Do you think that the chicken pasta in cream sauce that I ate for lunch was somehow cancelled out by the Sour Patch Kids I just ate? Christ, I hope so.
There are so many little wedding details, you know? Like decorations and goblets and jewelry and not running away screaming in the other direction. Or, like not being too fucking fat for your dress, which is at this moment being taken in mercilessly by a German lady with gigantic man hands. Or maybe I'm more worried about the tux. Gray needs to lose a few ::SNICKER:: pounds before he will even consider going to get FITTED for a tux, but what he doesn't seem to understand is that July is prime wedding season and hundreds of other grooms (who are either already in shape or don't give a fuck) have secretly plotting to show up before him and rent the best tuxes.
There is a seriously high chance that Gray may show up to the wedding wearing salmon-colored tails and a satin top hat because it was either that or the last tux in stock, and regardless of what that last tux looks like, Gray will inevitably decide is too "gay looking". Fortunately, the tuxedo is one of the tasks that I delegated to the groom, so theoretically the it's something I don't need to worry about. Except I don't work that way because, UM HELLO...BRIDE, so I spend every waking moment obsessed with the fact that we are now 87 days away from the wedding and Gray has a family-sized watermelon hanging out under his Slayer t-shirt.
I almost wish he was one of those guys who gets pregnant because he's really a She, but doesn't tell his wife until he's in the middle of giving birth, so not only is there a new baby to adjust to, but also now they have to figure out if they're lesbians. That would be less stressful this.
A few of the things that I intend to do to prepare myself for the wedding (other than run a marathon, rid the world of cellulite, and win the Powerball jackpot) are kind of...hmmm, shall we say...CRAZY? Like this one: I am quitting chapstick. No, really. I decided that I don't want every one of my $2500 wedding photographs to be of me putting on chapstick, something that is very likely to occur if I don't get off the sauce. My lips are screaming in agony as we speak. This is way worse than when I quit smoking (the last time).
Also, I'm pretending that I have good posture. I stuck "Sit up Straight" post-it notes all over my office and I rolled up a blanket and stuck it in the ass-print groove of my chair, behind my butt. This prevents me from sitting all the way back in my incredibly non-ergonomic desk chair and either sliding down so that my eyeballs are parallel with my keyboard, or slouching over violently and with violence.
Sitting up straight fucking sucks, man. My ass bones hurt from sitting directly on them all day long. It kind of feels like I'm working on steel bleachers but left my butt-pillow at home. My shoulder and mid-back muscles burn like yeast-infected cooter flaps under what seem to be the laziest shoulders EVER. I'm pretty sure my goldfish could kick my lazy ass.
SHIT. 87 DAYS TO GET IN PEAK PHYSICAL CONDITION! ::puts down glass of alfredo sauce with straw::
We went to a restaurant last Saturday night to celebrate a couple of birthdays, and as we were led to our table, we walked behind a table full of glittery and sequined prom-goers. Either that, or they were from Jersey. Everyone was dressed to the 12's, professional hair and makeup, inappropriately low-cut dresses and multiple suspicious moles underneath the prematurely leathered hides. And the girls....OH MY GOD, GRANDMA WAS RIGHT...looked like contestants in the Miss Retarded-Anorexic-Hump-Back America pageant.
They looked exactly how I don't want to look on my wedding day, like monkeys trying to give themselves blowjobs (but with more glitz) and so now I'm trying desperately to undo 27 years of terrible posture in exactly 87 days, all while Not Eating, De-Paste-ifying my skin without acquiring melanoma, Having Multiple Moles Removed (I'm undecided about the under-boob mole, it's kind of cute), and eventually getting around to Doing Something About these Flappy-Skinned Underarms.
If there was time or money, I'd also be doing Teeth Whitening, but since I work in an office and have access to a large stash of White Out, professional whitening seems like a waste of money.
We're not registering, but if you'd like to pay for my nose job, just let me know.
**Re: Captain Dumbass: I think Gray should wear that Slayer shirt with a bow tie and a top hat.
You mean like this?