Oh hey….I got married.

Remember how I was going to blog about the trials and tribulations of a wedding and then in April I suddenly stopped because I was choking on trials and drowning in tribulations?


Long story short, after much drama, our venue in Portland fell through. So we did what any sane couple would do four months before their wedding. We went to Vegas with 60 of our nearest and dearest and got married in a chapel that was affectionately called  “the Kill Bill chapel” by a friend.

IMG_3442Can’t disagree on that….

I was never able to picture myself walking down the isle at our original venue. I couldn’t imagine the day at all. Something wasn’t right. The second we decided on Vegas, things started finally feeling like us. I’m not going to lie, there was a shitload of crying, fighting, frustration and anger while planning everything out there. A Vegas wedding with that many people is no easy feat.

I got home and thought, “I should really blog about everything I learned”. So I sat down with a beer (which is the first in a long time due to my vodka only pre-wedding diet because vanity, duh) and took a xanax and tried to write about it. Maybe it’s the lack of my old friend Ambien, the best writing aide in the world. Or maybe I’m still riding high off of the amazing time we had. Or maybe it’s these god damn talon nails I have that making typing a total bitch. I don’t much feel like thinking or writing about weddings at all. It was a year of madness that ate up my entire life. I’m free to have other hobbies now. Free to crawl back into my normal, cozy hole where I am never the center of attention again.

I wouldn’t change a single thing. If I could do it over again it would only be because I want to have all that fun again.


Stevie Nicks Explosion

I’m headed into my 37th hour of couch camping while battling a case of strep so severe that the nurse actually recoiled in disgust after looking down my throat. Instead of doing anything productive like learning to play “Landslide” on guitar or starting to write the epic teen novel that’s been bouncing around in my head, I have watched 25 episodes of Hart of Dixie. It’s not particularly entertaining other than having a dirty-sexy white trash guy who is sweaty and shirtless a lot. That and Rachel Bilson’s teeth. I’m happy that she kept her weird teeth instead of getting veneers. It gives her character. And I would like to see her boobs.

I stopped to google “Rachel Bilson’s teeth” and a list of hot girls with bad teeth was the first thing that popped up. WHERE THE HELL WAS THAT WHEN I WAS A KID?! My parents could have saved thousands on orthodontia and I could have been the mysteriously sexy bucktoothed/snaggle toothed/gappy/creepy toofed girl. FUCK.

Oh well.

The down time and subsequent boredom have driven me to finally make a Pinterest board for the wedding. It’s been a whole lot of me, sitting with both dog and computer on my lap, stoned on weed brownies (Pain killers! They didn’t give me anything except antibiotics and it feels like I’m swallowing pebbles covered in glass covered in razors.) and typing, “boho goth centerpiece” into Pinterest’s search engine. I kept telling people I want the wedding to look like Stevie Nicks exploded all over it. So apparently this is a smattering of what exploded Stevie looks like to me:






At least now when I drunkenly insist to my fiancé that I want it to look like a 70’s coke den I’ll have pictures to back me up. Bless his heart, at this point I think he’d go along with anything to shut me up.

You know what would be awesome though? IF THE VENUE WOULD WRITE ME BACK.

The first event chick either got fired or quit. We’re on chick number two and thus far she’s got equally lackadaisical communication skills.

Perhaps it’s the weed brownie (medicinal pain killer!) but my paranoia led me to re-read all our e-mails to see if I’ve been coming off as a needy bridezilla (sweet christ I hate that word). Alas, I seem sane and perhaps only a little desperate for some answers.

How am I supposed to get overly amped about my Pinterest board if I’m not even entirely sure that the venue will actually happen? How can I make a Stevie Nicks Explosion with no place for her to explode??

If you need me, I’ll just be here with my ass molded into the couch, listening to the Fleetwood Mac pandora station and googling taxidermy rental places.

Give Me Baby Elephant Money, Dammit

Now that I’ve been dress shopping 2,734 times, I am an expert on everything. Everything that is white, fluffy, uncomfortable, lacy and ill fitting. And now after the last two weeks I am swiftly becoming an expert at selling the first wedding dress you bought but decided you didn’t want on-line to desperate brides.

I will intersperse pictures of animals that are adorable because science shows that posts without pictures makes people die inside a little. But pictures of puppies warm your cold dead cockles.

(Did you know that cockles are a type of clams? So I’m warming your dead clams basically.)



Dude I love clams!

Step one:

List your unwanted, never worn $1,200 dress on a few websites devoted to selling used wedding dresses to bargain shopping brides. I threw mine onto Once Wed and Pre Owned Wedding Dresses. That’s my ad, that’s my dress. Buy it. It’s gorgeous. There’s not a thing wrong with it other than it’s way too classy of a dress for me.

Step two:

Sort through multiple e-mails a day asking redundant questions making it obvious that the sender didn’t read the god damn ad which gives every bit of information one needs. Sigh deeply, take more photos of your dress, explain the measurements and condition again. Explain that you never wore it. You never spilled champagne on it. You didn’t get sperm on it during a frisky limo ride. You didn’t barf on it and try to clean it with a Tide pen.

funny dogs-03

Step three:

Get this message in response:

Great! I am glad the dress is still available. I want to know if the dress has ever been worn and altered in the previous time? I will like to know if it’s in excellent condition. I understand that pictures does not do the justice of the beauty of the dress, but I’m afraid that I can not come to try the dress on as I am not local. So if there’s any way you could attach and send me a few pictures to have a closer view better and larger than the pictures posted on your listing will be a good idea. I look forward to hearing from you for further discussion. Talk to you soon. 

Turn to your fiancé, who is snort laughing at Reddit while next to you on the couch and ask him to read it and tell you if it sounds like a Nigerian Prince type scam. Believe him when he says no, that it sounds like someone who doesn’t speak english as their first language.


Step four:

Engage in lengthy e-mail sessions with “Janelle” the non-local desirer of your dress. Give her copious details, send more photos, discuss the specific sizing of the designers dresses. Go back and forth about it in over 15 e-mails.

Step five: 

Drunkenly check an incoming message while having a Cards Against Humanity get together party at your house. Read to the gathered persons that “Janelle’s” fiancé has agreed to buy the dress for her and that she will even pay for shipping. He will gladly pay me with a personal check.


Tell “Janelle” that a personal check is not acceptable, give her acceptable payment info, never hear from her again.


Step six:

Get four e-mails a day asking “what is the absolute least amount of money you’ll take for this dress?”.

Bang head against wall.


Step seven:

Earn good karma points for not selling the dress to a girl who lives in London because she was willing to pay shipping which would have been over a hundred dollars for some fucking reason. Tell her for the amount she could get the dress brand spankin’ new. Feel terrible and happy at the same time when she thanks you profusely for not duping her.

Step eight:

Consider taking $800 and being done with it.

Step nine:

Have intense fantasies about the way you’re going to style your new wedding dress. You can’t spend all your time thinking about that other pesky dress.


Step ten:

Irritate your fiancé by having three wedding dresses hanging in the living room. The one you’re trying to sell, the one you’re actually getting married in and your late grandmother’s wedding dress from the 1920’s that your mom gave to you after her memorial.

Step 11:

Write a lackluster blog post about trying to sell your wedding dress while your dog farts audibly beside you on the couch. Hope that someone will buy the damn dress so that you can use the money to hang out with elephants in Thailand on your honeymoon.





And just for good measure…To make sure your cockles are piping hot….


5 Tips For Dress Shopping (PS, I Have No Idea What I’m Talking About)

I’ve gone wedding dress shopping 9 times. That’s not counting the countless hours I spent staring into my computer screen in an Ambien haze, clicking and clicking and clicking on dress websites……

A $200  ball gown made to order from China? Seems like a great idea at 3 AM!



A $600 satin halter dress on an Etsy page that will not accept returns under any circumstances? SURE!


Via Etsy

A  $140 prom dress made for that especially scandalous girl at your high school complete with high-low hem and ombre coloring? Hell yeah, I can make that work!



Here are the top five things I’ve learned about dress shopping:

1. Don’t shop drunk

It’s really tempting to get buzzed before your appointment (oh yes, I learned you need appointments) but let me dissuade you from getting hammered…


I am a girl who can’t resist a breakfast mimosa. A bottomless mimosa, even better. A bottomless mimosa where they just give you bottles of champagne and wish you luck? Be still my alcoholic heart. That photo was taken right before we plodded into our first stop of bridal fun(?), a cute vintage shop that specializes in wedding apparel. The apointment resulted in a lot of snort laughing, swanning around in dresses The Golden Girls would have approved of and almost peeing in the dressing room due to massive champagne consumption.

Also, don’t go shopping when you wake up from last night still drunk. As the booze melts away and reveals you to be a corpse clinging to a hangover, you won’t want to be elbowing small asian girls out of the way to get to the last dressing room at a bridal boutique event. But you’ll muster up your strength and bulldoze your way through those tiny girls and straight into that dressing room where you will sit, panting into a pile of silk and lace, hoping that your booze sweat won’t stain anything.

2. Everyone will see your boobs

Those who have never experienced the joy of dress shopping don’t know what happens in those little rooms before you make your grand entrance wearing a dress that could elicit responses from you friends like, “it’s pretty” to “Ugh” to sighing heavily and checking their phones.

You are assigned a helper. They have names…consultant? Dress guru? Incredibly patient college girl? Either way, you are assigned a helper and once you have loaded her up with dresses, you both squeeze into the dressing room. You undress and stand there clutching your bare breasts and swallowing the words you want to say, which are, “I’m sorry that you have to look at my boobs and my ass in this inappropriate black underwear. All I have is black though and I thought that would be better than none. God, I’m so sorry about my boobs.” Your helper doesn’t give two shit about your boobs, she’s seen it all.

Other people who might see your boobs include: the incredibly groomed and enthusiastic gay sales helper who whisks by the curtain when it’s only half closed, your best friends, your future mother-in-law, your own mother and the nice saleslady who offers help adjusting the torture bra they’ve strapped you into.

No one cares about your boobs. They just want to moosh them into a dress that you love enough to spend upwards of $1,500 on it.

3. What you think you want might not want to be on you

That’s what I imagine my dress saying, “I wanna be on you”. Because my dress’ spirit animal is Ron Burgundy. But sometimes you find out that the dress you’ve always wanted makes you look like a donkey carrying saddlebags full of cottage cheese.

Try on anything and everything. You’ll be surprised. And you’ll find that sleazy, magical dress that wants to be on you, just like Ron Burgundy.


4. This shit costs a boatload of cash

You don’t have to spend thousands of dollars on a wedding dress but apparently, most broads do. There’s one shop in town whose website states, “Brides shopping with us should be comfortable spending upwards of $2,500”.

What they don’t say but should is this, “But girl, if you come in here asking for the $2,500 dresses we’re gonna judge you so hard for only going for the cheap dresses. Besides we only got one and it ain’t your silhouette”.

When I told the next shop that I wanted to keep it under a grand, my helper looked at me like I had just kicked a kitten. Horror, disgust, sadness. All blooming on her young face.

5. There is no squealing A-HA!! moment

Not for me anyway. I tried on over a hundred dresses and not once did my guts seize up and scream THIS IS THE ONE!! I felt beautiful at times. I felt like a lumpy troll at others. I had dresses that I would have loved to have worn if their price tags weren’t so high.

I was never giddy or excited about dress shopping. Perhaps because of low self esteem and body issues or perhaps because I’m droll and emotionless. I had fun, I enjoyed it. But it was certainly not the highlight of my year.

I don’t relate to the girls on Say Yes To The Dress. They are a different kind of woman. But we watch these shows and believe that their behavior is the proper behavior. That we SHOULD be squealing, weeping and hugging everyone. We SHOULD be finding dresses that fit our unique personalities to a T and we should pay the damn money to get one.

I know there are real women like that as well. They’re delightful women too. I wish I wasn’t such a robot somtimes………………………………………………………………………..So basically what I’m saying is that I should have done an eight ball before shopping. I would have been SO AMPED ON EVERYTHING AND REALLY, REALLY EXCITED ABOUT THE DRESS OF MY DREAMS!!!!!!

I missed the boat on that though. I got a dress, sober. Except for the incredibly strong anti-anxiety pill my girlfriend gave me before we went to the appointment.

Tales of that adventure come next!

I’m Still Getting Married…

Here’s the nutshell version of the past few months:

-Put deposit on venue.

-Venue ignores all attempts to contact them for three months.

-Buy wedding dress.

-Get dress home, decide I hate it and feel like shit.

-Buy new wedding dress for less than half of what the first cost.

-Have all out fights over honeymoon planning and question if we could ever travel with each other ANYWHERE due to our vastly different desires and travel styles.

-Pitch Thailand as a honeymoon destination and get what was either an enthusiastic yes or a shut-the-fuck-up-FINE yes.

-Finally get in contact with venue, find out they upped their day rate to $33,000. But that we’re grandfathered in at the old rates.

-$33,000!!!! WHAT THE FUCK?!

-Plan epic vegan wedding feast with amazing chef at venue.

-Have random bouts of self hatred for caring so much about one day.

-Fiance decides he wants a giant American flag hanging behind us during the ceremony.

-Future mother-in-law suggests that our colors be red, white and blue because of said flag.

-Suppress urge to vomit at the thought of having “colors” let alone red, white and blue.

-Show mother-in-law bookmarked ideas for wedding decor/style and slowly shrink into a ball of nerves as she politely hates everything.

-Have weeping hour long talk with my father, achieving a level of cuntiness that I never thought possible.

-Have more bouts of self hatred for putting my father through that and for caring about a wedding in general.

-Feel like a raging narcissist.

-Wish we had eloped.

-Get asked 34 times a day by co-workers, clients and friends about how the wedding planning is going resulting in never wanting to blog about it.

-Look over at my dude,  breathe a sigh of relief that I still love that motherfucker and I’m so happy that I’m spending my life with him.

That pretty much sums up everything that has happened in the last few months. I have some hilarious dress shopping stories to share so I’ll blog a little more over the next few days.


What Started As A Joke Is Now A Front-Runner

“I know that we’re kinda drunk and we shouldn’t talk about this when we’re drunk….”

So starts most conversations mature adults have, right?

Last night during a marathon of watching Weeds and drinking cheap beer, I decided it was time to bring up the fact that we have no wedding plans shaping up. My intention was to impress upon my dear fiance that we should sit down soon and hammer out some details since venues for 2014 are fast booking up.

Instead, we ended up having one of the most calm, rational and productive wedding conversations that we’ve had yet. Who says you can’t have serious talks while buzzed on PBR? Take that, mom!

We managed to set a budget. That budget is five grand. Neither one of us is interested in spending more than that on one day. I’m sure everyone will tell us how it’s not possible but we’re willing to do whatever it takes in order to make the budget work.

We also talked a lot more  about the reality of a wedding in Iceland. And guess what? It’s looking like that might actually happen.

I’m 50/50 right now between a small wedding in Iceland and a big party in Portland. The fiance, I can tell, is leaning more towards Iceland. Our next move is to talk to our families and make sure that they would come because that’s tremendously important. From there, we work out the logistics and cost to see if it works within our budget.


Photo by Christopher Waddell

I can’t think of anything more awesome than getting married at the black church by the Hotel Budir. Or at least having photos taken in front of it since we’re not remotely religious.

We’ll see what happens over the next few weeks.


Today I talked to a lovely woman who is getting married tomorrow who regaled me with tales of her money saving wedding plans: Getting married on her family’s land, doing their own flowers, hiring a friend to do their photographs, having their guests camp on the property. All that, allllll that and how much did they spend?


Ten motherfucking thousand dollars. For a day. Where people camp and eat food cart food and drink beer.

Here’s a list of things I could buy for $10,000:

1. Some really, really nice breast implants.

2. Half of an Alpaca. Because a whole alpaca costs $20,000. According to my friend, Colleen, I should buy the front half because  “the back half, all you get is shit.”.

alpaca head

Do yourself a favor and google image search alpacas. It will be the best five minutes of your day.

3. I could rent the entire Hotel Budir in Iceland and have my wedding there plus a honeymoon in Europe.

4. Carrot Top. That’s speculation but I’m pretty sure I could.

5. A yard full of fainting goats. Also speculation but again, I’m reasonably sure this could happen with ten grand.

6.rocking chair bed.



7.micro cabin. Because we can’t afford to buy a real house



8. This Land Rover pick-up. Because I would look amazing in it.



9. Diamond studded jeans for my fiance.



10. Did I mention really nice breast implants? Those would last at least ten years. Though if a marriage lasts forever then I suppose the wedding is a better thing to spend the money on. But the fiance would see the boobs every day. He’s not going to look at wedding photos every day. Boobs win.



Now I’m Getting Ridiculous…

My dreams of an Icelandic pony (MINIATURE HORSE, Arin!!) wedding have been shot in the face. The fiance’s mother quickly nipped that in the bud (fuck, I hate that phrase) by telling me it was too far for her 83 year old mother to travel. Suspicious, since her mother is flying to Costa Rica soon. Granted, I’d haul my terrified-of-flying ass on a plane to a sunny beach over a glacier covered in horses anyday…but still. 

The future father in law still thinks it’s a swell idea and is encouraging us to do what we want. So maybe the pony has only been shot in the leg and not in the face. We could amputate below the knee and still make that pony run. And god dammit, I know they’re horses and not ponies but PONY is a fun word to write. 

I’m not even on drugs currently and this is how my brain works. I am a mo’ fucking winner. 


How’s my hair?

In lieu of a super metal wedding at a black chapel in Iceland, I’ve come up with a more ridiculous place to exchange vows. 


Welcome to Suoi Tien Cultural Theme Park in Vietnam. It’s the first Buddhist themed waterslide park ever. Shockingly…

Not just a waterpark though, since it’s a cultural theme park there’s also temples, rides and oddly, a place where you can feel crocodiles hunks of meat from fishing poles…


I found this guy’s tale of taking his family there very entertaining. So much napping! I love napping! I also love dodgy amusement park rides. This place is perfect!


Oooooh! Creepy elephant boats in very questionable water! I’m in love with everything about this place. 

I read somewhere that there’s also an aerial bike tour over the crocodile lagoon which sounds totally safe and not at all terrifying. It ties in the fiance’s love of bicycles! Perfect! 

Perhaps if I keep coming up with ideas like this, both families will gladly fly to Iceland instead. 


Cake Cutters and Mom Dresses

Fresh off a plane that delivered us from the sun drenched burrito capital of the world, San Diego, I sent my dear fiance off to bed and promptly took a more powerful ambien then I have taken in a while. What better time than now to delve into some deep internet mining. Deep into the looming, cavernous mountain of wedding blogs! What treasures can we drag forth from there? What beauty shall I claim as my own? What clever save the date card can I spy and immediately shout at my computer screen, “THAT IS SO MEEEEEEEE!!!!”

Yes, ambien makes me write this way but the wedding bullshit only adds to the crazy. Because really, I ACTUALLY AM supposed to be finding things that speak to me.

My future mother-in-law held up a cake cutter to me as we were picking up a cake for her husband’s retirement party, “See how pretty this is with the beads?” She turning it so that I could admire the bead work and ribbons on the handle. “We could do something like this for you guys but make it unique to you.”

Thought process (ambien style):

-I need a cake cutter?

-I need a special, decorated cake cutter?

-I need to decorate a cake cutter so that it captures the unique theme/personality of our wedding?

-A cake cutter handle is what I should be thinking about right now?

She also told me earlier in the day that traditionally the bride’s mother picks out her dress for the wedding first and then the groom’s mother can pick her dress based off of that. “So there’s no stepping on toes, colors clashing or wildly different styles. ”

Wha…huh? Really? I just kind of figured we’re the type of families who don’t give fucks about such things. I assumed there would be things we’d be skipping. Such as but not limited to:

-Assigned seating


-The chicken dance

-the garter toss or even the bouquet for that matter unless bitches be into it.

-Bridal showers/ engagement parties

-four course meals

That’s all I can think of for now….

Was there anything you really wished you WOULD HAVE done at your wedding or something that will be a non negotiable for you when you do marry?

I thought we were past a lot of the weird rules but they keep popping up. There are no rights and wrongs in weddings. But there’s a whole lot of bonkers shit to think about.

Wedding Plan #456 and #457 Thwarted.

There are no original thoughts in this world. Especially when it comes to weddings. Oh, your gothic cemetery wedding where you get wheeled down the the isle in a coffin? It’s been done, betch. Your adorable carnival themed wedding? Has been done better than you could do it.  Want a gorgeous and classy Alice and Wonderland theme? Too bad, they did it and they did it good. And don’t even start with your Little Mermaid shit because you got nothing on this broad.

My dreams (and by dreams I mean random thought I had while drunk) of getting married at the witch’s mouth at Enchanted Forest have been dashed due to them being fussy about renting out the entire park to me. I will not stand in line to ride the log ride on my wedding day! I figured since they close on weekdays during September they might be open to a group of 80-100 drunks having a party on their grounds but apparently that’s the kind of shit they don’t do. Bastards.


Gaaaawwwwd dammit.

My next brilliant idea was to rent out a summer camp and have an adorable Wet-Hot-American-Summery style wedding. I’ve never heard of anyone doing that shit? Sounds original to me! Could be inexpensive since….wait oh what’s that…oh everyone does it….summer camps actually have wedding packages….

Fucking bag of dicks.

They even have lists of vendors that you have to use. What the hell?

Enchanted Forest

Summer camp

What now?

Aquarium wedding?

Pizza Hut wedding?