Bette Midler titles all my wedding posts.

I was going to start by apologizing for like…being absent and things but then I remembered that all of my body parts everywhere are melting off of me because of this damn heat. Which must mean that it’s summer.

Yay, summer! And since it’s summer, that must mean that it’s wedding season.

Yay, wedding season!

My mailbox during this time of year.

My mailbox during this time of year.

Don’t get me wrong. I love all of you people and your marriage and your showers and your photos of you in a cornfield with a suitcase you just happened to find out there.

But damn it all, if you could just spread out the love a little bit. Everyone wants to do all their things at the same time and did you know that this is summer stressful for the poor sad single people out there?

Regardless of the fact that I am not in a relationship right now, weddings always stress me out. Or maybe it’s the wedding season that stresses me out. It’s like how in winter time, you’re all stressed wishing for summer, and in summer time, you’re all melt-y, waiting for the cool down. Now that it’s the season of weddings, I’m ready to go into hibernation and not shave my legs for a few months.

Reasons why I am grumpy about weddings in no particular order:

1. It’s all at once. It’s a season. 

My calendar basically looks like someone spat up on it. This is happening here. This is happening there. This is happening at the same time as the other one and it’s like TWO OF YOUR FRIENDS ARE HANGING OVER A VOLCANO AND YOU MUST PICK WHICH ONE YOU LOVE MORE. It’s like that time when Canada farted and snow went all over Michigan in the Snowmageddon of 2k12 expect instead of Canada, it’s your friends, and instead of Michigan, it’s your life, and instead of snow, it’s mountains and mountains of save the dates and magnets and calendar stickers and other shenanigans.

Wedding Season

(Although there was this really really cool save the date magnet I got that had the funky smartphone thing to take a picture of and when you took a picture it would AUTOMATICALLY add the date and time and location to your smartphone calendar. Except then I couldn’t figure out what to do with the thing that you’re supposed to take a picture of, and I didn’t feel like adding another app to my slow ass 4s iPhone so I just added it to my calendar the normal way and glare at the magnet whenever I pass the fridge)

2. You must get dressed and you must get dressed well and you must be able to stay this way for a long long time.

I am generally a low maintenance female, as far as I can tell. I woke up this morning and 8:25, brushed my hair and teeth, put on scrubs for work, then walked out the door at 8:35. That’s ten minutes of cleaning myself up — which I won’t lie, I’d rather be sleeping for.

But then, there are the “special events” of life. Don’t get me wrong, when I actually am all ready to go and I look nice and the make up looks good even though I probably stabbed myself in the eye with the eyeliner a few times and everything…then I’m fine.

But it’s the getting there. 

You have to have a nice dress, which is acceptable for where the wedding is, and when the wedding is. You have to have shoes that match the dress, but also are acceptable for where the wedding is and when the wedding is. This dress works for the wedding, but it matches those heels best, and the wedding is outside and you don’t wanna be the girl that is irrigating the lawn in her heels, so you have to find flats, but maybe that dress looks terrible in flats.

I over analyze.

This was at my old roommate 202's wedding. I wore stiletto heels. It was outdoors. In grass. And on the beach. The heels lasted approximately 5 minutes walking to the wedding, before I ditched them and went barefoot all night.

This was at my old roommate 202’s wedding. I wore stiletto heels. It was outdoors. In grass. And on the beach. The heels lasted approximately 5 minutes walking to the wedding, before I ditched them and went barefoot all night.

I’m so lucky I wear scrubs on a normal basis because otherwise I’d just probably be naked. All the time. Maybe with a hat on. I like hats.

3. To bring a date, or not to bring a date, and what exactly does a wedding date count as anyway.

FunSized recently went to a wedding as “the date,” with one of her friends, which ended in a handy little table setting labeled as such:


Mr. FunSized.

Shenanigans. There’s always the awkward of if you’re getting a plus one, and if you do, who do you bring. Will you have a  group of friends at the wedding to keep you company, or do you need a date because you aren’t sure who else you’ll know? If you bring a date, is it a date or is it just a you need someone to hold your pocketbook while you take photos all over the place? Then you need to find someone who’s reasonably capable of being social in a large party situation in case you get taken away, or if you happen to be in the wedding party and nobody wants the date like my prom date of Ought-Four.

For shits and giggles, here I am [again] in 2004.

For shits and giggles, here I am in 2004. This was not my date. This was my boyfriend. Long story.

Upon our arrival to the dance…

Prom Date: So, I don’t think I told you. I get panic attacks when I’m around large groups of people.

Me: …You mean like at a dance?!

But don’t worry, folks.

Come the big day[s], I will be nicely dressed, with an appropriate date [if applicable], arriving at the proper location because the save the dates are all saved in my phone already. I’ll probably cry, because my friend[s] are getting married and in love, and taking this amazing step to the next stage of their lives and —

I can’t even talk about it anymore, cuz I’m already getting a little choked up.

Oh, and let’s be honest. I can’t even wait for the receptions.


About L.A.

Mom Life/Engaged Life/Blog Life/Love Life

Posted on July 19, 2013, in Merriments and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. You can wear scrubs to the shower. I won’t judge 😉

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  2. Pingback: Flashback Monday has no alliteration and is not a catchy title at all. | Chicks In The Mitt

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