Ok, fine.

This is me and the backseat of the van and the strap of my dress on the long drive from the wedding to the reception.



This is me and the top half of my dress, both of us bonding with the friend that I hadn't seen since eighth grade.



And this is the only clear shot of me and my whole dress, with a nice picturesque background, and the blowing wind and my weird posture conspiring to make it look like I'm smuggling a beachball to the reception along with my huge fat ass. As someone so aptly put it, "Hey, can I get the sack in cinnamon?"


see?
(actually, I really like the dress. In 3D it looked really nice. It just doesn't photograph well. Especially with a beach ball shoved up it.)
;-)

Ok, so, the day of The Wedding.

Rather than tell you all the endless details about just how pretty the bride was and what a beautiful ceremony and how they cut the cake and why did they make strapless bras so uncomfortable, I'll show you some pictures. It was quite simple, really. We took This Girl


and enveloped her dazed self all snug and fluffy into This Dress.



The bridal thong was thoroughly inspected



And after much arrangement and brides-maiding



and product-applying and lip plumping



we crammed all the chiffon and satin and tulle that was the bridal party into a van and drove to the Garden of the Gods.



We then married off this bride



to this groom. (That's his brother and best man to the right.)



There were happy glowing moments



and weepy touchy moments ("What a Wonderful World" set my dad off)



and my favorite man in all the world.



Since I was actually in the wedding, I couldn't take pictures of the actual wedding. But gosh, what a beautiful ceremony, I mean, the bride was just so pretty and the setting just so perfect and the tourists passing by were just so nice, and I had to get a strapless bra at Target, so it was only eleven bucks, but man it was not comfortable....

This is my Pocket

I'll write about the wedding soon, I promise. But first I have to show you my bag:

It's this great tweedy yarn that I got for dirt cheap. The orange flecks in the brown don't show up that well in this pic, but I found the perfect color lining for it. Now I just gotta wait till fall rolls around again...I'm thinking of finding some yarn with more spring-y colors and making myself another one.... YAY KNITTING!

I'll "Chapel of Love" You....

My sister is now an honest woman.

Not only have her sins been washed clean by the flowing holy waters of baptism, she has been taken unto the marriage bed by a similar such child of God:



They will sally henceforth toward the promising horizon of their shared future, which no doubt holds a treasure trove of good clean community bake sales, children born well within the bounds of wedlock, and a generally contemplative and respectable lifestyle.

The night before the wedding, a few humble and well-mannered friends gathered to wish the blushing bride luck, and no doubt offer advice regarding marital duties and china patterns:



After an evening during which her friends and mother surely engaged in extensive spiritual reflection, Jaimie described a feeling of edification regarding the knowledge that her son will not grow up a fatherless heathen in this unclean world. That was just before this picture was taken:


(I just know that she'll be the perfect Christian wife.)

My Date to the Wedding

Charming, funny, sparkling blue eyes...Best date ever.

And how did he know I'm a softie for duckies?

Wedding...woe

There always has to be that one picture in the wedding album of the bride gazing into space, wistful, longing, anxious, maybe a little gassy...who knows.

This is that picture.

Just Lie Back and Think Of England

Here we are at David's Bridal for the last fitting before we were allowed to take The Dress home. I was able to snag my bride's maid's dress off the rack later that day, just before a group of loud black girls descended on the place looking for the exact one I was holding in my hands. I totally loitered in the fitting room for fifteen minutes to make sure it was the right size, not because I was afraid of being jumped by a crazy bridal hunting party.

I've tried to think of an appropriate caption for this picture. I like the title of this entry, myself. But I'm sure we can come up with some others. I'll start.

And that, Mom, is why it's called a "rim job."

P.S.

Oh, and she pronounced it "blodge," not "blog."

As in, "Financial malfeasance is ok with this company, as long as you don't write about in your blodge."

Sent to the Principal's Office; One Demerit

Boss: (in gravely serious, yet surprisingly adult-a-la-Charlie-Brown voice) Mwah wah wah wah company policy wah wah wah wah internet use?

Inside Voice: Would you just get to the point?
Outside Voice: If this is about my blog, I think we should talk about it.

Boss: (pulling out a printed copy of my blog) Mwah wah wah wah against company policy wah wah wah and you commented on what I said about you wearing jeans.

Outside Voice: I thought it was funny.

Boss: I don't see what is funny.

Inside Voice: Obviously you have no sense of humor.

Boss: Mwah wah wah wah wah I don't see why you would do this at work.

Inside Voice: Because I wanted to see if anyone noted me, duh.
Outside Voice: Because I obviously don't care who reads it. You can read it, they can read it, I really don't mind.
Inside Voice: It's...you know...on the internet.

Boss: Yes, well, you also used profanity. Mwah wah wah writing you up now wah wah wah sign this wah wah.

Inside Voice: Profanity? Do you mean "fuck this job?" (Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job
Fuck this job Fuck this job
Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job
Fuck this job Fuck this job
Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job
Fuck this job Fuck this job
Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job Fuck this job ?)
Outside Voice: I guess this will go in my permanent record.
Inside Voice: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHA!!

I had a chance to comment on the piece of paper that I signed that acknowledges that I was a bad, bad monkey, and that any further infractions would definitely be noted and...also filed in my permanent record. I couldn't think of anything to say at the time, but I feel like I should have put something down.

Perhaps "If you really think this is affecting me in any way, you are crazy."
Or "You are reactive and petty and crazy."
Or "I'd say that I can't believe that you spent all this time on this very serious problem when you could have been doing something productive, but I really really can. Because you are crazy."
Or "Free Tibet."

Yes. I think "Free Tibet" would have been appropriate.

Dear Blaze the Amazing Thunder Blazer,

Hi! Wanna come over here and sit down for a minute? I think we should talk. You know, about the other day.

Now, you know I'm not one who strings together the words "I'm" and "sorry" very easily or very often. Not that I plan on doing so right now, you understand. But I think we both know that some harsh words were exchanged. Some pretty ugly things were said in the heat of the moment that one might regret, and I think that needs to be acknowledged.

No, no, there's no need to take the blame, let me finish. How were we to know that your oil filter was loose enough to come blasting off like that? How were we to know that all you really needed was a $4.99 replacement and a few quarts of oil? It could have been anything! I mean, you were spewing fluids all over the place and making really alarming scraping noises! We could have really been in trouble there!

I guess what I'm really trying to say is , I forgive you. Lets just put all of this behind us. Start afresh. Reflect on our relationship and all of the wonderful places it has brought us. Really enjoy those places and continue to go there as often as possible, and definitely not be spiteful or petty just because of some hasty name calling. What do you say, pal? Buddy?

Love,
Mo