by the numbers
by the numbers
With all the wedding preparation and paranoia, I keep forgetting that I will be turning 40 on the day of my wedding.
Let's forget I mentioned that. I just got depressed.
Amy was kind enough to send me the playlist for her and Jima's wedding. With a list that includes The Pixies, The Ramones, Dead Milkmen and The Jam, it made me realize that a DJ is not required to play Billy Ocean and the chicken dance at a wedding reception.
As a matter of fact, if he plays either that chicken song or asks the party goers to stand up and to the Macarena, I will throw him, and his equipment, into the pool.
Would it be ok to have a mosh pit?
We are not conventional people by any means. Besides the fact that he's 22 and I'll be 40 on the wedding day, we just aren't your standard wedding couple. This isn't your standard wedding. Yesterday we found these bride and groom cake toppers. They were skulls. Cute little skulls decked out in wedding headgear. I'm going back today to purchase them.
We did buy normal rings - white gold bands, pretty plain - but not before looking at rings embossed with daggers and swords and seriously contemplating purchasing them.
We went back and forth on the ideas of wedding favors (Ron, I apologize for being a huge procrastinator and not getting back to you about the candles in time) and we discarded all the ideas for the usual trinkets and almonds that are given at weddings. We are having Pez dispensers. A nice glass bowl on each table, filled with packets of Pez, and Pez dispensers of all kinds at each seat, decorated with a ribbon announcing the nuptials of Michele and Justin.
Back to the playlist - we figure that Slayer is out. We do have to draw the line somewhere and I think that playing Type O Negative's Love You To Death as our theme song is that line.
We'll include a little Motown, a little soul, a little punk, a lot of metal and of course the standard Sinatra and Elvis. And plenty of Nick Cave. We reallly wanted to use The Misfit's Angelfuck as our first dance, but we aren't even having a first dance, and the though of one of my aunts ruining the wedding by having a heart attack as the words "Little Angelfuck, I see you going down on a fireplug, little Angelfuck, size for everyone" come out of the speakers sort of put a damper on the fun of it all.
Enough about the wedding. I'm sure you are all sick of hearing about my nervousness and panic-driven nightmares of the caterer forgetting to show up.
Let's talk about my birthday. I'm turning 40.
No, no I'm not. I'm turning 25, right? RIGHT? Eh, fuck y'all who think I'm supposed to be wearing polyester pants and listening to Barry Manilow while I knit a nice blankie for my toy poodle.
Immaturity runs in my family. In a good way. My dad is still the world's oldest teenager. My mom is obsessed with Pink Floyd. Stay young.
Yea, that's the song I was looking for.