In Which Our Heroine Attempts To Plan A Wedding


Before throwing myself into NaNoWriMo catch-up super fun time (2380 words required by end of day, stapled to my TPS reports), I feel obligated to announce that during my one-month sojourn in South Florida, The Boyfriend was officially upgraded to The Fiance.  Basically, he turned in an epic item called [Engagement Ring] to me, and his relationship standing increased to Revered, and now all he has to do is find 2x [Wedding Ring] and he’ll ding Exalted.

See? Shiny purples exist in the real world. Also, yes, I’m 25 years old and still wear black nail polish. Bite me.

So now I have to plan a wedding.  When I was a wee little overlord, around, say, five years old or so, anyone who asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up (still waiting on that one) would be told “A forensic pathologist, a pharmaceutical scientist, a mermaid, and also I want to get married and have babies,” then I’d go back to ignoring everyone in favor of my book or return to playing Funeral or something like that because I was way more ambitious in kindergarten than I am now.  Planning a wedding sounded like a fun way to pass an afternoon, a good way to examine my hopes and dreams.

I am here to tell you that it is a vast political minefield made of treachery and bullshit and I hate it and screw this game, I don’t wanna play anymore.

As much as I love him, The Fiance is not being terribly helpful.  It isn’t that he’s apathetic or lazy, it’s that when confronted with questions like “do you like red or blue better for our wedding colors?” he gets this deer-in-the-headlights look and asks if he can look at paint chips first.  His input thus far consists of “Oh, do whatever you think would be best.”  The problem is that I don’t want to be one of these awful bridezillas who completely takes over the entire thing and leaves their groom standing there wondering what the Hell is going on and why there’s unicorn statuettes everywhere.  A wedding is supposed to be a representation of two people joining themselves together (not Human Centipede), not just one or the other.  Of course, he did help me figure out that the trifecta we’re going to focus on for our nerd-themed wedding is Battlestar Galactica, Doctor Who, and World of Warcraft, so I suppose I should take that and run with it.  It also doesn’t help that my mother, who is an expert at this kind of stuff, lives on the other side of the country, and that right now The Fiance and I are separated by a four and a half hour drive, so sitting down at a table together is a near impossibility.  Trying to plan a wedding over Skype SUCKS.

Then there’s the little matter of the guest list.  Since we’re doing this all on a shoestring budget, a.k.a. “We Have Nothing In Savings So We’re Relying On Other People To Donate Shit And By Shit We Mean Money,” the two of us are trying to keep the guest list small.  We’re limiting it to close friends and family members who we have actually spoken to within the past six months.  Immigrant Grandmother, on the other hand, is offended that I’m not going to invite every single person who ever laid eyes on me from infancy to present day.  Her guest list includes relatives I didn’t even know I had but she insists saw me when I was born.  My memory of this part of my life is a little fuzzy so I have no recollection of them whatsoever.  Then there’s the aunts and uncles (apparently my family likes to bone because I have a lot of them) who stopped talking to me 10 years ago when I turned what they call “weird” and what I call “wearing lots of black.”  I have been told that I have to invite them too.  My grandfather pointed out that even if they don’t come, the more invitations that I send out, the more presents and money we get.  Although I’m likely not going to do that because it’s manipulative and kind of greedy, I still like the cut of his jib.  So much, in fact, that I’ve put him on my Wedding Planning Council which did not exist originally but to accommodate his brilliance I’ve made it so.

Another guest-related thing that’s really giving me trouble is how to delicately phrase “I want you to show up, but your wife/husband is an evil whore/bastard and if he/she shows up I will light them on fire at the reception.”

Immigrant Grandmother is also bristling over the fact that we won’t be serving dinner at our reception — average price per person for that comes out to about $20.  The Fiance and I can barely afford Taco Bell for ourselves, we sure as Hell can’t afford $20 a plate for 50 people.  Our idea was to provide a buffet of nothing but desserts and wine.  She insists that nobody would be willing to come to the wedding if we don’t give them dinner.  My argument is that IT’S CUPCAKES AND BOOZE WITH A SIDE OF FANCY DRESS.  If they don’t want to show up for that, then there’s obviously no getting through to these people.  According to her it’s undignified, which I countered with the tarantella, a staple of all Italian weddings that consists of a bunch of drunk people jumping around and flailing to chase away evil spirits.  She is not currently speaking to me.

Location is also tricky.  Our ideal location is in the courtyard at Blizzard, right in front of the bitchin’ orc statue, but we don’t even know a.) if they’d allow that, and b.) how much they’d charge and I don’t even know who we’d have to talk to about that or how to find that out.  We’ve set the goal for ourselves that by our wedding, which is November 5th of next year, we will be living in California, whether or not our portfolios are accepted.  That being said, goals are sometimes not easily attained, so we’re trying to imagine situations in which we are still trapped in Florida.  We may end up renting an apartment somewhere here for a couple of months before departing for my beloved West Coast, but then that begs the question of whether that apartment will be in Tampa Bay (where I live) or South Florida (where he lives).  At this point, we can’t really commit to any location because we simply do not know where we’re going to be in six months.

At this point I’m ready to just go to the damn courthouse and be done with it.  I’ve come to the conclusion that the majority of a wedding is done for other people’s benefit, i.e. the family.  All of the money that will be spent on decorations, a dress, location, catering, alcohol, etc. could be put towards something like a house or into savings.  It makes the practical side of me cringe just to think of the final bill, even if we do keep to a DIY-style ceremony.  I know this is probably all classified as an Unpopular Opinion, but hey, that’s what Tardbunnies are made out of.  Sugar, spice, and unpopular opinions.


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