I have also been a bit down and really, if blogging has taught me anything, it's that People Find Depression Boring and You Should Keep the Woe Is Me to a Minimum. So I have decided not to inflict you all with round 978 of why I feel like crap -- it's the usual reasons, really, lashings of self-doubt creamed with a delicious sauce of loneliness and topped with the thick sugary layer of self-pity.
Hmmn. That sounds kind of yummy. Blues Cake! Depression Torte! F*cked up brain chemistry pudding! Why won't the voice in my head shut-up creme caramel!
Anyhoo, I have a dilemma. I have never been a bridesmaid. Evah. This is no doubt due to a number of factors: my tendency to befriend lesbians, my inability to live anywhere long enough to cement a friendship to bridesmaid stage, my snarky comments about the bridal industrial complex, and the fact that I don't really have a lot of close friends because I am not the sort of person who makes friends easily blah blah depression-cakes and so forth.
So I had come to terms with my non-bridesmaid status as one by one my friends shuffled to the altar with other people in their bridal parties, came out of the closet, or just eschewed marriage altogether for babies and happy non-wedded status.
And then I was asked to be a bridesmaid! Yahoo! Never mind that the person asked me by texting me and demanding I lose about 14 kg to fit into the size 8 outfit she'd purchased for $20 for me at Rockmans. Hey, no worries. I'm cool with that. We have been friends for the better part of 17 years, and maybe we've drifted apart (a long ways apart) but you know, that's fine, I'm honoured and so on.
And then I got sacked as a bridesmaid. Again via SMS.
Yeah, I know. Sucks to be me.
Why was I sacked? Because she had too many people who wanted to be her bridesmaid. So she knew I would nice about it and wouldn't mind not being one. Plus she realised I wasn't keen on going from a size 12 to a size 8. (I know that never a more lying lie was uttered by a somewhat less-than-skinny woman, but you know, while I'd dearly love to be a size 8 I'm not prepared to do the eleventy-million hours of exercise or vomiting that would require. )
From whence I was sacked as a bridesmaid I heard nothing from my friend, who is getting married in my home town of Dullsville on Boring. Until this weekend, when she texts me to tell me the wedding is on the 16th of June. About a month away, for those who can't count.
I have very little leave accrued at work. I have about 40,000 frequent flyer points, enough for a flight to Sydney and back again, but meaning I'd have to spend another $200 or so to get home, plus associated costs (ie, outfit).
My boss is away that same period in time, so at most I'd be able to take about two days off, meaning about 14 hours of flying/driving time in four days plus associated guilt at leaving my work colleagues in the lurch.
My question is: should I go to the wedding, or should I beg off with some lame excuse and not go?
Complication: my parents know of the wedding and are excited about seeing me.
Further complication: it will be an awful wedding and I am pretty sure the bridal waltz will be to something by Garth Brooks or Evanescence, the food will be awful and the wine... it will be horse piss. At best. The food will be unspeakable.
Another question: Am I snob?
Advice needed. I don't know what to do! My friend is my friend, despite the fact that we're about as different as two people could be and I got sacked as a bridesmaid. But ... it's going to cost at least a bit of money, and while I can afford it, I am trying to save some money. And ... I don't like the bloke she's marrying.
So there you go. That's my dilemma. To go or not. Whaddya reckon?
JW is away, again. Since February I have spent four weekends with the man whom I am marrying in January. That's about one weekend a month, and all-up adds up to about a fortnight spent together. Not happy about this particular series of events, as you can imagine. Nor about having to do everything by myself when he's away either.
And I have my period and I have a stomach ache.
And I'm listening to Hack and it's amazing how many people think the guy's comments from McLeod's Daughters (about the best boobs in the business) is all a bit of a joke. Yeah, and I've heard way worse and had worse directed at me, but it was at an awards night. It was on TV. It was about the guy's work colleagues. If one of my colleagues stood up at a televised industry function and said I had fabulous boobs I'd skin him alive and then boil what was left and feed it to the dog.
(Told you I was grumpy.)
And the roof in the laundry leaked and rusted out the bottom of the washing machine. Which is still working and hopefully the damage is just cosmetic. But it's so annoying. I'm sick of living in this leaky crappy old house, with the deck that's falling apart and the draughts and the spiders and the ants and the weeds and the windows that don't shut or won't open and the flaky paint and the grubby bathtub no matter how many times you try to clean it.
And wedding magazines. Jesus H. Christ on a crutch are they awful. All I want is a nice list of suggestions for reception venues, with pricing and maybe a picture. And what do I get? Pages after pages of airbrushed dolls in ridiculous gowns, naff home-made bomboniere-y things, hideous scrap-book ideas, Worlds Ugliest Invitations, and advice on how to save money.
Actually, this last wouldn't be so bad, but here was the advice: move in with your parents to save money for your nuptials.
Anyway, turns out I'm already doing quite well on the saving money front. My dress, which I bought a couple of weeks ago, cost me $400. The average price for a wedding dress is somewhere between $1500-3000 according to my lazy googling. So there's a minimum of $900 to spend on something more important. Like booze, so we can make it through the joyous day without killing ourselves or anyone else.
Woman doing crossword: I think all the people who make the crosswords must be Jewish. Companion: Why? Woman: Well, listen to this. 'Jewish skullcap'. Eight letters. How am I supposed to know that? Companion shrugs. Woman: There are always Jewish questions in the crosswords.
Woman: I'm just saying it's probably a Jewish thing. Crosswords.
Random stranger: It's called a yarmulke.
Woman: Oh. Thanks.
2. On the street
Man one: I was thinking I could use the voucher for some boardies. Man two: What? From David Jones? M1: Yeah, I need some new boardies. M2: But it's for $500 - why not get a suit? M1: I want some boardies. M2: Yeah but you can get boardies for, like, fifty bucks at City Beach. What are you going to do with the rest of the money? M1: Dunno. M2: And anyway they have shit boardies there. You should get a suit. M1: What am I going to do with a suit? M2: What about Bob's wedding? M1: Like I'm going to buy a suit for that. M2: Why not? M1: Well I'm in the wedding party and I'm not going to make the whole wedding change its ***ken colours just 'cause I bought suit at David Jones, right? M2: Yeah but... M1: Anyway, I want some ***ken boardies.
3. At work
Colleague L, who is about 33 and has two children: I'm glad I had kids but I wish I'd had them younger. Colleague M, who is about 21: Yeah I'm going to have one by the time I'm 27. Colleague A, who is 28: That's younger than me, M. L: I tell you, A, you're already getting too old. M: Yeah A. A: God, you know I don't want kids. Anyway, 28 isn't too old to have kids even if I wanted them. L: It's just that I'm so tired all the time. If I'd had kids younger maybe I wouldn't be so tired. A: And you never what's going to happen, M. M: I've already got a good job and a boyfriend, so all I need to do is get married by the time I'm 25 and I'll be fine. A: (Sarcastically) Well let's hope everything goes to plan then. M: I just don't want to regret it. A: I'm not going to regret not having kids. Anyway, I can always go and look after L's kids. M: How do you know you won't regret it? A: I'm 28 years old, M, I've got a pretty good idea of what I think about things! M: Well don't say I didn't warn you.
And here's another disgustingly sexist retrograde thing I've encountered lately: the TV ads for Zoo Magazine, whereby a bunch of be-suited guys sit around in an office being given neck massages by women clad only in lingerie. I have never looked inside an actual copy of Zoo, but I have a pretty good idea that I wouldn't approve of the content.
In fact, I think I would disapprove of it like so: