Well, it’s happened. As we’re now nearing the one-month-away mark from ye olde wedding, I think I’ve reached my limit. And so, I’m giving up.
I need help.
And I mean that both physically (these fucking stupid table centerpieces aren’t going to DIY themselves) and mentally (I CAN NO LONGER TAKE IT!). Of course, in my case, considering the wedding is pretty simple, it’s not even just about that. If the wedding was the only thing I needed to worry about right now, then I feel like my life would be pretty easy. “Sure, I’ll scour every thrift shop in town to find 10 of the exact right vintage-seeming vases to arrange my sustainably grown tulips in myself, NBD!” I’d say. But alas, I managed to sign my self up for about a gazillion new life milestones at the same time as this one:
1) Bought a house like an idiot!
2) Decided to do major construction on it like a moron!
3) Shit! Gotta move into said new house now!
4) Managed to get a promotion and work like a, well, like a boss. (Is there such a thing as a bad time for a promotion?)
In any case, as of now, I feel like caring about what crap comprises my wedding decor is should be the last thing on my mind. (My mind is small and can only hold so much.)
And so, fuck it. I’m giving up. No, I’m not going to put any of the above on hold, instead, I’ll do what growing up in America’s taught me: I’ll solve my conundrum by throwing money at it. (Did you catch that life lesson, kids?) Which means I’m officially in the market for a wedding planner. Anyone know anyone who would get my aesthetic? If so, get at me via email and soon ’cause… things is gettin’ desperate and I’m about to lose mah mind. Although, thankfully, it’s not as bad as Yves Saint Laurent’s breakdown in the ’60. He went so mad he thought this condom of a wedding dress was somehow a good idea…