teddy_radiator | October Check In And Wedding Rant from Your Special Correspondent

Hello friends. Sorry I've been so absent as of late. I've been reading LJ every day, but just too work-knackered to contribute.

Now, I know all weddings are not created equal, and that every couple wants their day to be memorable, but I'm still stunned at the absolute cluster-fuckery of the wedding we attended yesterday. I've never been to one quite like it. The bride is an old friend of ours - TheHubs™ met her while in a play, and for a while she even worked at the shop with us. H is very artistic and original, which is why her wedding still has me puzzled. It also made me realise what a wedding snob I was. I promise you, I'm not making this stuff up. Even I don't have this good of an imagination.

I had a strange feeling that it might be a bit off when we got the wedding invite. While I figured H would go in a slightly different direction than the traditional rice, white lace and insipid punch route, I was a bit dismayed to see her invitation was trimmed in burlap and white lace, and the font was one of those 'wild west' fonts usually associated wth words like 'quirky' and 'trendy'.

That should have tipped me off. I also should have been warned by the fact that the service and the reception were being held at a stable. Yes, a stable. I was talking to

stgulik the night before about how the guests would have to sit on hay bales and the bride would arrive on a penny farthing. If I had known how close I would be, I wouldn't have been laughing about it.

Yesterday was pissing down rain. We woke up to a torrential downpour, and H wailing on FB about how horrid it was to be getting married in the rain, but I passed it off as pre-wedding jitters.

Again, I should have taken THAT as a warning.

We started out early, because this stable was in the middle of BF Egypt and rain, so we got there about forty-five minutes before the actual wedding was to start. We were among the first to arrive. A guy in dirty jeans and t-shirt was helping others drape strands of Christmas lights across the ceiling of the stables. He greeted us, and it was then I realise it was the groom. Another sign I ignored.

The long stable was flanked by two long tables festooned with - you guessed it - burlap and lace runners, chargers made of slices of trees, and mason jars with glass beads and unlit candles in them, or what I call 'Pinterest cliche chic'.

At the end of the stables was another table, this time with matching 'mason jars glued to Dollar Tree glass candlestick' wine goblets. A woman was draping a shorter table with a piece of white fabric (this was the gift table), and I asked her, "Where are they getting married?"

She said, "Outside, when the rain stops." I looked out. It was raining so hard I had to squint to see a white picket archway waaay down the field, festooned with orange flowers. There were eight or ten haybales marching down either side of it. Yes, friends, they had haybales for seats.

The remainder of guests arrived, mostly wearing jeans and cowboy boots. The appointed hour came and went, and the rain continued. Meanwhile we all milled around in the stables, TheHubs™ and I talking to all the horses. A barbecue van arrived and started setting up barbecue, mac and cheese, green beans and, you guessed it, weak tea in mason jars. It was then I realised we were expected to eat this in a stable reeking of horse manure.

Finally, one hour after the wedding was supposed to start, a bridesmaid in an RAF Blue chiffon-y gown walked in and yelled, "Okay, everybody! Please go out to the field and we'll be ready to start soon!"

I need to interject at this point that I strained a groin muscle at work on Friday, so I wasn't in the best mood to be standing around in a damp barn in the cold pouring rain anyway, but we dutifully traisped the quarter mile out into the middle of the field, where a set of french doors stood in the middle of nothing on one end, and the arch and hay bales on the other. More tree slices dotted the landscape as either stepping stones or tripping hazards, depending on your point of view, and they had buzzwords burned into them, like "Committment" and "Patience", which I now found incredibly ironic, seeing as what was to come.

For almost twenty minutes we stood there, in the pouring rain, listening to the most maudlin music imaginable play over and over, because nothing was happening, except the wind started picking up. Finally, the groom appeared, escorting a lady I think was his mother. She was wearing a long black dress and grey running shoes. TheHubs™ turned to me and said, "When to you think that suit last fit [the groom]?" to which I replied, "About thirty pounds and five inches of trouser leg ago."

Another five minutes passed, then the first of four bridesmades appeared, escorted by matching groomsmen. They spaced out five minutes apart. Finally, the last one came squishing down the field, and we waited for the bride. Another ten minutes passed, then here she came.

On a horse. A very unhappy horse. Now, I'm sure that when H was looking at photos on Pinterest of similar weddings (because there are HUNDREDS like this, all staged to look like the optimum in 'Romaince') she thought this was the most original, amazing idea. In reality, this girl, who had clearly never sat a horse in her life looked as apprehensive as the horse. There was even the obligatory dog following to give it that 'homey, natural look'. The dog seemed of a mind to trip the horse, who alternately shied, then lurched forward, slipping in the mud. It took another full five minutes to entice the horse to walk up to the french doors, then another two to get H down off the horse without going arse over teakettle. In her overly crinolined wedding gown, she looked like a pile of soap suds spilling out of a top-loading washing machine in slow motion.

Finally, she was back on terra firma. Her mother escorted her down the ailse of haybales, and I thought we would finally began.

Apparently, H and D had decided since they'd spent so much money on the shabby chic vibe, they were going to stretch the ceremony out as long as possible.

The pastor, wearing sunglasses in the pouring rain, jeans, cowboy boots, a checkered vest and a tie hanging down from an open-buttoned shirt, did an entire sermon about the sanctity of marriage while the bride and groom giggled and thought the entire experience was a blast. The pastor could barely be heard above the wind and the archway falling over repeatedly. Finally one of the groomsmen just held onto it to keep it upright.

Then bride and groom read aloud another set of vows they had 'composed'. Neither could be heard, except for the pages turning. Both of them read in a stiltled, dead monotone. As the groom turned to page three of this missive he said, "Well, she told me to write at least two pages - oh, never mind, this is just a copy of the first two pages!" Much hilarity ensued.

Then H droned on for another two or three minutes about how imperfect she was, and listed a string of reasons why she probably wasn't the best choice as a bride but thank you EVER SO MUCH for marrying me anyway, which sort of pissed me off. Then they exchanged rings after another short sermon on the origin of why married couples exchange rings and how ever-so biblical it is.

Another short missal followed about the tradition of braiding three strings together, and we all watched as they labouriously braided the three sodden strings, which took them another five minutes. TheHubs™ turned to me and whispered, "What is the significance of that?"

I said, "It symbolises how much of their money's worth they want to get on this fucking ceremony." By then I was feeling a bit less than charitable.

Finally, Jethro the Pastor pronounced them man and wife, and the owner of the stable pressed Play on her CD player and held it to the PA's microphone. After a short squeal of feedback, Queen's "You're My Best Friend" blared out, and these two lumpy people skipped, actually skipped through the mud past us, as did all the attendants. We didn't wait for the pastor to dismiss us, then headed back to the barn. By then my strained groin muscle was screaming with each step, my hands were numb from the cold, and TheHubs™ was soaking wet because I only brought one umbrella because we didn't think anyone was stupid enough to get married outdoors in the pouring rain. It did give me some satisfaction that I got a lot of looks from my Her Minder umbrella, which shows alternately Dahlra Gar's face and his hands holding a black leather flail.

We finally get back into the stables where the smell of barbecue mingles with the aroma of horse shit, and there is another procession of the wedding party, this time EmCee'd by the DJ, who is playing great wedding hits like The City of New Orleans and Trashy Women. The Bride and Groom shared the first dance, in which they spent the entire 3:45 minutes of that dreary "God Bless The Broken Road That Led Me Straight To You" song trying to look dreamy eyed and pretending they were the one of the weddings in "Four weddings and a Funeral" while we wedding guests looked alternately at our watches and longingly toward the tinfoil pans of barbecue. The DJ then announces the 'Father/Daughter dance", which would be done via 'A Video Tape', which after five minutes they couldn't get to work. Rather morosely, he then announced, "Since we're having technical difficulties, y'all can just go and eat."

It was at this point TheHubs™ turns to me with exquisite British politeness and says, "Would you like to stay or perhaps-"

"I want to go home and eat pizza and drink a fuckton of wine," I said. He jumped from his seat and we got in line for the food, then dutifully sneaked out the back entrance, and ran to the car.

I realise everyone wants their wedding day to be THEIR day, and unique and special to them. I get that. But I also think if you aren't going to go down the traditional route, at least make it real to YOU. H had no business on a horse - it was clear she had never ridden and was terrified and miserable. She and D hadn't 'skipped' since they were six years old, yet there they were, as if this was a film about how hipsters get married and are being all 'ironic' and shit. All this burlap and lace and mason jars - it's not them. It had all the authenticity of a B-movie and all the class of a country school field day. It had no real substance whatsoever, and that's what surprised me. H is very creative - she should have known better than this mashup of every Pinterest-inspired hipster/shabby cliche wedding photoshoot on the net. It was all so plastic; even Pastor Hayseed's get up felt contrived.

She posted tons of pics on FB this morning about how special and beautiful her day was, and of course, that's the point of it all. She is happy and the photos show none of the absolute discomfort we all felt. I suppose in the end, those photos will be the real story, not the miserable two hours we spent with our feet in the mud and the smell of horse shit up our nose.

Oh well, it's done, and I got my pizza and wine. We are both sore and aching this morning and if I catch cold from this disorganised, overblown train wreck of a wedding I'm thinking about litigation.

A quick reminder that

hp_halloween sign ups run through today, so please participate. It's the most stress-free of fests. Also, please remember that if you are fortunate enough to receive a hp_halloween treat, take the time to thank your gifter. It's no fun giving a present and not at least getting a 'thank you' for you hard work.

To provide you with some inspiration, I came across the full version of my current userpic and its origins. It just goes to show that even then women were being photoshopped: