Wedding Vows=Wedding Woes

For as long as I can remember, I have disliked going to weddings. When I was younger, it was because I wasn’t really a big fan of wearing dresses or even looking the least bit feminine. I was the epitome of a tomboy. No dolls and dresses, just sports. So if wearing a dress wasn’t bad enough, at wedding, I would have to wear a dress in front a room full of a hundred or more strangers watching my every move and giving me the ill permanent side-eye because I didn’t act like a “lady”. Not much has changed since then. Sure, I might’ve grown some tits. And yea, I sort of grew out of my tomboy stage, but I still can’t stand going to weddings. At a wedding, you are forced to be fake and nice to people you would rather not even have to see, simply because you don’t want to disrespect the bride or groom. No is ever satisfied. Not even the newlyweds. They are so damn tired from a night of remembering names and seating charts that they can’t even fully enjoy their first night of post-marital sex.

Even though I really dislike weddings, I always end up getting invited to them. A few weeks ago, after a longass day, I came home hoping to unwind. On my way in, as usual, I had picked up the mail, hoping for a check of some sort. As I was looking through the mail, “Bill, bill, catalog, bill, and hmm... What do we have here? Birthday card? Nah, it can’t be. My birthday is next month. Duh.” So, I open it up to discover it was an invitation to my friend Sara’s wedding. Upon reexamination of the weighty embossed envelope, I saw it right there, in black 12pt Edwardian Script font: And Guest. Fuck! Could things be any worse? It’ll be my first wedding without a boyfriend to bring as a date, and now I have to go and find a suitable guest. Having to endure “The stage of fakeness”, also known as a wedding, was bad as it is, but now I need not just a date, but a proper guest. Just fucking great, something to look forward to, you know, like a pap smear.

This is just a lose:lose situation. The first loss is devoted to the guests: expectation. If you’re invited with a date, people expect you to bring one. The invitation might as well have said, “Black tie and date optional” because finding a date for a wedding is no small task. The second loss belongs to my date: he can’t be all lovey dovey with me, incessantly declaring his love for me to the guests. What he showers on me in private is one thing(Pun intended). What about if he turns out to be more of a lush than myself? Negative. It’ll be more like babysitting than a date. Simply unacceptable.

I need a date that would know his role and be able to help me get through the wedding without me having to curse some bitch out for looking at me the wrong way. He can’t dance all night or not dance at all. He needs to understand my anxieties and help me laugh at them. He also needs to know,a boss bitch like myself, who rarely believes in the constitution of marriage, alcohol combined with vows might make me want to…I dunno…throw myself in front of a oncoming truck. He can’t smell or have small dick syndrome, you know, just in case I get drunk and horny. He needs to understand that even though for the sake of our lovely audience at the wedding, we might say we are boyfriend and girlfriend, but afterwards, this will certainly not be the case.

Okay, maybe I’m asking for too much. But there’s no way in hell that I’ll go dolo to the wedding. The only single men attending without dates will be under 12 yrs old and older than 50. That’s just not going to work. Shaking my damn head at people that feel the need to pay $50+ per person for complete strangers to attend their wedding. Dumbasses. You know they are only attending the wedding for the free food and liquor. And in some cases, they are better off saving that money. What happens if you get a divorce? You can’t get a refund for wedding expenses fools!

I guess I should stop complaining and start looking through my handy dandy black book. I have to find the perfect date. Fucking sucks. A wedding sort of reminds me of Valentines Day. Finding a wedding date is like finding a valentine: if you have to find one, it doesn’t count. And then, watching a bride is like on Valentines Day when everytime you see a dozen of cellophane wrapped roses, you try to peek at the card hoping they are for you.

Dont Drink and DATE.

Just wanted to tell you about another fuckerific incident that happened to me. And I'm almost positive that almost everyone has gone through something similar at one point or another in their lives.

A few weekends ago I was at a lounge in Long Island. I rarely go out like that out here but it was a friend's birthday so I said what the hell, why not, not like I had anything better to do. I probably would have been at home watching some stupid reality show(ie:For The Love of Ray J)and tweeting my life away. So, I ended up going out. The night was turning out to be boring as hell. Most of the night I just sat at the bar drinking and conversing with the bartender. I couldn't take it anymore. Just as I was getting ready to leave and was getting ready to close my tab, this tall, dark and handsome dude with the most amazing lips comes over and sits down on the stool next to me. Of course you know I had to put a hold on closing that tab. Without hesitation, I introduced myself and started a conversation with him. That's when I found out that he was also there for the same birthday party as I was. And like me, he was also bored as fuck. We instantly clicked(possibly because we were inebriated). He asked me if he could get me a drink, and being the lush I am, before he could even finish the sentence, I said yesiree. When he asked me what I was having, I wanted to say, "How about those lips, on the rocks." But instead, I decided to hold off on the assholishness until a later time. I asked for a grey goose and sprite. I couldn't have him thinking I was a disrespectful bitch just yet. After a couple of drinks, we proceeded to the dance floor. Since it was towards the end of the night, the DJ was playing reggae. So you already know how that type of dancing is. You could tell he was trying to keep his dick from getting hard but it was, as always, a losing battle. So, of course you know I had to step back, took his phone, put my number in it and bizounced on some Cinderella shit, minus the glass slipper.

Next morning, like my usual Sunday routine, I was doing my laundry when I got a phone call from "him". I can't even front, I think I might've smiled. Jus a little. He seemed like a really good dude, and from what I remember, he was pretty damn sexy too. We agreed to meet later on that day at 1pm for lunch. The afternoon date is a bit of a quandary, some believe it is his true attempt to get to know you. He cares less about the quick hit and run and more about something substantial. He wants to get to know you without the alcohol, makeup and heels. Yes, he might be just that into you. And if all is going well, the afternoon can parlay into the evening.

So, I got all dressed up looking all cute and shit for him and headed to the restaurant we agreed to meet at. I am terrible with time so I made sure I left my house early. I got there before he did so I sat down and ordered an iced tea. I sat there staring back and forth to the door and at my phone for possible text messages from him. At exactly 1pm on the dot, right when I was reaching for my phone to text him, he walks in the door. He looked a bit more tired than I had remembered him looking the night before. Hangover perhaps? Maybe. Who knows. I still wanted to get to know him. So he sits down, we order food and start chatting. He was right there, just a ruler distance apart-BAM, in my face. I had to look at him when we spoke because if I didn't, that'd just be plain rude. That's when it hit me- this was a case of SECOND DATE SYNDROME. I started to notice all the defects that were hidden or overlooked the first time. All the facial flaws are right there in plain sight. The night time stud turned into day time YUCK. SMH. What a damn shame. I blame it on poor lighting and way too much Grey Goose.

So, boys and girls, whats the lesson learned here?

Do not give out your numbers to anyone while your drunk! Instead, just ask for theirs and ask for their e-mail address too. That way you can search for them on myspace/facebook/twitter and approve before you agree on that second date.

Tell me about any experience like this that might've happened to you. That way I won't feel so bad about never returning his calls since that date. lol