Photographic Proof

In the interest of backing up all the things I've discussed here, I offer the following:

Dress:  The MIC uses heavy photography to justify spending as much as a year's mortgage on a dress, saying that since it's going to be iconic and there will be a gazillion pictures of it, it must be absolutely perfect.  Mine was $250, and unlike say, a mortgage payment, the dress is something I knew I was only going to use once.

Flowers:  The MIC waxes poetic about how you have to spend hours pouring over flower colors, types, and what sort of style they signify before settling on bouquets.  Not true!  Sam's Club has gorgeous wholesale flowers in pre-made packs that are absurdly wallet-friendly.

Theme:  There are plenty of people who have themed weddings, and ain't nothin' wrong with having a theme.  However, you don't have to if you don't want to or just plain can't think of one.  Ours was marriage.  Well, marriage and Borat.  A wedding sack was totally involved.

Cake:  You don't have to get a giant, expensive cake.  Nor do you have to worry about an insufficiently decorated cake table ruining your photos.

Costco cake: it's how we roll.

Not Shedding for the Wedding:  I don't care what they say about losing two dress sizes for your wedding.  It's ridiculous and unnecessary.

Note, if you will, my triceps, which are nothing like Michelle Obama's famously toned arms.
Husband: not running away.  Camera lens: not broken.

Post-Wedding Redux and Final Thoughts on the MIC

It's now been almost two months since the wedding, and as I said to my newly-minted husband as we drove away from the reception, "That was really fun and all, but let's never do that shit again."

In the last two months, I've had a chance to recover from the frenzy leading up to the blessed event, write thank you notes until I started going cross-eyed, and, most importantly, to think about everything that went into defying the Marriage-Industrial Complex.  And so, as I sit here in wedded bliss (hubs is making my favorite cookies as I type this.  I'm not kidding.  He's an awesome cook, and those cookies are fucking delicious.), a few thoughts from the other side of the wedding:


1)  Losing Weight for the Big Day is a Sack of Crap:
In the months leading up to my wedding, I was bombarded with ads for Slim-Fast, some heinous show called Shedding for the Wedding, and various weight-loss products -- all asking if I was wedding-ready and sufficiently skinny to be photographed from every angle.  The message, of course, is that if I didn't lose some weight, my husband would be grossed out and I'd look hideous in all my wedding photos.  This, obviously, would ruin them (and all my memories of The Most Important Day of My Life) in perpetuity.

This is -- how to put this delicately? -- a steaming load of shit.  I mean, most of the MIC is ridiculous, but this is really fucking asinine.  Look, I've never been super-skinny.  I'm built for sports, not for modeling.  But the fact is, my husband didn't fall in love with me because he hoped I'd eat nothing but Slim-Fast for two months before the wedding, exercise twice a day, and walk down the aisle looking like Miss Universe's mini-me.  He knew he was signing up to marry a woman who will always have soccer thighs.

So ladies, here's the deal: if your arms jiggle a bit, or if you don't have six-pack abs, your husband isn't going to run screaming in the opposite direction when he sees you on the big day.  The fact is, you don't need to be in the best shape of your life for you to be beautiful.  You don't need to be the skinniest you've ever been for your husband to be totally thrilled with his gorgeous bride.  Advertisements will valiantly try to convince you that this isn't the case, but that's a load of shit.  Your husband wants to marry you as you are, not because there's a Victoria's Secret model lurking somewhere inside you if you can just diet long enough to let her out.

Furthermore, not losing 20 pounds for the wedding isn't going to ruin your photos.  Trust me: there are plenty of photos from our wedding that show my totally not Michelle Obama-esque triceps.  But you know what?  My less than perfect arms didn't make the camera lens shatter.  They didn't ruin the pictures.  You know what would've ruined the pictures?  If a woolly mammoth was reanimated, lumbered onto the photo shoot, and crapped in the background.  But that's it.

These ads were annoying at first, but then they really started to piss me off.  I tend to be a smudge defiant -- well ok, I tend to be really defiant -- so out of pure spite, 14 days before our wedding I had pizza and frozen custard.  It was delicious.

2)  There's No Such Thing as Perfection
The MIC has everyone convinced that one's wedding day should be absolutely perfect.  Bluebirds and small woodland creatures should alight on your balcony while you sing and brush your hair on the morning of the big day, unicorns should frolic outside the reception hall, and everything should sparkle from an overload of fabulousness.

Again: this is bullshit.

Let's get a grip on reality: things won't be perfect.  Something will be different from how you'd imagined/planned.  Logistical snafus happen, people forget things, vases get chipped, makeup gets smudged.  But -- again with the whole "getting a grip on reality" motif -- it doesn't have to throw the whole day into disarray and a downward spiral of sadness and failure.  The MIC will tell you that things have to be perfect or else they're ruined (in which case you really ought to just give up on life and toss yourself off the nearest cliff), but that's not the case.

Only a small handful of people will even be aware of how you'd planned things in the first place, so if there's a change of any kind -- different music, different cake flavor, different anything -- no one's going to know the difference.  And even if there aren't any last-minute changes, there will be minor imperfections...but chances are, no one will notice.  If they do notice, they won't care.  And if they do care, they're not the sort of people whose opinions you need to worry about.  They're the sort of people who need to get a fucking life.

I'm your great aunt (twice removed) Mildred, and I have no friends - but I
do have 27 cats.  Because I'm so bored, I spend time nitpicking
people's weddings and being as judgmental as humanly possible!  Yaaaaaay!

3)  You really don't have to spend a fortune in order to have an awesome wedding:

When I first started researching weddings and figuring out what to do, I was totally floored by the sheer cost of these things.  There seems to be some sort of cultural expectation that if your wedding doesn't cost at least 20K, it's going to be trashy.  People tend to think that if you don't spend a lot of money, your guests will have to dine on PB&J sandwiches and Spam while the Macarena plays in the background.

(I don't know if you've noticed a trend here, but in case you didn't see this one coming, wait for it...wait for it...) THIS IS BULLSHIT.

We spent nowhere near that amount of money for our wedding, and it was lovely.  I cut plenty of corners: for example, instead of an $8 per slice wedding cake, I went to Costco and got some motherfucking sheet cake.  If I'd gone the traditional route and gotten a big wedding cake for 120 people, I would've been out $960.  Costco, however, decorates the cakes in whatever colors you want.  We chose white icing with some wedding-y colors for the flowers, and spent $72 for four sheet cakes.

Happily, people loved it and thought it was delicious.  An added benefit was the fact that I didn't feel the need to fly into a blinding rage upon seeing uneaten cake.  If I'd gotten cake for $8 per slice and anyone had dared not eat their share, I would've chased them down in the parking lot and force-fed them the damn cake to get my money's worth.

Furthermore, we nixed the DJ and instead hooked my laptop up to the sound system in the reception hall.  Hubs, his brother, and his best friend spent a couple hours putting together the playlist and fixing the iTunes so that it would cross-fade and sound like a DJ -- and you know what?  It sounded just like a DJ.  People danced their faces off, and we saved a few thousand dollars.

I also decided to forgo a florist and instead ordered flowers wholesale from Sam's Club.  For $320, I got six bouquets, a box of rose petals, six boutonnieres, and four corsages.  Had it not been for the fact that we had people over when the flowers arrived, no one would've been the wiser.

However, despite the Costco cake, the lack of a DJ, and the wholesale flowers, the wedding wasn't shitty.  We had an awesome time, and we were able to stretch our budget amazingly far.  So, seriously: save your money!  Use it to make a down payment on a house, save it for your future kids' college funds, use it to go on a badass honeymoon -- but for the love of God, you don't have to spend it all on the wedding.

The MIC wants you to think you do (after all, this is the bread and butter of the entire industry), but that just ain't true.  The expectation that this is what you should do -- because after all, everyone else does, and you wouldn't want your wedding to look lame next to all your friends' weddings -- is both ridiculous and infuriating.  The MIC, of course, relies on this expectation, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't hate it just a little bit.  Well, ok, I hate it a lot.

I hate the MIC and the ridiculous expectations it produces so much that,
if I could, I'd totally shoot lasers and machete-wielding
velociraptors at it with my eyes.

The main point here -- and what I've hoped to convey through this blog -- is that you don't have to listen to the MIC.  You don't have to have an extravagant wedding involving tons of money, lighting experts, or linens that perfectly match the accent color in the bouquets.  You don't need elaborate centerpieces or cakes the size of Wisconsin.  An insufficiently decorated cake table will not make or break your photos.  You don't need to worry about what subtle messages are sent to your guests by the color, font, or decorative motif of your save-the-dates or invitations.

All you need is to focus on what's most important to you, and ignore the rest.  Because at the end of the wedding day, you and your newly-minted spouse should be able to say "The wedding was awesome, and I'm thrilled that we get to spend our lives together," not "How the hell are we going to pay this off?"

And so, with that, here's to eschewing the Marriage-Industrial Complex.

In Which I Lament My Recent Absence from the Blogosphere

If memory serves (and since this is one of my favorite movies, I'm going to say it does), Diane Keaton remarked in The Father of the Bride that weddings "happen every day, in every country in the world."  This would lead most rational people to the logical conclusion that weddings would not consume all one's free time.

This conclusion would be wrong.

In my experience since I last updated this blog, the wedding has, in fact, consumed all my free time.  I've been waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, worrying about loose ends that have to be tied up before July 30.  I've been in the middle of my daily exercise routine when I've lost my balance on the treadmill because I became worried about thank you notes.  Yes, folks: lost sleep and minor injuries have all ensued at the hands of my impending nuptials.

The way I see it, weddings are like zombies: they both try really hard to eat your brain.

Make no mistake: weddings are ruthless and will stop at nothing in their pursuit of your brain.

This has left me with very little time for blogging.  However, since blogging has generally been cathartic for me throughout this whole process, I'm going to write more as I make the final turn and enter the home stretch.  One last sprint to the finish, and then the big day will be upon me.

Hot damn.

In the midst of my rapidly-increasing excitement, however, I've been bombarded by the marriage-industrial complex through nearly every possible means of communication.  Most notably, my mailbox and my phone.  I'm practically getting buried in this stuff.

Death by marriage-industrial complex

Almost once per week, I get a wedding catalog filled with what can only be described as some of the most heinous, kitchy shit imaginable on planet earth.  Champagne flutes engraved with interlocking hearts  proclaiming that two hearts have become one, so-called "timeless treasures" gifts for groomsmen, and handkerchiefs embroidered with the phrase "Remember the day/you gave me away" for the mother of the bride.

As I peruse these catalogs, I find myself continually hoping that they're just satirical, and that people don't actually buy this stuff.  Apparently, though, I'm very much in the minority for not wanting these items, which are -- obviously -- totally unique and utterly personal, despite being mass-manufactured.

My personal favorite, however, is the apparel.  Flip-flops that say "Just Married," tank tops that say "Bride," skivvies that have "The Future Mrs. (Your Husband's Name Here)" on the ass.  This begs the question: what kind of morally bankrupt, tradition-hating young lady doesn't want a bikini with "Just Married" emblazoned in rhinestones across the crotch?  Good people, I ask you: is this what society is coming to? IS IT?!

In addition to the catalogs, I've gotten offers for specialty bridal tanning packages (your pictures will be ruined if you look washed out in white!), stationery, jewelery, and underwear.  A new low, however, came when my phone rang one night during dinner.  It was a number I didn't recognize, so I let it go to voicemail.  Instead of leaving a message, though, they called again.  This usually signals to me that something is urgent, so I picked it up.

"Hi!" Exclaimed an incredibly chipper voice on the other end of the line, "This is (woman you've never met or heard of) from Mary Kay! I hear you're getting married soon, and I wanted to offer you my services for all your bridal needs!"

I tried to bow out by saying that my wedding is in Colorado, so I'd be doing all my make-up there.  But she persisted, talking about how she also has bridal packages for the months leading up to the wedding -- after all, a bride has to ensure that her skin is fully prepared and perfectly flawless for her big day.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

I explained that I planned to stick with my regular skincare routine and thanked her for her time, but for a few days afterwards, I half-expected to see a carrier pigeon staring at me from the deck while bearing catalogs and offers of cosmetics.

As the official carrier pigeon of the wedding industry, it comes replete with a pink bow for all the pigeon-friendly brides out there.

Expensive Invitations? We Don't Need No Stinking Expensive Invitations!

Invitations. They're a rather inescapable trapping of weddings; despite my overall defiance of the MIC, I have to tell my guests where and when my Betrothed and I are getting hitched. It's kind of a logistical necessity.

 

Now, in my experience, invitations for festivities of any kind are fairly straightforward. You tell your guests where to go, when to arrive there, who's throwing the party, and what the occasion is. You request that they kindly RSVP. You put the invite itself on pretty paper. Or in an Evite. Maybe I'm missing some great cultural trend, here, but invitations always strike me as being there for one sole purpose: conveying critical logistical information. They're fact-based. The pretty paper is value added, right?

 

Apparently not. The MIC, in all its magnificence, has a lot to say on the matter of the invitations.

 

Your wedding invitations are your guests' first glimpse into your wedding style -- from the overall vibe and aesthetic to specific color combos and the level of formality. So it's important to make them count!

 

Ok, am I the only person who has looked at a wedding invitation and thought, in this order, "Oh, how nice! So-And-So is marrying What's-Her-Face. Ok, it's in September. It's being held an hour away from where I live. Let me fill out this RSVP card and tell them I'll be there with bells on. Oh, and this is on pretty paper. Now, where's my calendar? I need to write this into my schedule..."

 

That is to say, never -- not once in my 30 years -- have I dissected a wedding invitation for a glimpse into the happy couple's theme, aesthetic, vibe, or color preferences. NEVER. Do people really do that? Are there actually people on this planet who, upon receiving a wedding invitation, sit down, ignore the children who need to be fed/dinner that is burning on the stove/dogs who need to be walked/papers that need to be written/bills that need to be paid in order to analyze the invite? Do they put on their special Wedding Invitation Reading Glasses and make assessments like "Their preference for the color green denotes their commitment to having an environmentally-friendly wedding. I see here that the font in which they were printed leans to the right, which means they're forward-leaning people"? And for the love of all that is holy, why don't these people have lives?

 

There's a lot to research, but lucky for you, we have thousands of wedding invitation photos, tips, and advice for you to get the perfect wedding invitations. First, browse wedding invites online that suit your wedding style.

 

A lot of research? But...why? As long as I have the pertinent information needed for the invite, why does there need to be a lot of research? Can't I just print these puppies out and be done with it?

And as for invitations that suit my wedding's style...my wedding's style can be summed up in one sentence: my Betrothed and I are getting married. That's our style. Great! Finding wedding invitations that tell people we're getting married is going to be a cakewalk!

 

Once you've browsed all our wedding invitation photos -- from traditional to formal and even unique wedding invitations -- it'll be time to find a local wedding stationery designer.

 

I don't even know what a wedding stationery designer is. Is this a job title that people actually hold? (And do they get business cards? If so,  they design those, too?) My exposure to wedding invitations has been through a) receiving them for other peoples' weddings, and b) occasionally seeing couples oogling overpriced invitation designs at Papersource. The bottom line is, though, that I'm disinclined to hire someone to do something I'm perfectly capable of doing myself.

 

I've heard the argument that DIY invitations aren't as pretty or as polished as those produced by these wedding stationery designers.

 

That's true.

 

But so what? The worst that can possibly happen is that I save money and wind up with perfectly acceptable invitations that people don't swoon over as soon as they open them. My invitations will never turn into wall hangings in other peoples' homes. Nobody will look at them and be catapulted into a fit of covetous hysteria because they want invitations that look exactly like mine.

 

And I'm cool with that. The fact remains: no matter how much money I spend or how stunning the invitations are, people will only keep them until the wedding has happened. After the guests have gotten to the venue on time and on the right day, all invites meet the same fate: the great paper recycling bin in the sky. The bride and groom or their family members might decide to keep an invite for posterity, but they're the only ones. Your friends will not keep them. Your cousins will throw them away. Your great uncle twice-removed will make a paper airplane out of it so he can torment the caretakers in the old folks' home.

 

So with that in mind, my Betrothed and I plotted out our invitation plan: Target. DIY invitation kit. Printer. Post office. Done.

In Which I Lament About Save-the-Dates

In recent weeks, my Betrothed and I had an particularly touching conversation:

Me: So I'm doing wedding research, and apparently we're supposed to send out save-the-date cards 4-6 months in advance.
Betrothed: Dude, that's...right now. I thought you weren't sure about doing save-the-date cards?
Me: I know. I see the purpose of sending them, but they cost so much money. And you know how I feel about unnecessarily spending money.
Betrothed: Yes. You'd rather spend an entire day interviewing Ghaddafi while running from a pack of rabid ferrets.
Me: Yes. That is exactly how I feel.
Betrothed: So maybe we send out email save-the-dates? It gets the job done, and it's cheap.
Me: Oh, thank God. No Ghaddafi or rabid ferrets. Although in the end, aren't they really the same thing?

And so, it was settled: we'd do email save-the-dates. I momentarily hesitated about this breach of convention, worrying that we might ruffle some old-fashioned feathers with our newfangled technological e-mail notices. But then I decided: if someone gets all kerfluffled about it being too modern, too bad for them. They can go flagellate themselves with their dial-up modem cord.

I'd rather be chased by the amalgamation of all nightmarish things than spend money on unnecessary items (like thematic save-the-dates)

However, upon logging onto a wedding industry website (which shall remain nameless) to see if they had recommendations for how to send e-save the dates, it took me no time at all to find all manner of absurdity regarding such staples of wedding planning:

It's okay to send your guests a wedding save the date by email, but don't forget that this is the first introduction your guests will have to your wedding. A lot of couples are imagining unique ways to incorporate their theme. Having a destination wedding? Send save the date invitations as messages in a bottle, or design them to look like vintage tropical postcards. For a rustic country wedding, consider branding your save the date on a wooden coaster. 

Per the usual: are they fucking kidding me?

Ok, first of all: what's with the idea that this is the first "introduction" that my guests will have to my wedding and that it will, therefore, require more than the information needed to, ya know, save the date? The first time I read that phrase, my immediate reaction was "Yeah, so?" (Yes, I'm a 5th grader in a 30-year-old's body.) But seriously: so what? Are people going to be thrown into gaping chasms of despair if they don't get a glimpse into my (nonexistent) color scheme? Are they going to recoil in disgust if I fail to imagine inventive ways to incorporate my (also nonexistent) theme into card stock?

No.

If they pay close attention to such things and are disappointed by the fact that I don't, well, too bad. They can spend loads of money on the perfect save-the-date for their own wedding, but for me...again with the Ghaddafi and rabid ferrets. 'Nuff said.

Secondly, branding onto a wooden coaster? Where the hell do they get these ideas!? It's like they jumped off the Good Ship Sanity and took a flying leap onto the Carnival Cruise Line of Extravagant Shit. Now they're sitting on the sun deck, sipping margaritas made of the sweet nectar of the MIC. I mean, really: I'd have to sell a kidney on the black market -- probably to some shady mofo who leaves me with non-sterile, rudimentary stitches, packed in a bath tub filled with ice -- to cover the postage for 200 wooden coasters.

Moreover, though, how does one even acquire wooden coasters to be branded upon, let alone a vendor who just happens to brand things? Does one find an artistically gifted but woefully bored ranch hand who can custom design and create a beautiful brand using hearts, doves, and relevant information about the wedding? If so, why not send out a save the date properly branded onto a cow, and you can send an entire bovine to each person who'll be invited? Now that would be an awesome introduction to your wedding.

Actually, now that I think about it, maybe branding is the way to go.

Wedding Guilt Mad Libs

Ok, so did you ever play Mad Libs? You know, the verb-noun-verb-verb thing where you could pick anything to plug into a sentence, including things like farts and Justin Beiber?

Well. I love Mad Libs. I haven't played it in forever, though, so it occurred to me last night (why do I always come up with fun ideas just before I go to sleep?) that I want to create a Mad Libs based on all the bullshit phrases that the wedding industry spews at brides. A monument to the Marriage-Industrial Complex. A compilation of all the guilt-inducing statements that a girl hears from the day she gets engaged until after the last piece of cake has been eaten. And so, dear reader, I present to you: Wedding Guilt Mad Libs.

It'll go like this:

Noun
Noun
Adjective
Noun
Verb
Noun
Nouns
Noun
Verb
Adjective
Adjective
Verb
Noun
Nouns
Nouns
Verb
Adjective
Adverb



Your NOUN will be the most heavily photographed and important article of clothing you ever buy - so you need to make sure it's ADJECTIVE!


An insufficiently decorated NOUN can make or VERB your photos.


It's critical that you choose a NOUN and NOUNS to unify the aesthetics of your wedding. The NOUN will VERB your colors. Without them, it will look ADJECTIVE and ADJECTIVE. Lighting can VERB a venue, too.


Your NOUNS will be one of the most highly photographed elements of your wedding. You need to choose NOUNS and NOUNS that closely match your style.


Remember: everyone is VERBing you. If some aspect of the wedding is less than ADJECTIVE, they'll think ADVERB of you for the rest of your natural life.

So here's how mine turned out:


Your Artist Formerly Known as Prince will be the most heavily photographed and important mermaid you ever buy - so you need to make sure it's inhumane!

An insufficiently decorated aardvark can make or cavity search your photos.

It's critical that you choose a birther and pancakes to unify the aesthetics of your wedding. The Hosni Mubarak will detonate your colors. Without them, it will look pliable and filthy. Lighting can deport a venue, too.


Your Hazmat suits will be one of the most highly photographed elements of your wedding. Therefore, you need to choose princesses and flamingoes that closely match your style.

Remember: everyone is chasing you. If some aspect of the wedding is less than highly contagious, they'll think flamingly of you for the rest of your natural life.

I like this a lot better than the actual guilt-addled MIC schtick from which it was derived. Now, to make sure my aardvark is sufficiently decorated...

In Which I'm Pleasantly Surprised by Buying a Dress

As you, dear reader, may recall from a couple columns back, I spent some time being nervous about buying a dress. Fear and trepidation struck deep into my heart. To put it delicately, getting blood drawn while beekeeping seemed more appealing than buying a dress.

As dress shopping day grew nigh, I got increasingly sketched out. Since my mom and I were driving to Denver - about an hour from my parents' house - for this most sacred and blessed of rituals, it was going to be an all-day excursion. However, since both my favorite bookstore and my favorite Mexican restaurant are in Denver, I hoped to convince my mom that book shopping and enchilada consuming would be far more fun than looking for a wedding dress.

It didn't work.

And so we arrived at the dress shop bright and early on a late December morning. When we walked in, the saleswoman with whom we had an appointment got me set up in a fitting room. I told her my budget - no more than $350 - and she took some measurements and came back with a handful of dresses. I tried the first one on. It was gorgeous. I looked at the pricetag.

Just as I was about to mention that $600 was definitely outside my price range, bedlam broke loose. Two four-year-old girls bedecked in frilly flower girl dresses were twirling wildly all over the bridal fitting area, accompanied by...an entourage of NINE PEOPLE. Now, these girls weren't rappers, so they didn't need to roll with a posse. And no one in this entourage of nine adults seemed to be in a supervisory role as they cooed and fawned over the twirling toddlers.

This, then, begs the question: WHY BRING NINE PEOPLE? I mean, hell, I didn't even bring nine people for my day of wedding dress shopping. If I was scoping out flower girl dresses, I sure as shit wouldn't want nine people there. But for whatever reason, these girls were rollin' with their homies, and, in a nod to Antoine Dodson, they were climbin' in the bridal salon', snatchin' your floor space up.

In the midst of the flower girl dress mayhem, one of Those Brides walked up and, in a moment of sublime entitlement and snottery, demanded that the saleswoman helping me pull every blue bridesmaid's dress in the store for her friends to try on. Every. Single. One. Immediately.

Since it was early in the day and the saleswoman I was working with was one of the only people on staff, she had no choice but to help Miss Thang and her Burning Need for All the Blue Dresses. So there I stood, wearing a dress well beyond my means, trying to keep the twirling flower girls from stepping on my feet, watching Miss Thang roll her eyes impatiently while waiting for all the blue dresses to arrive. Preferably in a horse-drawn carriage and on hangers made of pure gold.

I wanted to hide. I looked at my mom, panicked, and suggested that perhaps I'd be better off taking cover in the dressing room. My mom had the same idea and thought this sounded great, but sadly, social norms and etiquette precluded such a thing from actually happening.

Thankfully, though, the flower girls and their entourage quickly left. Miss Thang finally had, like, 87 blue dresses to examine. I could breathe again.

That seemed like an appropriate time to bring up the budget issue. Now, apparently studies have shown that most brides will buy one of the first dresses they try on. And, also apparently for most brides, budgets are mere guidelines as opposed to hard and fast rules. So, if when a bride walks in for her appointment she's given some gorgeous dresses to try on that are outside her price range, chances are she'll say to hell with the budget and buy one.

Not I, my friends. Not I. I remarked to the saleswoman that I really needed to stick with my no-more-than-$350 rule, and to my surprise...she was totally chill about it. I expected some sort of MIC-inspired schtick about how this is the most important dress I'll ever buy, but she didn't even go there. Instead, she said "no problem" and led me over to the clearance rack, noting that it would be my best bet for finding something within my price range. 

In under 15 minutes amongst the clearance racks, my mom and I found eight dresses that I liked. I tried them on and quickly narrowed it down to two. They were similar cuts - both halter necklines - and I really liked them both. As I stood there contemplating this momentous decision, I felt my neck start to itch. The fabric along my collarbone felt like sandpaper. I looked in the mirror and saw a gnarly, prickly, bright red rash breaking out under the beads on the neckline. I mean, I know that breaking into hives is a hot motif in wedding fashion these days, but I decided that since I appeared to be allergic to the fabric under the beading, this probably wasn't the right dress. Tough call, I know.

In a move that will shock the masses, I bought the one that didn't give me some nasty skin condition resembling chickenpox of the neck and collarbone. Happily, since it was on clearance, it was marked down to $300. But, even more happily, when we took it to the register, it was also on sale. On sale and on clearance! My heart was aflutter with dreams of saving money.

All told, it was $250. Even with some minor alterations, it still comes in under my $350 maximum. Now that's what I call a mothafuckin' victory.

So, while the day started out rather badly, it ended on an awesome note, and I left with a gorgeous - and very budget-friendly - dress in hand.

The Sacred Sisterhood of Wedding Obsession

In recent months, I've noticed yet another aspect of wedding planning that, to put it delicately, utterly flummoxes me: there appears to be a big, fat, belching expectation that I'll be so engrossed in wedding planning - so ensconsed in each and every detail, and enthralled to talk about it ad nauseaum with anyone who'll listen - that I cease to care about other things in life. It's as if there's a Sacred Sisterhood of Wedding Obsession - a sorority, of sorts, whose members spend unfathomable amounts of time being preoccupied by every last detail of their respective weddings. And apparently I'm expected to join them.

 

This has manifested itself in various ways, but one of my favorites so far is a tip I saw on a wedding website. In an article on how to keep your relationship healthy during your engagement (this is when you, dear bride, will be unable to talk about anything but the wedding. Even if a meteor slams into the polar ice caps and displaces huge volumes of water and half the world drowns as a result, you'll neither notice nor care, as long as the reception venue hasn't sustained damage and the florist doesn't need more time to process your order), they recommend setting aside one night per week to talk with your fiancé about things that aren't related to the wedding.

Bwwwweh?

 

No. Effing. Way. One night per week? I'm supposed to spend six nights per week barraging my fiancé with wedding shit? Is this for real? 

 

If anything, we have the ratios reversed. We spend six nights per week discussing things that don't have a damn thing to do with colors, tulle, floral design, or organza. Let me elaborate.

 

Things my fiancé and I have discussed this week, in order of amount of time spent discussing it:

 

1. Random/stupid things that happened during the day

2. Football playoffs

3. The NY Times op-ed section

4. Politics

5. People we don't like

6. The Tunisian uprising 

7. The library books that I just checked out

8. Wedding planning

 

Seriously, why am I expected to stop caring about, paying attention to, and discussing things unrelated to my wedding? Where did this come from? Why is my wedding supposed to be so all-consuming that I get completely lost in it? Most importantly, who are the women spending every waking moment obsessing about their weddings, and how can I thank them for not hanging out with me?

 

This bizarre expectation has other manifestations, too. It most often rears its head during the course of conversation, during which time a lot of people have reactions ranging from shock to mild horror at my approach to wedding planning. The conversation usually goes like this:

 

Random Chick: How's wedding planning going?

Me: It's going fine, thanks - everything is coming along nicely.

Random Chick (looking slightly concerned): Have you picked your colors?

Me: Actually, I'm not really doing colors. The bridesmaids' dresses are red, but that's because they were on sale and the red one had the most sizes available. I figure that most colors go together nicely, so as long as I don't have people in argyle and polka dots, it'll look good.

Random Chick (now looking mildly constipated): Oh? Um, ok...oh, your theme! What about your theme?

Me: I'm not really doing a theme either, since I figure that the theme of the event is marriage.

Random Chick: Uhhhmmmmm? But aren't you excited?

Me: Oh, I'm definitely excited - but I'm doing a lot of stuff besides wedding planning, so I'm not getting too wrapped up in it. It'll all turn out fine.

 

At this point, Random Chick is usually sporting a facial expression ranging from acceptance (God bless you if you're one of these folks), to concern, to shock. The latter category is the most fun, because they tend to look like I've said something truly disturbing. When I say I have no theme or colors and that I have interests outside wedding planning, you'd think I'd actually said "puppies are abhorrent," or "I routinely eat a massive bag of Doritos dipped in a tub of Betty Crocker icing for breakfast," or "I think it'd be totally awesome if Iran had nuclear weapons." 

 

 

 

Sometimes I'm tempted to make something up - some sublime bullshit that will make me sound like I'm on the same page as (apparently) typical brides who spend hours parsing the details of colors, themes, flowers and cake - to make the other person think I'm not some blasé bride whose wedding is going to be a complete trainwreck. But within nanoseconds of thinking this, I veto the idea. The fact is, in the immortal words of Popeye, I yam what I yam. I'm not a typical bride. I don't care about perfect linens or improved lighting or swoon-inducing decor. I don't give a shit about themes. I care about being married, but I don't much care if the wedding is a shining example of nuptial perfection.

 

Although the all-consuming wedding planning seems to be considered a rite of passage among brides these days, I'd prefer to pass on induction into the Sacred Sisterhood of Bridal Obsession. Instead, I'd like to ask the dudes among us if I can become an honorary member of the Fraternal Order of Preferring Football Over Wedding Stuff.

 

Please?

Photography Hell

I've noticed a trend every time I log onto one of the wedding websites: the ever-present threat of photography. Or, more accurately, photography that goes horribly awry and is ruined because you, dear bride, didn't put enough effort into your wedding to make it worthy of being immortalized in a .JPEG file.

This is a consistent theme. Like most things inspired by the MIC, the threat is never made explicit. Instead, it's written as if it were a scandal that can only be discussed in hushed voices and polite euphemisms. It's like the nuptial equivalent of the high school girl who "went away to her aunt's house for a year," but we all know that she actually got knocked up by a dude who just happened to be a heroin dealer, junior high drop-out,  and her second cousin.

Some cases in point: 

1. The flowers will be one of the most photographed elements of your wedding. Therefore, it's important to choose centerpieces and bouquets that perfectly fit your wedding style. (Underlying message: when people look at your wedding photos -- which they'll be doing in large numbers, since you'll set up a slide show at work and everyone will sit at rapt attention while analyzing your floral choice -- they'll notice if your flowers don't fall within the parameters of your pre-determined theme and style. They will notice, and they will be aghast at your lack of consideration for this most blessed of blessed details.)

  2. Your wedding dress will be photographed more than any article of clothing you ever own. (Underlying message: THIS DRESS IS SACRED! You'd best ensure that it's perfect, because it will be immortalized in your photos - and those photos will be occassionally worshipped as an object of transcendent beauty.)

3. Take time to select a good wedding hairstyle -- it will be heavily photographed! (Underlying message: your 90-year-old Grandpa, the one who can't make it to your wedding and will be relying on photographs of the big day, will absolutely pay close attention to your hairstyle. He'll want those close-ups of the updo! He'll want side-shots that show both your profile and the little curled wispy bits that frame your face! People care about these things! They care deeply!) 

4.  An insufficiently decorated cake table can ruin your reception photos. (Underlying message: when people look at your wedding photos, they will be appalled if you have an inadequately decorated cake table. They'll think you're lacking in proper judgment and, quite possibly, not fit to be a parent. After all, the lack of decor on your cake table ruined your wedding pictures forever. You can't expect that people who make such bad wedding decisions will be able to make good life decisions - and you certainly can't expect that such morally bankrupt people would be able to care for small children.)

Ok, so wedding photography is a fact of life. Pictures will be taken. None of that is a revelation. But somehow, the MIC makes the leap from photography being a mere fact to it being a compelling reason to spend a shitload of money on your hair, dress, flowers, and table linens.

This just strikes me as...a steaming pile of crap. I mean, yes, I fully anticipate that lots of pictures will be taken. But really, is it necessary to use that as a life-altering reason to spend phenomenal amounts of money on things that, if we're being honest, very few people are actually going to notice?

I really don't think that people are going to analyze the wedding pictures as carefully as the MIC believes they will. Maybe it's just the people I know, but I can't imagine any of my friends or family pouring over every detail of every picture and then sneering when they find one that they feel is lacking. And, even if they do pull something like this, it's not worth spending an inordinate amount of money just to make sure you have the perfect setting and subjects for the photographer. Anyone who finds themselves aggrieved over too few shots of the bride's hair can get over it.

The fact is, as with all threats of wedding failure and eternal infamy, no one will actually die if the cake table isn't festooned with cascading flowers and glitter. The world will not actually stop spinning if there aren't 100 perfectly-angled pictures of your hair. Your 90-year-old Grandpa, your mom, and all the people who care about your will simply be happy to have pictures of the event. Chances are, they'll be looking at your facial expression -- and swooning over the look of sheer joy and exuberance you and your new spouse have on your respective faces -- and they probably won't give a rat's ass about the flowers, your hair, or the cake table.

Say Yes to the Dress; No to the Princesses

So I'm going home to Colorado for Christmas, and I'll be going dress shopping while I'm there.

 

I'm a bit nervous about this.

 

You see, my only reference point for shopping for a wedding dress is seeing Say Yes to the Dress while I'm on the elliptical at the gym. To put it mildly, I wouldn't trust those people to sell me a damn plastic bag. If some woman who consistently fails to fill in her lip liner tries to convince me to spend epic amounts of money on a dress by saying things like "This is the most impoah-tant dress you'll evah buy," I will run screaming from the dress shop. I'll die of exposure in the parking lot of a mall in Denver before enduring more of that obnoxious shit. 

 

There are other elements of this that make me nervous, though, even if I'm not helped by a dude who tweezer-massacres his eyebrows.

 

First of all, the dreaded princess factor reaches a fever pitch when dress shopping. I've lost count of how many times the princess theme is invoked in reference to bridal gowns. I'm mildly terrified that I'll be surrounded by women who want nothing more than to drown in a tsunami of tulle, or to sob with joy upon finding the one dress in the entire universe that makes them look like Walt Disney vomited tafetta all over them. I don't like tulle or tafetta. I refuse to wear anything that makes me look like a cupcake or that requires having a giant bow on my ass. I'm the anti-princess. Do bridal shops even encounter, let alone deal with, people who visibly cringe when the word princess is used? Shit. I'm already in for it.

Secondly, I'm not willing to spend a lot of money on a dress. I want to get one that I like, but the fact is, I'm only going to wear it once. I wouldn't spend thousands of dollars on any piece of clothing, even if I knew I was going to wear it every week for the next ten years -- so I see no reason to go into debt for something that I'll only wear for a few hours. I'm operating on a very, very limited budget (to be specific, no more than $350 for this thing) because not only can I not afford to drop a ton of cash on a dress, but also because, based purely on principle, I refuse to do so.

 

But then the MIC pressure-cooker arrives, spewing mantras like "Your wedding dress will be photographed and documented more than any other article of clothing you own." Are they kidding?! If we start measuring the value of clothing by the number of times it'll be photographed, Nieman Marcus will be forced out of business because their clothes will be devalued faster than Soviet currency.

But nonetheless, the MIC kinda makes a girl feel like she's going to wind up wearing a burlap bag if she doesn't shell out serious cash for this unbelievably important, uber-photographed, most-critical-garment-of-her-entire-life bit of fabric.

 

But really, that's what it is: fabric. Which, if all goes according to plan, you will only wear once. Yes, it's important. And yes, it will be photographed. But -- and maybe I'm being delusional here -- I doubt people are going to pour over the details of it and scrutinize each bead. Chances are, the extent of the attention paid to my dress will be "Oh, that's a pretty dress. And she doesn't have a giant bow on her ass! Lovely!"

While I completely agree with the idea that it's definitely impotant to get a dress that you like, I see no reason to spend as much you'd have to shell out for a month-long trip to Paris or for, say, an entire car. I'll be irritated beyond all reason if someone (salespeople at bridal stores, I'm looking at you) tries to convince me I should spend that much money or risk looking like a haggard, emphysemic bag lady who lives under an overpass.

 

The question, though, will be whether or not it's possible for an anti-princess on a limited budget to find a dress she likes. Updates to follow.

Epic WTF

I can't even come up with a good intro for this, so I'm just going to say, in all my flabbergasted glory: why the hell is there a show called Bridalplasty? Did I fall into an alternate universe populated entirely by stupid people? No, seriously, was there a rip in the time-space continuum and I just happened to miss it?

I'd heard about Bridalplasty and thought it must be a joke (right? RIGHT?) but came to the horrifying realization that it's real when I started seeing random articles about it. Now, my tried-and-true strategy for handling things I don't like is to bury my head in the sand, thus looking like a humanoid-ostrich hybrid, while hoping that it will GO AWAY because I am NOT DEALING WITH IT RIGHT NOW.

However.

That strategy worked up until last weekend. In a random turn of events, a friend sent an email noting that Bridalplasty would be a good topic for this here slice o' the blogosphere. After hearing a thing or two about the show itself, I totally agreed and figured I should try to watch it at some point, just to get a brief sampling of its absurdity. A tapas platter of crazy, if you will.

As luck would have it, I felt like death that evening and thus decided to stay home from a friend's birthday party. Because I watch ludicrously bad TV whenever my Betrothed is gone, I turned on E! News. As I sat on the couch in a stupor, drooling on myself and pondering the nature of turnips, Bridalplasty came on. I perked up and allocated my one remaining brain cell to taking mental notes on this train wreck of a show.
And what a train wreck it is.

I don't even know where to start with this. Is it the fact that some of these women have the self-esteem of a gnat and say things like "my stomach is the only thing I like about myself"? Is it the idea that other women are clearly there so they can have an absurdly extravagant wedding for free, because they can't afford to throw their own "fairy tale wedding"? How about the nagging issue that all of these women are actually quite pretty, and certainly not in need of a plastic surgery overhaul?

Holy shit. I'm pretty sure my jaw is still on the floor after watching this.

It begs all sorts of questions. Where did they find these people? Like, was there a casting call that went out saying things like "Looking for women with astonishingly low self-worth who are willing to compete for enough plastic surgery to look like the love-child of Frankenstein and Heidi Montag"? And what the hell sort of dude wants to see, floating down the aisle sporting boobs the size of torpedoes, some lady who looks nothing like the woman to whom he got engaged? Who are these guys, Spencer Pratt's clones?

I particularly hated the fact that the word 'perfection' was busted out at least 8 times in the first minute. Look perfect, be perfect, have the perfect wedding. Have the perfect chin, the perfect lips, the perfect thighs. I mean, really: everybody wants to look their best, but what's up with the need for perfection? Would it be so wrong to say "there are a few things I'm self-conscious about, but nobody's perfect," or, for a real shocker that could hasten the apocalypse, "I'm happy with myself the way I am"?

Because I tend to become defiant when faced with something that I find absurd, infuriating, or both, I responded to this by retrieving my lactard-friendly ice cream (use air quotes on ice cream...my stomach has been hating on lactose lately) and polishing off what was left. Take that, Bridalplasty! I'm eating fucking dessert! Kiss my imperfect ass!

My hope is that something will go horribly awry and that the bride who wins the grand prize will wind up looking like cat-lady. Or that her washboard abs and miniscule waist, when combined with her massive boobs and newly-filled ass the size of Kazakhstan, totally throws off her center of gravity and causes her to fall on her face while walking down the aisle. That'd make it all worth it.

I Have Issues With Themes

Before delving into this next post, let me warn you: the badly drawn stick figure illustrations continue. I'm doing this because a) I had fun making these, and b) I'm a genuinely horrible artist, and Microsoft Paint is an excellent way to showcase my utter lack of talent. But I digress. On to the heart of the matter...

Along with colors and flowers, my online wedding website planner thingy says I should be considering a theme. I find this mildly annoying, since the online planning thingy follows this up by asking asinine questions like "What's your wedding's mood?" (I don't know; ask my wedding. If you wake it up from a deep sleep to inquire about its mood, though, it's probably going to punch you in the face.) I'm fairly bewildered by the very idea of finding a theme, though, because it never occurred to me that I'd need to throw a theme party in addition to getting married.

Given my dearth of theme party experience, I decided to do some research on this. As it turns out, theme suggestions abound. Seasonal themes, beach themes, fairy tale themes, literary themes...the list carries on. Some of them, though, piss me right the hell off.

Take, for example, the literary themes. Now one would think, being the horribly bookish mega-nerd that I am, that I'd love this. But here's the problem: the most oft-mentioned literary themes are The Great Gatsby and Romeo and Juliet. Seriously? Did the people who suggest this shit not complete 10th grade English? Here's a quick flashback to high school: The Great Gatsby is a story about the American Dream gone horribly awry; it involves extra-marital affairs, tragic deaths, and a constant undercurrent of loneliness, cynicism, and moral decay. As for Romeo and Juliet, let's review its genre: it's a tragedy. It's not the greatest love story ever told, it's a fucking tragedy. Romeo and Juliet both wind up dead. And, just to add to the shittiness of their situation, their deaths could've been prevented if they hadn't been so stupid and impulsive.

So tell me: why would anyone want either of these works to be the over-arching theme of their wedding?
The issue of fairly-tale themes also grates on me, but for different reasons. I've always been a bit of an odd bird, so when I was growing up, I never wanted to be the princess in the Disney films I saw. (For the record, though, I did rather adore Belle from Beauty and the Beast. The villagers all described her as being "different from the rest of us" because she always had her nose stuck in a book. I could relate.) Belle aside, though, I wasn't down with being a Disney princess. No, I wanted to be the evil witch. Those women were badass. I thought it was awesome.

In first grade, when all the other girls were dressing up as fairies and princesses for Halloween, I wanted to go as Malificent from Sleeping Beauty. My mom made me a magenta and black cape. I carried a DIY sceptre. I got to wear eye shadow. It was glorious.

So, the bottom line is that I don't want to be a fairy-tale princess. Princesses are wholesome and sweet, and I'm neither of those things. So unless a fairy-tale themed wedding can accommodate Malificent - an evil ne'er-do-well who occasionally morphs into a fire-breathing dragon - as the blushing bride, it's a non-starter for me.
My all-time favorite theme suggestion, though, can best be described as 'douchiness.' It's quite possibly the most absurdly over-involved, unnecessarily complicated, and utterly horrifying scenario I can think of. A case in point, taken verbatim from the website:

A grand wedding invitation -- for example, a vintage cigar box invitation, replete with a custom monogram and label -- will establish the vibe of the whole event. Tie it all together with a tented table number and favor tag that coordinate with the wedding invitation, and have your groom match the theme with a silk woven dot bow tie. Lastly, give your guests a wedding favor that is both old and charming. Vintage cordial glass adorned with velvet blue ribbon and filled with flowers like delphiniums and green pom-pom mums are the ideal send-off.

?!?!?!?!

Once I picked myself up off the floor, I started deconstructing the various absurdities of the above suggestion. First, I have no idea where the hell I'm supposed to come up with 200 vintage cigar boxes. I don't even know where one would acquire a single vintage cigar box, let alone enough to use them as invitations. (And relatedly, what would be postage costs be for sending a bunch of cigar boxes? Those things aren't exactly suitable for letter-size envelopes.)

Secondly, custom monograms and labels? Am I supposed to have as much disposable income as your average rock star? Since I don't, my budget can support something hand-written in Sharpie in place of a custom monogram and label. Does that work as a reasonable facsimilie? No? Shit.

Next, if I asked my Betrothed to wear a silk woven dot bow tie, I might as well ask him to get a sex change. Seriously, I can think of few things more emasculating than a silk dot bow tie. I wouldn't be able to take him seriously. At all. We'd wind up having to repeat our marriage vows without the silk dot bow tie accompanying him, because I'd just giggle the entire time.

Lastly, the vintage cordial glasses. This is a cute idea, but again: where do I find 150-200 vintage cordial glasses? They don't sell them in bulk at Hobby Lobby, which makes me think it will turn into a Holy Grail-like quest to find that many vintage cordial glasses. They'll find me in a back corner of the Georgetown flea market, shaking and twitching while curled up in the fetal position and begging for my mother.

And so, after reviewing all the possible options, my Betrothed and I settled on the perfect theme for our wedding: marriage. Yes, you read that right: the theme of our wedding will be marriage. It's nice and self-explanatory. It won't require extensive coordination, bow ties, or questionable literary references. It's cost-effective. For this Malificent, it might just make me so happy and relieved that I'll never again morph into a fire-breathing dragon.

The Grand Floral Strategy

I really like flowers. Like most women, I get really happy and googly-eyed when my Betrothed brings me a pretty bouquet. I get only slightly less happy and googly-eyed when I buy them for myself. Flowers are awesome.

So, when I started working on wedding stuff, I thought this would be fairly straightforward, and possibly even fun. But I certainly didn't expect to be up to my damn neck in floral insanity. (Please pass the Zyrtec.) Per the usual, I turned to my online wedding planner thingy. Per the usual, I was totally put off, if not totally horrified, by the veritable laundry list of things I should be thinking about.

Apparently I'm supposed to devote hours upon hours to thinking about this. I should be meeting with florists, envisioning my theme, colors and preferred motifs, and mapping it all out perfectly into a Grand Floral Strategy:

Your flowers will be one of the most heavily photographed elements of your wedding. As a result, it's important to pick centerpieces and bouquets that truly fit your wedding style.

Well then. No pressure or anything. Really, though, I have a hard time believing that the photographer will spend upwards of 50% of their data space on flowers. They're nice and all, but aren't the people more important? I'd much rather have pictures of my best friend dancing to Lady GaGa than I would of some uber-detailed shot of my bouquet from 8 different angles. I'm just sayin'. So, for me at least, I don't feel like it's necessary to fret about whether or not I can produce bouquets and centerpieces that will be the floral equivalent of an international supermodel while they smile and look pretty for the camera.

(Because I'm feeling particularly punchy tonight, I've decided to flex my decidedly atrophied, if not downright hideous, artistic muscles and make some badly-drawn illustrations to accompany my wise-ass writing. I thank Allie Bosch at Hyperbole and a Half for the inspiration to draw funny shit in Microsoft Paint.)

Once you've made a decision on the flower arrangements you want, you should find a florist who can make it all happen. Be sure to bring pictures and examples of wedding flowers that you like. Before you talk with your florist, make sure that you have your ideal centerpiece ideas and bouquets in mind - as well as your wedding flower budget.

I see no problem with finding examples of things that I like, but really? I just can't bring myself to devote this much time and energy to developing and deploying a Grand Floral Strategy. I don't have a clue what my "ideal" wedding flowers look like. All I know is that, since the bridesmaids' dresses are red, I should probably find colors that don't clash with it. And I don't want them to be overly ornate. Beyond that, I ain't got shit. And, as for my budget? Cheap. As cheap as possible, in fact.

While I can certainly see the value of knowing what one wants and having examples to illustrate it, working with a florist to create the perfect bouquets and centerpieces is an ordeal that apparently requires its own language. No joke. Said language isn't the least bit based in horticulture, either. According to The Knot, I should describe my venues, the architecture of the church and reception cite, level of formality, season, and the style of my dress - all to ensure that the Grand Floral Strategy is implemented with minimal casualties.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I present...

Exhibit A:

Cymbidium orchids, calla lilies, and French tulips come to mind for"chic" weddings - in addition to a generally modern aesthetic and simple, sleek arrangements such as clear acrylic containers. When meeting with florists, describe the visual details of your wedding (for example, your location's architecture, your wedding colors, or your gown's design): "The semi-formal reception is in the courtyard of a Spanish-style boutique hotel." Or "A posh dress and a black-tie wedding in summer, on a rooftop in the city, with an all-white color scheme."


Exhibit B:
The word "romantic" presents florists with a wide variety of ideas. Some think of peonies and garden roses in clay pots, while others imagine a cascade of red roses placed in silver urns. Because there are so many interpretations of romance, you'll need to give lots of details—such as feel, location, formality, and season—when communicating your version of the word: "A relaxed daytime reception in early summer, on the lawn of a seaside cottage," or "An upscale, 200-person fete at a historic estate in winter."


No disrespect to florists, but...GOOD GOD. I'm exhausted after reading this. If I have to do all this stuff in real life, there's a good chance I'll lose my mind. Or die of flower-induced exhaustion. My aching body will simply give out under the strain of wedding pressure and floral fatigue.

I also wonder how much, exactly, all this costs. The more I research, the more my stomach cries out in anguish. None of this stuff is cheap. The "deluxe" options usually start at $350, whereas the "budget" options are between $100-$250 per item.

Now, there's no way to put this delicately, so I'm just going to say it: there's no way in hell I'm going to spend $100 for five bridesmaid's bouquets, $100 for a junior bridesmaid/flower girl bouquet, $100 for my bouquet, and $100 for centerpieces to be placed at no fewer than 15 tables. At a minimum, we're talking $2000.

My budget cannot, in any way, allow me to allocate 2K for flowers. My student loans have already left me unfathomably broke, so I'm unwilling to become even more broke in order to purchase some fucking flowers.

Even if I had the money to spend on this, and despite the fact that I get all googly-eyed over flowers from my Betrothed, I'm not sure I could abide paying a lot for them. Bouquets wilt. They're not planted in your garden. They'll be all parched and sad within the week, and who wants sad flowers?

Is it really worth paying that much money for, not to mention devoting absurd amounts of time to thinking about, a bunch of bouquets that will be moribund 5 days after the wedding?



Upon looking around for, like, 30 seconds, I realized that there's a preponderance of really cheap and really nice flowers out there. There's a dude outside my office who sells bouquets for $6. Another dude by the Metro who sells roses for $7. On a recent trip to Sam's Club, I decided to scope out the flower prices to see how they compare to the $100 "budget" bouquets I've read about online. Behold...



















Cheap flowers! Beautiful, glorious, magical cheap flowers! I wanted to hug them, but decided against it because a) they wouldn't do well when squooshed in my embrace, and b) I'd look like the craziest person in the store, which is really saying something when you're at Sam's Club or Wal Mart.

While, for some people, thinking about and paying a lot for flowers is totally within the realm of possibility -- hey, to each their own -- it's definitely not for me. I have, instead, devised a Grand Floral Strategy that relies on my staunch adherence to the principles of frugality and sticking it to the MIC whenever possible:
Step 1: Sam's Club, Costco, or a wholesale flower company.
Step 2: Flowers that go well with red, for $10-$20 per bunch.
Step 3: Scissors.
Step 4: Ribbons.
Step 5: Done.