• Today I was called a cunt on the phone. The dreaded C word. I don’t like to use it but I do on occasion. But I DO NOT TOLERATE IT being used towards me (or towards my boss, as the case may have been). And I especially don’t tolerate it when you’re calling to bitch that we sent you a response to the previous time you called to bitch. We sent you a response, dude! You should be elated that your elected official sent you a response!  Or, if you’re not elated, at least don’t call us cunts.
  • Hopefully the whole Rihanna/Chris Brown debacle will actually shed light to the cycle of domestic violence. It can take women up to 7 or 8 times of being abused within an inch of their lives before they get the courage to leave. Don’t blame Rihanna. She CAN’T help it. She can’t see that she’s in a bad situation. Hopefully Chris Brown will be locked up and never comes out.
  • Hopefully the news will stop calling the aforementioned situation “The Rihanna Attack.” DON’T take Chris Brown out of the picture. HE is the issue.
  • My cat smells funny. And he’s staring at me weird. I think he read my blog because he just put his paw over his face to cover his eyes. CUTENESS. He’s gotten so human-like lately. And I’ve turned into a cat lady. Ugh.
  • This post sucks. I am too burnt out by work and life to blog anymore. I tried. I suck.

Hey, rut, is that you? Nice to see you again. Let’s have wine.

…I told myself I’d do Wii fit tonight… but after this episode of The Office is 30 Rock and ER and then it’s bedtime. Shit.

Edited to add:  I can’t believe I published this post as is. How obnoxious. I just feel like I gave so much of myself and made such a presence in the blogosphere and then dropped out of sight. I owe it to you all and I owe it to myself to maintain blogging integrity.  (But seriously, my cat SMELLS, what IS that?!)

I think if I lived alone and was single, I would be in this funk always. I would live a plain jane boring sad depressed life. See, the boy is out of town until Sunday and I’m just blah. I’ve always craved companionship but I guess I never realize how much I need someone around for interaction at the very least. I need someone to vent to, to veg with, to laugh at the TV with, to throw my thoughts at, to have dinner with… I mean, this yelling at the cat and eating cereal for dinner just doesn’t cut it.

This weekend I’ll aim for a cheerful, substantive post… one that doesn’t talk about cat smells or uses excessive offensive language. Capice?


Perks to my job? Presidents Day off. *sigh*

I spent my morning enjoying the copious shopping possibilities in the area. Filene’s Basement, Old Navy, it was a good day. I decided, since I was alone and since I had a lot of spare time on my hands and since it was a nice day and I didn’t want to go home just yet… let’s stop here at this bridal shop.

Yes, I have my wedding dress. Yes, our wedding party is wearing whatever they want. No, I’ve never set foot in a bridal shop before. WHATEVER, I was going for INSPIRATION. I was going to give The Traditional White Wedding Industry another chance.

Jesus, I never should have stopped.

I walked in and was greeted by a receptionist. What! Where are the pretty dresses? Where are the invitation samples? Where are the GARTERS?! Garters, people, I wanted to look at sexy garters!

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I just had some time and thought I’d wander.” (Uh, leave me alone, biddy.)
“Is there anything you’re looking for?”

“Not particularly. I’m getting married this summer and just wanted some inspiration.” (Can you please stop looking at me like I’m scum?)

“You have to have an appointment with a consultant to look around.”

“Oh. Well then. That’s alright.” (Bitch.)

Really? Is this how all bridal shops work? Do you have to have an appointment at EVERY store with a consultant who is going to push you into buying something frilly and ugly so they get the commission? Reallllly?

You ladies who did or are doing it by the book? More power to you. I just can’t have The Greatest Day of My Life dictated to me by someone who THINKS she knows what I want but has never met me. Why should I surrender my wedding to a consultant? Did she see me in stage makeup in high school? Did she watch me grow out of my awkward stage and into my activist stage? Was she there when I won the women’s studies award or when I drove in a Presidential motorcade? Has she set foot in my apartment? Then how can a CONSULTANT have ANY idea who I am, who we are as a couple, and how our wedding can reflect that? Instead, she talks senseless brides-to-be into weddings that aren’t THEM, but instead fit into a tiny wedding box, complete with a satin bow and a new set of china.

Listen, biddy, I already have china. And a Kitchen Aid mixer. And a freaking awesome dress with a purple petticoat. I don’t need a CONSULTANT.

I don’t understand the wedding industry. I tried, I really did. I don’t understand why couples adhere so blindly to tradition…. When did “because that’s how it’s done” become a good answer for “Why?” And why is it so hard for some to see outside the box or to watch someone else break the mold?

My dad asked me if he could walk me down the aisle. I told him No and by the look on his face, you would’ve thought I had just punched a puppy. Once I explained that the tradition symbolizes the transfer of property no longer owned by the father but now by the husband and how I don’t want to be treated as FREAKING PROPERTY, my stepmom just said, “I guess we don’t really think about traditions.” No shit, Sherlock. I will be walking arm-in-arm with my boy down the aisle… if there’s even an aisle. Because I’m a human being, not something to be bought and sold. Simple as that.

So that’s my rant about the wedding industry. Bottom line: If it’s a day ABOUT the two of you, why muck it up with tradition? Are they YOUR traditions? Let the day REFLECT the two of you. Sure the skeleton of the wedding will be traditional — invitations, ceremony, reception, cake, music, booze — but the details and the way it’s all done will be uniquely US.

Now I’ll step off my high horse and repeat: Remember, your wedding is not a contest, your wedding is not a contest. Ommm….