Sunday, July 22, 2007
two divorcees and a self-confessed commitment-phobe (or just anti-monogrammed-pouffy-accessories-phobe), all three working in mental health. the obvious sunday activity is to go to a bridal expo at the louisville downtown convention centre for a little "systematic desensitization" to work through past trauma (hyperventilation at the sign of a tiara) and first time anxiety ("you mean i have to COOK? well, maybe i just wont register for pans and butcher knives").
working therapeutically with any family system, there is always an IP (identified patient) who is the scapegoat for all the problems and therefore gets the most attention. today, as the odd one out (odd meaning i had not been married or divorced, not odd, as in a lazy eye and facial twitches), i was the IB (identified bride), although about 10 minutes in, i developed a stinking case of IBS (irritable bride syndrome).
despite what some may think, i really am a crap liar. the middle aged, married vendor ladies excitedly asked us who the bride was, when the date was, and if a wedding planner/honeymoon destination/ballroom rental had been identified. now i can throw a mood swing and pout with the best of the bridezilla's out there, but as the afternoon progressed i admit i got a little testy with the heavy set (unmarried) vendor chick (i bet she belongs to an oprah book club) who was trying to convince me of the value in providing monogrammed necklaces/bracelets/bags/purses/puppies for my bridesmaids. i almost spat at her "i'm not having any bloody bridesmaids, what exactly is the purpose of having 5 females who hate their hair/outfits/jewelry/shoes/personal lives/me (for making them wear hair/outfits/shoes/jewelry) stand around like potted plants 30 plus minutes, only to go to a reception, get utterly plastered, and try to suck face with anything in a pair of trousers and predictably spend the last part of the evening crying at how they will never find a man who will appreciate them (or their 5 cats) and subsequently call the random dudes they tried to make a love connection with, every day for the next 2 weeks.
in an effort to adjust my attitude, i gravitated towards the testosterone that was manning the "x-treme d-jay" booth. i asked if they juggled with swords and swallowed fire. [silence] damn the other 2 dysfunctional amigos for leaving me unattended. they certainly appeared to have worked through their trauma over at the catering table sampling the various canapes and crudites.
i confess to having had high hopes for the people watching component, however the mullet tally did not even get into single digits, despite this being kentucky. the general populus comprised of a bevy of gaucho pant wearing sorority girls, complete with muffin tops and french manicures, whining to their post menopausal counterparts; the mother of the bride. oddly enough the hollywood penchant for having a baby before the "i do's" (or perhaps it started here and now brangelinabennifer are behind the times) was in evidence, as there were quite a few couples pushing strollers while perusing stationary and "destination wedding" packages. out of the few guys that appeared to have been dragged there by the promise of free food samples, there was one rather intriguing groom-to-be sporting a long pony tail, bandana, and black stonewash jeans (hell, i would pony up for a couple's gift certificate to tattoo charlie's just to get an invite to their wedding).
what i have come away with from this little experiment (?), intervention (?), is that a wedding is a slightly more structured version of a halloween party (except without the kitchen aid gadgets). it can often be hard to identify what you want, but i know that i do not want a cake the size of a filing cabinet, or gold leaf, calligraphic, tissue paper invitations where the interior of the envelope must match great auntie gertrude's liver spots. nor do i see the point in stretched limousines with strobe lights, karaoke machines, flat screen tv's or laptops (unless we're commuting to anchorage, alaska for the reception).
the night before bride-a-palooza i told a friend about the impending pilgrimage to all things haute couture, hair, and histrionic. she very nicely conceptualized it for me:
"so basically you're just going so you can make fun of people?"
"but, i'm going to the state fair for the same reason next month".
(i'm an equal opportunities make funner of others, damnit!)