Or How To Tie Ties.

On Tuesday, I began a post like this:

Holy moly, I'm exhausted. And a little bored, believe it or not. All I have left to do for now is hire a photographer I can't afford and find a whole bunch of addresses for people we haven't seen in multiple years, and who (hopefully) will not be attending our wedding. Oh, and find a dress that (hopefully) costs negative three thousand dollars. I need to find somebody to pay me to wear their gown like I'm hoping is true for Lady Gaga every single time she puts on pants. Or, more accurately, latex g-strings, suspenders, and a bolo tie.

Well, here we are at Thursday I am still down a photographer, but now my DJ has backed out due to a "prior event" (WHAT THE FUCK, DJ? Who cares about those other people!), I'm beginning to panic a tiny bit that the invitations won't get printed in time to mail them in time to get asses in the seats at the church on time all because the invitations weren't printed on time, and I still don't have a yea or nay from the "cook" at the KC "event hall" about whether or not they'll make my totally off-menu menu and how much that off-menu menu might cost, and now I've sent out so many email inquiries to so many vendors that when I get replies to my email inquiries, my initial response is the drop something and run away.

So basically it's going well.

I know I should probably refocus my attention and get around to actually doing homework and shit, and people are expecting me to clean the bathrooms at home, and by "people," I mean my delicate lady bits, who are afraid of the boy pee on the toilet seat, and my co-workers are plotting to strangle me with one of those stupid, $4 chair sashes because I can't shut up about the stupid wedding plans and OH MY GOD MAKE HER STOP.

The good news is that I also need to choose and order (expensive) custom favors/slash/promotional items for my ill-timed trip to NCY for the 5th Annual BlogHer conference. In New York City. Where I'm flying. By myself. To New York. Alone. Maybe 350 custom condoms would send the wrong message to the NYC mugger crowd, although it sure would be awesome to see their faces when I hand over my purse (which was duck taped to my torso and disguised by the pillows I shoved into my shirt to appear less desirable to the NYC rapist crowd) and all that's inside are rubbers that say "Get Boned." and my blog URL.

The muggers would either be so confused that they hand back the purse full of condoms and walk away and find somewhere to wash their hands pronto, or they'd pass the purse and myself along to the rapists standing nearby, sort of like a peace offering for encroaching on their turf.

I've heard that NYC rapists are comparatively educated about STDs, which is great and all, but what I really hope they know is how to make boutonnieres.