I just called someone an “imperious whelp.” That was satisfying. I’m getting a lot of mileage out of that one lately. And I just may have procured a new love seat for my office. You know, for office love. If I have actual furniture, I may have to finally decorate beyond pasting up the ready.gov print-outs. Some flounces over the window, perhaps a bear skin rug… a cone of silence!
While checking out the recent search strings for Vomitola, I discovered the following alarming morsels: gumjobs, bronze buttocks, anal leakage iced tea, and perhaps most disturbing of all: “bridesmaid shoes in color teal.” Sweet frosted globes of the virgin! The gumjobs are perfectly understandable. That’s a Lambchop term if there ever were one. I’d better sneak in a manchowder mention while I’m at it. Bronze buttocks, well, we can’t help you there, unless you were looking for a peek at Steele’s hindquarters. I can’t personally attest, but I’m sure Steele’s rump has a sheen like a new penny. Anal leakage iced tea? Dear reader, if you find out which brand causes anal leakage, do alert me.
Now, the bridesmaid shoes in color teal…those are a real atrocity. I am getting mawied in a few months now. I may have mentioned “wedding” at some point. Certainly I’ve mentioned shoes. But I can’t help you in your misguided pursuit. I wouldn’t tell you where to find those even if I did know! My one or two pals who will stand next to me have been instructed to “wear whatever the hell you want.” I’m not saying it won’t be a posh affair, but I trust in their impeccable taste and have no need to make them wear taffeta ruffles in the color of Circus Peanuts. I don’t need a photo of myself surrounded by grown ladies decked out like Easter Peeps. Matching is way overrated anyway. If my own socks do not match, how can I insist anyone else make such a concession?
Anyway, assembling the trappings of a garden-variety wedding isn’t really that bad. It isn’t that good either. I am not into weddings. In fact I pretty much loathe weddings. I never sat around dreaming of mine when I was a wee be-ribboned tot. But unfortunately the person I am legally and fiscally allying myself with did. Dream of his perfect girlish fantasy wedding. 😛 If I had it to do over again, I would stomp my feet and howl until I found myself boarding a flight to Vegas. But as soon as I start drinking, I am sure to enjoy myself. Most of the niggling details are out of the way, or left up to Mr. H. And registering is FUN, man. I only wish it were not limited to housewares. If I could register for a home submarine kit, or his n’ hers pith helmets, we might be on to something. Or sidearms, those could come in pretty handy these days. I thought a nice concept for the invitation might involve letters pasted together ransom note-style to say “SEND CASH. UNMARKED BILLS.”
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