Had Patrick and I enjoyed the luxury of a gigantor wedding budget, there are some things that we did not get to have at our wedding but which we would have liked to have had. For me: a photo booth, more chairs, a custom dress. For Patrick: a second photographer, a videographer, a soft serve ice cream machine, a llama.
Yes, like a real, live, breathing and huffing llama. But only at the reception — obviously it’d be a distraction to bring in a domesticated South American camelid for the ceremony.
“It speaks to things for people to do, many more things to make it fun for people,” Patrick explained, intent on convincing Hitched readers that he’s not secretly a third-grader. “Like a photo booth.”
But a llama rental probably would have doubled our $5,000 budget. So no llamas for us. And as it turns out, we managed to power through it and get married without one. Keep reading »
Here’s this article entitled, “The Flip Side Of Being A Female Breadwinner,” another one of those what-does-it-all-mean pieces (yes, there’s an evolutionary psychologist quoted, if you’re playing Navel-Gazey Trend Story Bingo back at home) that takes one person’s experience and blows it up in hopes of making a statement, vaguely tinged with some kind of shame about not doing things properly, about the way women and men live and work now and the way things should be, or ought to be.
The ultimate conclusion of these kinds of pieces? Life is complicated, and no you can’t have it all, and no, we have never heard of anyone who is not a white, middle-class woman because if we did we would have to approach this topic with actual thought and nuance and situate it in a socio-historical context that took long-term economic and political trends into account, and that would be harder than drawing simplistic conclusions about culture and gender roles according to a self-selected sample of friends and “experts.”
I don’t think there’s a “flip side” of being a female breadwinner because I don’t think there are exactly two ways to be a female breadwinner: a way in which everyone is happy in a world of gender roles gone topsy-turvy, and a way in which everyone is swimming miserably upstream. Women — particularly single mothers, particularly women of color- — have been “breadwinning” for years. Keep reading »
One of my friends is going to a wedding this summer, and the bride and groom are asking their guests to buy them gold bars, since they already have literally every other thing two people in the world could possibly need. Besides gold bars.
Gold Bars. Gold. Bars. Gold bars at (I understand the price fluctuates, but) $1,421.99. Unless, you know, you want to buy in bulk. Then you can get them for a steal at $1,411.99.
I think now is as good a time as any to talk about weddings you can’t afford to attend. Keep reading »
If you’re planning a summer wedding, you may now be where I once was, just a few weeks before my nuptials: at the bar.
I was tired of making decisions. I was tired of caring about details. I was tired of answering questions. I was tired of worrying. Planning a big-ass event is hard. Planning one that’s supposed to be the Greatest Day Of Your Life Ever Or Else Your Existence As A Whole Is A Poorly Executed Sham And Everybody Knows It is especially hard, and you don’t have to have purchased stock in Wedding Industrial Complex, Inc. to be worried about it.
So I’m going to tell you a true thing that good people told me. Something I knew intellectually to be true, but something I found emotionally hard to wrap my mind around:
There are two kinds of people who seriously care about your wedding. One of those kinds of people is you and, ideally, the person you’re about to commit your forever life to. The other kind of person is an asshole. Keep reading »
Now that I’m an old-ass boring married lady, spending all my time vacuuming in heels, watching my stories and making martinis at 5 p.m. in anticipation of the imminent arrival of the most interesting man in my world, the only thing left for me to do in life is get pregnant.
But that is not the plan. Well, the making myself martinis at 5 p.m. is frequently part of the plan. Which would be a bad plan if, indeed, Patrick and I were trying to have kids. But this Sunday, and every forseeable third Sunday in May after that, I will celebrate my mom and my mother-in-law, and never be celebrated myself.
By my own design. Of my own volition. With the express agreement of my husband, who will similarly find himself celebrating his dad and father-in-law on future third Sundays in June, but never receive a hideous tie of honor himself.
I realize this isn’t normal for most people. But whether it’s normal or not, let me ask you to err on the side of not being a presumptuous snoot when talking to people who don’t have kids and who, moreover, don’t want to have kids. Keep reading »
How about this: unless you’re speaking to a person who is literally about to walk down an aisle to an altar at which they will proceed to exchange vows of lifelong love to another human being, don’t tell them they’re “next” to get married.
That’s what a friend of mine’s sister told her recently, and … well, I’ll just tell you what my friend — a single lady — expressed in response: “RUH RUH!?!?!” Because seriously. Nobody’s “next.” There’s not a wedding pecking order. Nobody is the first person to get married, and matrimony isn’t a race wherein some people come in second, third or fourth place. Keep reading »