The blogging train is finally pulling back into my station. And just in the nick of time. I am supposedly eyeball deep in wedding planning, though I’ve come to understand one gigantic principle that governs the arrangement of nuptial ceremonies: they just plain can’t happen if you don’t have the capital. That is, if you want the wedding of your simple little poor person dreams, even that can come at such a price that you feel depressed and discouraged at the mere thought of how much you’ll shell out for, oh, say, 100 mexican pastries instead of a cake.
I am quite close to being serious about that. Our plans have literally shrunk in size as the months pass. We have yet to pick a venue (if you know me in real life, you can stomp hounding. As soon as we know, you will know. Believe me. I will email/call/text/poke you in person the moment we so much as agree on a decent site to have this lil shindig). I don’t know how anyone ever decides on the exact spot to carry out their vows. We can’t get over how contrived and mechanical all these so called “venues” seem. It might just be something we have to get over, however, as a family friend with property in the country whose willing to let us and 100 of our closest friends get margarita’d up is proving impossible to come by. If you know anyone- and I mean ANYONE- get a hold of me. I wish I were kidding- I’m that desperate.
At this rate, I’ll be making Matt looking the younger of us two come wedding day. Bald? HA. I’ll see your male pattern baldness and raise you with one female premature white head o’ hair. I never know which is worse.
Mark my word, though. We will marry before the year is through! Even if it’s at the court house on New Years eve…