK WORLD, I HAVE A COLOR DAMMIT.

Sheesh. In fact, it turns out I’m bad at the whole wedding thing. I bought a wedding dress. That was fun (well, once I found one that made me look like NOT the broad side of a barn.) I looked at stuff to register for, but like I said, we’re only up to like four things. And one of them is a donut maker. Because I like donuts. I know I need a DJ and photographer and a card box and a whatever, look, I just don’t care.

Booking the church was important to me. Finding a reception place was far less important but still pretty cool because I felt like it was official once I didn’t have to have people coming back to my house for dinner afterwards. (Not that it wouldn’t have been lovely! But there’s horse poop.)

The other stuff? Eh.

I’m getting married. We’re going to be a (very very large) family. That’s the important thing. There’s no color that can top that.