Who is this person I want to murder?

If you're engaged, odds are it's your fiance.  It's surely not your girlfriend.  No way.  You loved your girlfriend.  You wanted to spend the rest of your life with her.  You felt so strongly about your girlfriend that you got down on one knee, and speech or not, you asked her to marry you.  ("Yes!" she exclaimed excitedly, as you move on to the next paragraph / "No way!" she yelled disgustedly, as you skip to the bottom of this post)

"Yes!" she exclaimed excitedly.  Hooray!  Call all of your friends and family.  Let them know what a happy occasion this is in your life.  Really relish the moment, because for the rest of this engagement, shit is about to go down hill.  Down down down down hill.

Fast forward five months.  You're half way through the engagement.  Half way to being married from the time you proposed.  And now you loathe everything about the very same person you were in love with five months ago.  What the heck, you ask yourself, this person used to be a good time.  Well guess what, now she's a bride-to-be, and brides-to-be are the terrorists of love.

The bride-to-be wants her wedding, and since it's her wedding, you say "It's all yours, babycakes, do your damage."  Inside, you know that it's not really all hers, it's at least 6% yours, but who cares?  You give this one to her.  She's excited.  Let her have her wedding.  And then she starts to tell you all of the ideas she has:  Where she wants it, who she wants there, what she wants to dance to, what she wants to eat, where the honeymoon will be, what color the ladies will wear, what color the men will wear, the number of people at each table, the number of your friends that aren't allowed to come, the type of frosting on the cake, and where to register for gifts.  Discussed these issues with your lady?  Tip of the iceberg, fellas.

You didn't quite like the place she had picked out.  You don't really understand why all of these people have to come.  You don't give a shit what you're dancing to, because you'll be at the bar, but she's already chosen the bar menu, so maybe you'll end up dancing, after all.  Blech.  Deep in your heart, you know you won't actually get to eat any food, but you still have your own ideas.  ("I don't care what we eat," you say, as you move to the next paragraph / "I have some ideas about the menu," you say as you skip the next paragraph)

"I don't care what we eat," you say.  "I honestly think whatever choice you make will be the right one."  Congratulations!  You have a happy bride, and your story is over.

"I have some ideas about the menu," you say, because it's only natural to have opinions.  And anyway, she's been saying over and over again that she wants you to weigh in on these issues.  She wants to know your opinions on everything.  So finally, after letting her mediocre decisions go on forever, you speak up, because you know you know best.  "No way in hell are we having a breakfast sandwich table," she says.  Just like that, the one thing you cared about most is shot down.

Now that you've lost one fantastic idea to the love terrorists, you start to compensate for it by coming up with other fantastic ideas.  You start to care about every aspect of every aspect.  You have opinions on issues you didn't even know existed.  More than that, strong opinions!  Because if you don't, she's just gonna run away with this whole thing.  So let the fighting begin.  And fight you will, until the very day you're fighting about.

You're only half way through.  It's only going to get worse.  Everyone says it's only going to get worse.  So you dread the next five months.  And when you look at your special gal's face, the face you used to take solace in, you're filled with violent rage.  This can't be healthy.  But hey!  You're engaged, it's only natural.  If you can make it through this, you can make it through anything.  You still really want that breakfast sandwich table, though...


"No way!" she yelled disgustedly.  You lucky bastard.

Ask, and Ye Shall Receive

  Source: http://interactivewdw.com/theme-parks/magic-kingdom/

Ever since I proposed, the question I've gotten the most from people is how did I propose.  And I'm sick of answering it.  So I will tell the little tale on here, and never speak of the instance again.  However, since My Lady will forever be disgruntled that I didn't give her a little "You are the best thing in the world" speech when I took my knee, I'm going to change up the story a little bit.

We had taken a trip across the country, because my live-in brother-in-law and best friend were broadcasting their rush hour radio program from the Living Seas exhibit in Epcot, Walt Disney World.  There was actually quite a bit of tomfoolery going on.  My youngest daughter cut in front of my middle daughter for the chance to win three wishes from the Genie, opening a whole can of snot nosed worms.  Meanwhile, my oldest daughter couldn't stop seeing images of her boyfriend everywhere.  This last part makes sense, because he was such a close part of the Disney family.  His name was Aladdin.  May he rest in peace.  Unfortunately, Aladdin couldn't come on the trip with us, and so my oldest daughter was quite simply just a crazy bitch.

Okay, so anyway, I wanted to use the opportunity to propose to my girlfriend of sometime, and I thought, what better place to do it than Disney World.  So I was trying and trying all day long but kept getting interrupted.  I don't remember exactly how I tried to ask all those initial times, because it's not on instant Netflix.  In the end, I had a neato firework pop up at that night's fireworks display, and it said something like "Will you marry me?" And she said yes.

In real life, my lady said, "I have to pee."  To which I replied, "Hold on a second," did the knee thing, skipped the little speech (for her bladder's sake) and got right to the question.  She answered "Okay," or something, followed by, "can I pee now?"  And we will be in love forever.

Three Splendid Years!

Source:  www.wegmans.com

Even amidst all the chaos of the wedding planning, there's still time for a little fun.  My little lady and I recently celebrated three years of dating!  Who says the romance should be dead at this point?  I am here to report firsthand that it is alive and well!  I prepared a delicious feast for her (who doesn't love grilled cheese?) and we washed it down with a champagne toast -- a bottle each of Andre Brut AND Cold Duck!  Although, if I learned anything in my Beer & Wine Appreciation class, I know that neither of those is actually champagne.  Shhhh, don't tell her!

Following the meal, we exchanged gifts.  I hope you like your T-shirt, darling!  And thank YOU for such a great present!  Nothing says "I'll love you more when you're not so fat" quite like a gym membership!

The Merger

Source: http://musicalstewdaily.wordpress.com/

It has more to do with this marriage than you'd think.

Big East pride has flowed through my veins since they pulled me from the womb.  I took my very first breath on the Syracuse University campus on the weekend preceding the all Big East NCAA basketball tournament championship, when Villanova upset Georgetown to cut down the nets. Sometime later, I would return to Syracuse for a brief five years, where I would end up meeting half of my superhero groomsmen, and my beautiful Bride-to-be.

Where was said Bride-to-be for her undergraduate career? The University of North Carolina. Gross. Fortunately, though, our beloved Alma Maters have rarely played each other in their prideful basketball programs, leaving little contention between my lady and me in the past few years (just one single, noteworthy game).  It was no joke when I proposed the wedding colors of powder blue and orange, in honor of our schools.  Again let me say, the powder blue was a concession on my part.

Now my Orange have betrayed me, and left a so-called floundering conference. I concede, it was the only move we could make, as someone from the Big East was definitely going to abandon us.  We didn't want to be left playing DePaul and TCU. We had no choice. Yet, these words are like alcohol on a big gaping wound. They help, but it still hurts like a bitch. And now, the Syracuse Orange are a part of the Atlantic Coast Conference.  The ACC is known for a helluva rivalry between two podunk schools on filthy little Tobacco Road. Tobacco will stain your teeth and rot your heart, my friends.  So will those slimy NC teams.

The irony is, the only silver lining I've found in this cloud of a merger is the fact that the Orange will be sticking it to the Tar Heels and Blue Devils on a yearly basis.  Though, as said by the Grateful Dead, "Every silver lining's got a touch of grey." One to three times a year, depending on tourney play and scheduling, our Holy Matrimony will be raked over the coals when Syracuse and UNC collide.  All I can hope is that our marriage has more of a backbone than Big East ship-jumping Syracuse.

The Necessity of Engagement Photos

When you're engaged, odds are you're planning a wedding. When you're planning a wedding, odds are that you've set aside all of the fun things you and your best gal/guy fell in love doing, and you've started, well, planning a wedding. So what better way to commemorate this period of engagement than with photos that will last a lifetime? No better way.

At first, being so angry, I was skeptical of these engagement photos. Then I realized, there are still a few glimmers of happiness left in this relationship, even amidst the wedding planning. Better to capture them now, than wait until they're gone for good! So yes, darling, I will take these pictures with you.

But don't ask me where and when we should do them. On a beach or in a car, I do not care where the hell we are. As a matter of fact, I don't even care if we are in them. If you want to get down to the real nitty gritty, I don't think we should be in them! Conventionality is dead! That's why we're switching it up: An Engagement Diorama!

This afternoon I will head to the Play-Doh store, where I will pick up all of the necessary colors of Play-Doh to create the most beautiful, picturesque engagement diorama this side of the other side. I already have the shoe box. With Play-Doh, our love will know no bounds. We can go anywhere we want! Wear anything we want! BE anything we want! The true American dream. Plus, since neither myself nor the Bride have any artistic talent whatsoever, no one will know what the pictures are!

It just came to my attention that I have absolutely no idea what the point of engagement photos is. Do other people even see them? And if so, wouldn't they rather see cool, badass Play-Doh people, rather than faces they've known for years?

So why trek to some romantic bluff overlooking some romantic sunset over a romantic ocean with romantic dolphins copulating at high tide? We could spend a day - nay, 2 days! - creating memories that will last a lifetime while creating the first ever engagement diorama. And when we look back in five to sixty years when this romance has run its course, at least our Play-Doh likenesses will be smiling.

Source: http://blog.timesunion.com/

Just Say No to "Say Yes to the Dress"

...Because it isn't a good show. At least not if you care about your time. Problem is, it's always on in my house. Between my gal and her weird, new, out-of-nowhere obsession with white dresses, and my roommate's new aspirations of being a wedding planner, I can't escape this Godawful show.

Let me try to explain it to those of you that have never heard of it. A bride (generally a lady, sometimes not?) goes to the Bride-clothes store with a group of her shrews and usually her madre, and she gets into different wedding dresses and everyone says what they think. Makes for riveting television, let me tell you. I have no idea how it ends, because somehow I am always able to pull myself away from its black taffeta hole. I guess in a lot of cases the bride ends up getting a dress.

Harmless enough for whatever estrogen-laden cable channel it's on, but of course they take it a step too far. Last week, the bride's mother (who never had a proper wedding of her own) decided to slip into a wedding dress that she was going to wear to her daughter's wedding. That sick, sick woman. In another case, the groom came along for the ride, and was making the bridesmaids try on hideous clothes. Bridesmaid A, the bride's sister, was reduced to tears! Tears!!

TEARS!!!!

To pay him back, the stylist or costume man or tailor or whatever the dude is called made the GROOM squeeze into a dress. I managed to escape from such an intriguing story line because I had something better to do, like take a crap. Actually, now that I think about it, the show may have acted as a catalyst for my BM. That shit was flowing.

And now that you're thinking about poop, you have an accurate depiction of what "Say Yes to the Dress" is really like.

The Groomsmen's Attire

From the first day of this engagement, the Bride made it clear that I have only 1 - count it, one - item of control in this whole planning process, and that is the cake. Now, don't get me wrong, I love cake, but this is not my only area of expertise. Fortunately, the Bride was a little shortsighted, and didn't realize I get to choose the groomsmen.

After much debate, it appears that we (she) have (has) chosen the wedding colors. I didn't get the Syracuse Orange I was so adamant about, but I'll deal (and let's get something straight here, when I offered powder blue as an option, it was only to appease the Bride).

So now we have to find some clothes that are good enough for the group of badasses that will be standing up next to me. These are no ordinary men, people. They are superheroes, and they deserve to be dressed as such. No, I'm not talking about capes, although no one has ever looked bad in a cape. I'm talking about a suit that speaks volumes about the man who is wearing it. So look no further:








Source: http://www.yankeesmall.com

Obviously I know what you're wondering, my dear, old Bride. Why did I forego Roger Maris and a complete lineup of single digit legends? I'm just hoping whoever ends up in #42 will get the ultimate save, and whisk me out of the church before you show up.

All joking aside, darling, what are your thoughts on capes?

To The Bride

To My Dear, Sweet Bride,

You know how I feel about you. That's why I've started calling you "My Bride" instead of "Some Broad." You also knew what you signed up for when you said "Yes." So now, a month into this engagement, with approximately nine months left until this knot is done-and-tied, I'm going to be airing out all of the wedding planning bullshit on here.

Don't get me wrong, sugar-pants, I want you to have the wedding you've always dreamed about, and I want to be a part of the planning process, but there's only so much time I can spend debating the pros and cons of wedding colors without losing my mind. Thus, I've taken to bloggers' catharsis, rather than passive-aggressively rolling over onto you and smothering you to death while we sleep (an accident, I'm sure).

So, in conclusion, asking you to marry me was undoubtedly the best decision I've ever made in my life. As for the rest of these decisions, well, in a year we'll just be joshing each other about what a long, arduous process it was. Until that time is up, though, I respectfully reserve the right to rant and rave to anyone who will listen.

Love Forever,

Your Angry Bridegroom