I have an affliction. You may have heard of it. It’s called Wedding Fever, and it’s painful to admit.
See, I’m planning my wedding. It’s in six months, and it’s all lovely and I’m very excited, blah blah blah. It’s going to be a small wedding – a very small wedding – and my partner and I are working on keeping it under $3,000, which means that we don’t have free reign to just offhandedly pick things based on how much we like them. We always have to factor in the cost, and, being the way I am, I can’t stop thinking about it.
Not that I’m stressing out or anything. On the contrary, I’m enjoying this a lot more than I thought I would. I was never one of those girls that fantasized about their weddings, so when the time finally came to start hammering out some details, I was totally at a loss at first. Six months may not seem like a long engagement, but at this point, we’re still pretty far out, and I think we have plenty of time.
As long as we keep planning. And grabbing the deals that we find as we find them.
The point of this is that I’m still reading the news, and still starting drafts of serious posts on things like the Quiverfull Movement, the GOP’s latest gaffes, and the latest Planned Parenthood bombing, but…I can’t concentrate. Just a moment ago, I was on Pharyngula reading about the priest who inadvertently showed his whole congregation his collection of gay porn, and lo! An advertisement for ModCloth’s adorable dresses popped up, and my brain immediately went into, “Oh gosh, I need a casual reception dress”-mode.
So I don’t know how productive I’m going to be for a while, is what I’m saying. Because of my brain. Sorry.
P.S. Part of me feels like maybe I’m a bad feminist for admitting that planning my wedding has made it difficult to concentrate. Any truth to this? Because the rest of me is saying “Fuck off, this is going to be a goddamn feminist wedding if ever there was one”. Hey, new post idea: deconstructing the wedding industrial complex and its inherently misogynistic traditions. Sounds like fun.