Someone asked me the other day how my wedding blog was going. “Good,” I responded, but what I meant to say was “weird.” See, despite having been a blogger since 2007, I’ve never been the type that posts lengthy personal essays about what’s going on in my life, at least not when it comes to my personal life. Because, you see, that’s personal.

Equally, I’ve also never been an epic Facebooker. I’ve never updated my relationship status. Twitter is the same way. I even get cagey IRL sometimes. My best friend reprimanded me for letting her go on for 15 minutes about some conventional work drama before I told her I was engaged.

I guess you could say I’m guarded when it comes to my love life details. Probably because, until now, it was filled with weirdos too weird that existent adjectives don’t even apply. Well, maybe the word sociopathic sums it up… but that’s another post.

In any case, now that this blog exists, I’m feeling odd. Until “The Anti Wedding,” as far as the Internet was concerned, I was a curmudgeonly cat lady, who only said hilarious things, whilst living with a bevy of imaginary helper animals (see: The Anti DC). I had spent years carefully crafting my bitchy blogging persona, erecting e-walls so unpenatrable that I was damn near unrecognizable upon first Google. It was wonderful.

Then I ruined it. Now, I’m just another wedding blogger trying not to be annoying. And with posts like this, I’m probably not doing a very good job…

The point is, I feel like by starting this blog, I’ve penetrated my self-erected e-walls (well, that sounds grosser than anticipated…) and now all bets are off. And so, we’re about to get really real…

Here goes.

Besides my general disdain of the wedding industrial complex, the other reason I never wanted a wedding is because my dad died when I was 16. While I’ve gotten over the idea that I won’t get to participate in the meaningful symbolism of having a father walk his daughter down the aisle and that I’ll be skipping the father-daughter dance, I’m not over the idea that he won’t be there at all.

See, one never gets over such a thing; one only learns how to deal with it. You make shaky peace with the fact that you’ll never get to have an adult conversation with him, that he’ll never get to congratulate you on this major life decision, that he’ll never know your fiancé, that he’ll never know you betrayed the family trust and decided to marry a Redskins fan (although that’s probably a good thing). You realize he’ll never know this person who’s about to become your family. His family. You realize you just typed a whole paragraph employing the grammatical second person so you don’t burst into tears and fuck up your keyboard, even 17 years later…

This is why I always imagined I would elope. If no one is at my wedding then the loss is less evident. Think of it like this: when everyone you love is gathered in one place it’s like being in a meadow of flowers; those who aren’t there aren’t just simply missing flowers, they’re gaping holes in the ground, like someone came through your perfect pasture with an industrial backhoe creating giant chasms you can’t ignore.

Basically, I fear the happiest day of my life will also be one of the saddest. I know I will cry. More importantly, I know I will cry in front of other people. I know I will have to invest in waterproof mascara. I know several parts of the day will suck because, while I know I’ll be happy to be marrying the man who I truly believe to be the love of my life, I know I’ll be equally sad that the other man who meant the most to me in my life won’t be there. I just hope I can concentrate more on the former.