Specifically wedding planning.
You know, when we first got engaged, I was so completely over the moon, there was really no way I was getting off cloud 9. Every waking moment was spent thinking and planning this special get-together and every night was spent dreaming about them. So excited, was I.
Now I can't wait to have this goddamn motherfucking piece of crap day over with. The whole thing is ruined.
Oh. That's a big much.
I didn't want a big day. I wanted a small day. Me, my fiance (we'll call him Big C), our parents and siblings. Just exchanging vows, signing the papers, wearing a ring to symbolize our union and then maybe supper and drinks to celebrate.
Nope. Noooope. That's not what I get. I now have a full-blown hootenanny on my hands.
I get panic attacks, passive-aggressive sisters, overly dramatic mothers, and indifferent in-laws. Too many cooks have spoiled this broth. It's supposed to be a day of love. A day for Big C and I. Now it's a shitshow of 275 people, some of whom I wouldn't know from a hole in the ground (but they HAVE to come because they're neighbors and her husband just died!) and more money being thrown away which I can't think about otherwise I get heart palpitations.
Heart palpitations and gavistcon. My new best friends...
Seriously. How did this get so big? Why did I not speak up a hell of a lot sooner than this?! It's way too fucking late now. We're getting married in 4 1/2 months. The save the dates went out. The invitations are almost ordered. Big C has his list of things to do and I'm trying like fuck to raise some money to pay for the decorations. (4 fucking grand for decor! WTF! Because I wanted the hall to look less hall-ish ooh la la!)
It's all about impressing people. About making a splash. Keeping up with the Jones. Which is ironic because where I come from the Jones' are poor.
I'm so tired. And I'm so stressed. And I'm so done with being tired and stressed. I just want to be at peace. Why can't I be at peace!?!?
Sure. I like my dress. I feel quite beautiful in it. But then I worry that it's too sparkly. Too show off-y, if you will. Like that actually matters. IT'S MY FUCKING WEDDING! Holy shit. Plus the fact that I'm getting so fat I can hardly fit my dress anymore... Fatty McFuck is my name.
Some women are born bridezillas and some women are forced into that role by terrible people who pass judgement too quickly.
For instance. I don't want flowers. It's not my thing. I will probably carry a small bouquet down the aisle, but my bridesmaids are carrying a little lantern (maybe decorated with greenery). My sister, who is my MOH, and my mom, who are supposed to be the most supportive women in my life have nothing good to say. They want flowers. If I don't have flowers, then I'm a stupid person with bad taste. But no pressure...
Another instance. I could not find an invitation that I loved. I was not willing to settle, because I didn't want to shell out near to 800 bucks on paper that I thought 'would do'. I'm sorry that I care, ok? So I'm fussy with my money, sue me. I had my heart set on a picture invitation, but couldn't find one that worked with the invitation wording and it was sincerely driving me up the wall, like I was going MAD.
I had a few picked out that Big C agreed on, and one in particular was nice. Not awesome, or beautiful, but it would do. My sister and mom liked it, because it was traditional (they're very matchy matchy people) and wanted me to go with that. I wouldn't order it because I just felt like I wasn't done looking. There had to be something out there that I was more excited to spend my money on. And then I get accused by them of being too picky and if I don't have a traditional invitation mom will get made fun of by other women in town. You know what? Fuck you and your idea of picky you irrational bitches.
Too harsh? Too harsh...
So tonight, Big C and I decided to go to mixbook.com and have a look around. We started one from scratch together, in the colours that we like, and I added a picture on the back. It's simple, it's what we want, and it's cheap. Bam. And my sister and mom can just not say anything at all if they don't like it. They'll probably say something, but by then it will all be ordered and if they want to be useful they can lick stamps.
Fuck, I could use a hug.