As I’ve written many times in the past, before throwing my own wedding, I absolutely detested going to them. Who knows the reason for that. Maybe that I am a horrible mega bitch?
No, the reason is that I detested weddings was because they are a huge, enormous investment of time and money, and I am cheap with both. I went to every single one I was invited to anyway, mostly out of fear that if I didn’t go, I would lose the friend who invited me. And also, as an Irish Catholic, I love to suffer.
Having my own wedding, I was privy to many insider things that I would like to share with those of you who, like the pre-bride me, absolutely detest weddings. I know you’re out there, you horrible mega bitches, and I know that under your cold hard hearts, you still go to weddings anyway, because the real reason why you hate weddings is not because they’re not fun, but rather, because you’re not sure of the rules of how you’re supposed to act as a guest at one.
The following rules will make them less insufferable, I swear it to you.
God, there is so much I want to write, I feel like I am going to suffocate from it. Something else I’m going to suffocate from is my self loathing. After two weeks of being the center of attention literally all of the time, I feel physically nauseous even thinking about writing more about myself on this blog. But, given that all I’ve been doing is thinking and breathing the wedding, all I have to write about is myself. I haven’t even watched a single television program in two weeks, with the marked exception of two episodes of “The Real Housewives of Atlanta” while talking a bubble bath in the jacuzzi of our honeymoon suite the day after the wedding. If I don’t write about myself; I have nothing to write. If I don’t write; you stop reading. If you stop reading; then all I’m left with is nothing, because career is floundering, I’m down to almost zero in the bank (my precious!), and I think that I’m lost almost all of my ambition. Oh I guess I have my husband, which is something great, but not something I want to define me as a person.
Why do people live in New York? It makes almost no sense. Everything was so fucking easy in Savannah. You woke up in the morning, and the air was fresh, and I could go for a run in Forsyth Park while the air grew warm through the Spanish moss hanging from the trees.