Lotti and John are getting married this week in a small, discreet, tasteful, family-only ceremony. Wha-- tasteful? Discreet? This, of course, is a sign of the apocalypse.
We restored the natural order of things by throwing a seriously tacky, god-awful, extravagant hoe-down of a mock wedding. If we continue to exist after Saturday, it's all us. Feel free to send money and praise.
Basically, we pulled together every painful, obnoxious wedding tradition and inflicted it on them. At a bowling alley/bar.
I can't believe Lotti and John didn't catch on before the party: Lotti has tortured many a bride-to-be with white-trash bachelorette parties. We just took it a step further. When she showed up, five of us were gussied up in hideous bridesmaid dresses; the rest were posing as obnoxious wedding guests. She still didn't quite catch on until we hustled her off to the bathroom and introduced her to her e-bay wedding finery. (God, I love e-bay -- a wedding dress for $15, and 5 bridesmaid dresses for $12 total. It's a beautiful thing.) Bob Falls posed as the priest, and we did a ceremony that I wrote (I'm so going to hell.) Then we subjected them to the Chicken Dance, the Dollar Dance, a speed bachelor and bachelorette party complete with avant-guard stripper, the bouquet toss and garter throw, a vengeful ex-girlfriend dressed in white, a slutty bridesmaid (me) who hit on the groom, a bridesmaid who embellished her dress with material that commemorated the Camero's 25th anniversary, and, of course, bowling. It kicked ass.
I've come to the conclusion that I'm sort of a closet exhibitionist. I won't make myself look ridiculous on my own violition, but given half an excuse, I'm all over the foofy dresses and pink hairand hideous blue eyeshadow -- as long as other people are backing me up. Tragically, I started out in the wrong bar-cum-bowling alley. Yes, I was sitting around with a pink updo and a huge white bridesmaid dress at Southport Lanes, all by my lonesome, until I figured out the party was, in fact, at Lucky Strike. Doh!
Becky Brown and her husband Dave, who I'd never met before, actually came in for the party. I took pains to tell them I normally don't look like this, but I don't know if they believed me.
If I ever get married, I'm not telling any of these people. They're all scary as hell.
We restored the natural order of things by throwing a seriously tacky, god-awful, extravagant hoe-down of a mock wedding. If we continue to exist after Saturday, it's all us. Feel free to send money and praise.
Basically, we pulled together every painful, obnoxious wedding tradition and inflicted it on them. At a bowling alley/bar.
I can't believe Lotti and John didn't catch on before the party: Lotti has tortured many a bride-to-be with white-trash bachelorette parties. We just took it a step further. When she showed up, five of us were gussied up in hideous bridesmaid dresses; the rest were posing as obnoxious wedding guests. She still didn't quite catch on until we hustled her off to the bathroom and introduced her to her e-bay wedding finery. (God, I love e-bay -- a wedding dress for $15, and 5 bridesmaid dresses for $12 total. It's a beautiful thing.) Bob Falls posed as the priest, and we did a ceremony that I wrote (I'm so going to hell.) Then we subjected them to the Chicken Dance, the Dollar Dance, a speed bachelor and bachelorette party complete with avant-guard stripper, the bouquet toss and garter throw, a vengeful ex-girlfriend dressed in white, a slutty bridesmaid (me) who hit on the groom, a bridesmaid who embellished her dress with material that commemorated the Camero's 25th anniversary, and, of course, bowling. It kicked ass.
I've come to the conclusion that I'm sort of a closet exhibitionist. I won't make myself look ridiculous on my own violition, but given half an excuse, I'm all over the foofy dresses and pink hairand hideous blue eyeshadow -- as long as other people are backing me up. Tragically, I started out in the wrong bar-cum-bowling alley. Yes, I was sitting around with a pink updo and a huge white bridesmaid dress at Southport Lanes, all by my lonesome, until I figured out the party was, in fact, at Lucky Strike. Doh!
Becky Brown and her husband Dave, who I'd never met before, actually came in for the party. I took pains to tell them I normally don't look like this, but I don't know if they believed me.
If I ever get married, I'm not telling any of these people. They're all scary as hell.
posted by SAJ at
11:38 PM
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