Tag Archives: weddings

BIG NEWS

justmarried1Probably, anyway, because I made this in advance and scheduled it to appear at just the right time. But I’m sure I would have had a free minute with an internet connection to delete it if anything untoward occurred and messed everything up, so if you can see this, it’s safe to assume that I am now married, half-way through my third drink and up to my elbows in cake.

I will busy taking the hobbits to Isengard-gard-gar-gar-gar exploring New Zealand for a few weeks, but have scheduled some things so that you won’t miss me too much and …

… hang on.

justmarried2Wait. Not you guys. I’m sorry, but the big heart-frames weren’t for you.

justmarried3Stop it. You’re supposed to be the evil monsters.justmarried4Guys no.justmarried5GUYS NO.end broadcastNsfw difliculties

Obligatory Wedding Planning Rant

Weddings are hard.

If you haven’t yet organised one, I know that you think you already know this.

You don’t.

Before I got engaged, I thought I knew about them. I thought I knew how over-the-top they could get, how stupidly expensive they are and how rigid some people’s opinions about the dos and don’ts of weddings could be. I thought that, as I was clearly well ahead of the game in identifying these issues, it would be easy to avoid them all. In fact, my foolish words on the matter have been immortalised in a previous blog post so you can go and laugh at me right now if you want to.

Because you can’t avoid it.

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It doesn’t matter how much you don’t want this stuff. Someone somewhere—be they irritating acquaintance who isn’t even invited, pushy contractor, judgemental internet article or beloved and well-meaning family member—will try to make you have it. Sometimes they will do it subtly, almost kindly. And then sometimes it is … less subtle.

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… less subtle, maybe, but far more fabulous. I think I would almost enjoy criticism if it always came in song form.

Most people are absolutely lovely. And if you know me and are reading this, then don’t worry. I’m not talking about you. It’s definitely that internet article I read that one time that made me want to punch the computer screen (I’m looking at you, article outlining a six-month fitness program for brides to make them ‘ready’ for their weddings). You’re probably one of the wonderfully kind and accepting people who always laugh at my jokes and whom I am so very happy to have around me (… and who aren’t going to make a fuss if I messed up those who/whoms).

And there really are so many of these superb people.

Every time I stress out, somebody tells me something that I would like to pass on. I am deeply grateful for them saying it and appreciate anyone who has reminded me of it. And I would love for this advice to pop up in 4am google searches made by frenetic couples trying to find invitation wording etiquette that is guaranteed not to offend anyone, ever, anywhere, under any circumstances, that is, in fact, the gold standard of wedding invitation wording that you could send to people of diametrically opposed ideologies and walks of life who are allergic to everything on your menu, and they will still read it and smile.

This stuff doesn’t matter.

None of it.

Just get married in a way that the two of you—not that irritating acquaintance who isn’t even invited, or the pushy contractor, or the judgemental part of the internet, or even the beloved and well-meaning family member—will remember with fond memories.

And go add something fun and maybe a bit alcoholic to your honeymoon. You deserve it.

How to Propose with Extra Dinosaurs

“Where have you been these last few months? We’ve been suffering without regular posts filled with your sparkling wit and hilarious cartoons!”

I know. I know, guys. I’m so sorry for abandoning you to several dull, me-less months. But I’ve had stuff on.

“What important stuff could someone who has chronic fatigue syndrome, who barely leaves the house, who doesn’t have a job and who continually tells us she’s terrified of her social life possibly have on?” I hear you say. “I mean, you’re actually inventing a conversation with imaginary fans you don’t really have. Surely, that’s rock bottom.”

… All true, but too harsh, guys.

“Oh … We’re sorry.”

Don’t worry about it. Let’s just say we’ve found the line and we’ll try not to cross it again.

What stuff have I had on? Well, a couple of weeks ago I proposed to my partner.

I wrote a Choose Your Own Adventure story about my partner arriving home to find me gone. The first page was clipped to the front door for him to find, and then he had to make choices which would lead him to other pages. I organised a number of perils for him to face, including dinosaurs, the Loch Ness Monster, a severed arm, a Furby* and a ballerina zombie. All pathways of the story converged on finding me and the last page, which had the final decision of the story: “Will you marry me?”

I know. SO ROMANTIC. Who wouldn’t want to marry me after having their hand imaginarily bitten off by the spinosaurus that was hiding in the fridge? I should write romance novels. propose1 He said yes. Everything was downright magical for about a day until people started asking what our wedding plans were, and then I came to an awful realisation.

I don’t like weddings.

Oh, marriage I’m ok with. Sure, it’s not for everyone, but I think it can nice if you and your partner have an equal, supportive relationship. (In fact, I like the idea so much that I think more people should be able to get married; can I get a hell yeah for achieving marriage equality in Australia by the end of 2015?)

But weddings? Weddings are big, expensive and uber stressful. Just thinking about weddings made my anxiety soar to graph-drawing levels. propose2 So we did a lot of thinking.

There’s so much stuff in weddings that people think they need because that’s just how weddings are, but all you actually need to achieve with a wedding is a) get married, and optionally, b) celebrate with family and friends. Everything else is frosting. Which is fine if you like frosting (and are rich enough to pay for it), but we don’t (and aren’t).

We want cake and celebration. We don’t want fuss and glitz, and under no circumstances will I be put on speaker-phone. But ultimately as long we’re married by the end of it I think we’ll call it a win.

* If you don’t know what a Furby is, then you can read what Wikipedia has to say about them, but I find their account unsatisfactory as it completely ignores the saccharine, demonic horror of the toys. Think Funzo from the Simpsons. propose3