tonight scooter and i randomly ended up on a tangent about the dreaded M-word. something about the froufy girls that actually obsess over this wretchedly horrifying event, and thus make it all the more horrifying. i have never been one of those girls. the handful of times someone has dared to ask if i ever draped a pillowcase over my head and acted out my dream gagweddinggag when i was a little girl, they have been met with either a blank stare (what the bloody fuck?) or absolute disgust. what i want to know, though, are there actually people out there that did crap like that? i don’t think i can even fathom that one. it’s just so…weird.
anyway, i digress. but, and maybe this comes from being a total bastard for most of my childhood, but you know, the whole wedding thing was never that big of a deal. the few i participated in as a child, were on the whole very boring, often uncomfortable events (tights, stupid dresses, boring ceremonies, etc.) . i can’t imagine someone actually wanting to go through the whole pomp and circumstance of the modern-day “traditional” matrimony bullshit. much less spending a major portion of their lives fantasizing over such an overwhelmingly anticlimactic and frivolous event the way michael jackson would cream his pants if someone told him, “sure, mikey, you can open up a day care at the neverland ranch. yeah, it can be an all-boys daycare if you want. have fun!” as scooter and i were discussing, these silly wedding things are terribly expensive. like, mind-blowingly, you-are-spending-a-shitload-of-money-on-crappy-decorations -and-ugly-dresses-and-flowers-that-will-be-dead-tomorrow-when-you -could-be-buying-something-awesome-like-a-vacation-or-hookers-and-blow expensive. seriously, so much money on basically a party that isn’t terribly exciting or fun (no robots, usually a minimal amount of liquor, most always craptacular music, no dancing monkeys and/or attack bears = lame) and this thing that is allegedly supposed to be intimate and personal or whatever, is basically drawn out into some extravaggant display of retardism. consider, example, the kinds of crap that are involved in these things:
- wedding cake
- photographers
- wedding rings (i still don’t know the difference between these & engagement rings)
- invitations
- reception hall rentals (sometimes)
- rehearsal dinners (i never understood why someone has to rehearse dinner)
- flowers and decorations (which are usually really tacky, or just superfluous)
- dresses
- tuxedos
(note: formal wear in and of itself is pretty much disturbing, and highly uncomfortable) - if you’re classy and can afford it, limo rentals & fees
- marriage license (ok, that one’s not quite as frivolous, but i believe it has a cost)
i’m sure the list goes on, but i can’t even begin to fathom, nor do i care. additonally, because of how out of hand the marrying craze has gotten these days, people actually have wedding planners. this, i cannot believe. if these women (and very rarely on occassion, men) are devoting so much time to obsessing over every little insignificant detail of their ultimate dream wedding celebrations that they basically run out and snag any poor sap they can get their hands on just to speed up the process of frolicking around in unflattering taffeta and itchy lace, one would think they’d be able to put together the actual plan for it. but no, there are poor, hapless folks out there whose job it is to deal with these obsessive, controlling freaks and spend day in and day out planning…weddings. i think i’d rather be a jizz mopper at a porno theatre.
and before i completely disgust myself, post-scooter discussion, i looked it up and the average wedding cost in massachusetts is roughly $36,400.00. holy fucking shit… do you have any idea how many hookers and how much blow one could acquire for that much money? i mean, fuck, man…that’s like, a freaking year’s tuition of college right there! that’s paying off my student loans, covering at least a year or two of rent and all of my bills and maybe taking a spiffy vacation while putting some away for savings as well! that’s fucking mind-boggling insane. oh, what a kick-ass, awesome as all hell computer i would buy with some of that money! the things you could do for $36k! i just can’t wrap my mind around spending that.much.money on a one-maybe-two day shindig. or if i did spend that much money for what is essentially a glorified party of underwhelming proportions…i would fucking to all out, skip the whole “holy matrimony” bullshit, get monkeys and robots and booze for all, and rock out with my figurative cock out. seriously. i swear to christ there would be monkeys.
scooter mentioned how most crazed chicks these days are so concerned with their dream weddings that they don’t even really care who they marry. which isn’t suprising at all considering the divorce rate in the country, and furthermore the unhappy, disfunctional families scattering the nation. no suprise at all. sure, you got your taffeta, your disgustingly soap-like mints & party favors, your over-priced pictures and your expensive-now-dried-and-cased flowers. maybe you even got your honeymoon trip to some island you didn’t leave your bedroom to check out. but maybe you also got a “till death do you part” with a practical stranger, or someone you liked enough to take pictures that will look good with, but not enough to really spend your life with. maybe you married a drunk or an alcoholic or a passive-agressive hypochondriac jesus freak. maybe a year or two or ten into it you realize that it isn’t all chicken dance and smooshing cake into eachother’s faces; only now you’re saddled down with a squalling, screaming, diapered toddler who wreaks havoc on your “dream home” as gravity begins to draw you into its grasp and you spend every evening staring across the dinner table at someone you have absolutely nothing to say to. maybe you have an affair, maybe your spouse does. but who cares if you got to live out every detail of some warped wedding fantasy you had when you were five — and thus weird for not being out in the sandbox playing dinosaurs vs. GI joe. (dinosaurs usually win, btw)
it just…well…i don’t get it. and i honestly hope i never do. and thus, i had a perfect solution. actually, it was somewhat inspired by something i read on salon.com where a man marries himself. and he’s spouting a lot of rhetoric about singlehood and blah blah blah and basicaly anti-committment, etc. which is all well and good for that dude, i suppose, but that’s not what i’m focusing on. because assuming i had the cash to spend $2,300 on flowers — and why in fuck’s name am i not spending that money on a computer or something actually worthwhile?!?! — or the $36,400.00 to spend on a “wedding” (incidentally, it’s roughly $30,000.00 in allston)…i could have the monkey robot liquor partie i envisioned before. because basically, the way i see it marriage and love have nothing to do with eachother whatsoever. at least not in the conventional, modern-day sense. gays and lesbians have been clamouring for equality in marriage and unfortunately been nearly defeated at every corner. i’ve never viewed marriage as an institute of equality, but that’s probably my own deal. anyway, it is highly unfortunate that while i’m sure there are gay and lesbian couples out there that love each other more than anything on the whole wide world, they have to cheapen their relationship by practically begging for recognition from the government and a few paltry rights. that’s not to belittle it, but just saying…you shouldn’t have to compromise your relationship and its privacy for a tax break. furthermore, it’s none of the government’s fucking business who you love/fuck/or want to marry, be it a man, woman, or barnyard animal of choice. i suppose this is why i see the whole marriage thing in the same light as a funeral. you take the private domain of whatever relationship you might be in, and give it a big, tawdry send-off as you sign away control to the public domain and government-ordained guidelines. what the fuck ever. no fucking thank you. i’ve actually seen couples together for decades now, without an “offical” marriage or any government acknowledgement and they’re perfectly content, functioning and happy. or as much as they can be, i suppose. this is the kind of shit that should stay between two peole, and also not be depicted on a really garish and too disturbing-looking to be actually eaten cake — did i mention i don’t like cake? because i don’t.
which is why i think it would be better to marry oneself, just to show how freaking stupid the whole damned thing is anyway. except i wouldn’t want to spend any god damned money on it. not something like that. ok, maybe like, enough to get a fifth of jack or something…hell, might as well make it a handle. mmm, and some nice cigars. then again, this brings up the whole dilemma of “would i marry myself?” tricksy tricksy, yo. because i’m not sure i would. definitely, most definitely, i would have to get a pre-nup. because who’s to say i won’t get bored with myself, sneak out one night with all my money and go run away to an island of poolboys who will serve me fruity drinks? and if i married myself, i’m sure it would have to be an open relationship. because, you can only bang yourself for so long before you’d get mighty bored. then it’d be me, myself and a bottle of JD arguing over who’s cheating on who and most likely getting rip-roarin’ drunk and playing an excessively violent game of The Incredible Hulk. now that i think about it, that part doesn’t sound too bad, actually. i wouldn’t buy myself a ring, either. because that is retarded. and since massachusetts doesn’t recognize my common law marriage to scooter, i suppose i don’t have to get a common law divorce. which is good, because how would we work out tofu visitation rights & custody? nah, i’ll just say i’m mormon or some shit, keep scooter hush-hush on the side and get hitched to myself in vegas or something. maybe at one of them elvis chapels. then again…i could always save money on ticket to vegas and spend it on hookers and blow, because i just remembered that scooter is an ordained minister, so she could perform the ceremony and i could pay her off with a 40oz. of schiltz. maybe we could play upwards after. or deep-fry some stuff.
yeah, that’d be cool.
/complete nonsense
this post brought to you by the letter Chicken Pot Pie, the number Octo-Pussoir & my good friend Insomnia
ok, um, yeah…
i did act out my wedding as a kid (but it was my mom’s slip instead of a pillowcase on my head – somehow that’s even more fucked up), and i’m now in the process of planning an ungodly expensive real wedding, with flowers, taffeta, and tuxes (and a cake! i fucking hate cake).
the power duo has officially parted ways on the mind bullets thing.
also – as for the wedding/engagement rings? seriously, my engagement ring is worth getting married for alone.