Ladies, your man must really love you, if he is willing to give in and let you do a “Twilight”-inspired engagement photo sesh. That’s at least my thinking behind the engagement photos of couple Lindsay and Ferdinand, which attempt to exactly replicate all the vampire angst of the movie series. More pics after the jump. [Every Last Detail Blog]
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Sure that dress looks great today, but tomorrow that dress is going to wilt. [Buzzfeed]
“Grooms get in free!”
That’s the generous offer from Austin Monthly, my local glossy society rag, for its “Couture, Cakes and Cufflinks,” uh, “Bridal Bash.” There’s nothing particularly unusual about this kind of shill party, and that’s what makes it particularly offensive. It’s every disgusting wedding narrative rolled into one day-long event that women are actually expected to pay to attend.
There’s so much to hate about mainstream wedding culture — the consumerism, the gender policing, the fucking consumerism, the body-shaming, did I mention the consumerism? — but perhaps the wedding-related narrative that pisses me off more than any other is the idea that men are incapable of being interested in weddings and must be coddled and babied so that their delicate wedding-hating sensibilities are not offended. Keep reading »
There were a lot of things I knew I’d have to think about when we decided to get married. I don’t just mean the lofty “What is marriage for?” questions. I mean the practical questions about the ceremony and party. What I’d be wearing underneath my dress for the big day wasn’t, however, one of the things on my mind.
That is until I watched an episode of “Say Yes to the Dress” in which a former beauty queen is lectured by her father about not wearing a thong to her dress fitting. “Thong” is not a word I would ever want to hear come out of my own father’s mouth, but I guess if that’s their relationship, who am I to judge? Prior to that, however, I wasn’t privy to the entire world that is bridal undergarments — a world wherein you’re not just expected to wear something stain-free and seamless, but sexy too. Indeed, “bridal underwear” is its own species in the genus of undergarments. Keep reading »
I’ve been putting off making the trip to the county clerk’s office to see about getting Patrick and I common-law married. In order for me to be enrolled on his health insurance, Patrick’s employers need some kind of governmentally sanctioned proof that we’re not just total liars. The process in Texas for proving you’re not a total liar is pretty simple: you tell the government that you’re not a total liar, sign a piece of paper, and they believe you. Suddenly, marriage!
This one little trip that I can’t seem to make is probably one of the most important things I could be doing just about now. And yet here I sit in my lacy black silk pajamas (Fancy Lady Obsessed With “Downton Abbey” So She Bought Some Nice Underthings Alert!), drinking coffee and fending off keyboard-fascinated cats instead of achieving the twofer of making my relationship more legitimate in the eyes of the government and ensuring that I have proper health coverage.
Though to be fair, I also buy extra underwear so that I can go a month without hitting the laundromat, so know that I am a world-class procrastinator of some renown. It’s not that I have apprehensions about becoming a wife.
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Take a look at this wedding save-the-date card. It’s so awesome — can you see why? Take another look. Still can’t see what makes it so incredible? It’s kind of hard to see, but …
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When Patrick and I got drunk at the lake and decided to get married, we announced it to our friends a couple days later like the classy, plugged-in media power couple we are: via mass text message. Exclamation points. That kind of thing.
The congratulations came flooding in. A couple folks even called. It made me feel like the most important person doing something totally boring and normal in the whole wide world.
But the response I was really worried about getting, and the response that kept me glancing at my phone for validation, was one from my best ladyfriend Susan. I didn’t know what to expect, because I knew Susan hated weddings and wedding-related culture and generally always has a shitty time at weddings. How would she react to me, her best friend, shoving her into the center of a swirling, twirling wedding maelstrom?
“Awwww!” she exclaimed. “Awwww!” Keep reading »
I took dance class for years as a kid. I loved being up on stage, dancing my ass off in front of an auditorium full of strangers. As an adult, I performed stand-up comedy. Loved it. Loved making a bunch of people I’d never met laugh.
But performing my latest dance routine in the living room in front of my parents? A circle of hell I didn’t like to think about, even as a kindergardener. Telling my parents about some jokes I’m working on for a stand-up show? A circle of hell that doesn’t actually exist, because it is so bad that the devil is, like, “No, seriously, Andrea, nothing you could ever do would cause you to deserve this.” Keep reading »
According to the Howie Mandel-helmed show “Mobbed,” women just love elaborately choreographed proposals, involving hundreds of singers and dancers, and complex ruses. This particular proposal, though, doesn’t strike me as romantic–AT ALL. Nope. It just seems incredibly emotionally manipulative and messed up. Watch, as this poor woman thinks her boyfriend’s been cheating on her, and then is assaulted by a seemingly endless musical number. Geez. Pretty screwed up if you ask me. [FashionIndie]