getting tied to the hitching post is a colossal pain in the butt and don't ever let anyone tell you different. the finely calibrated psychoses of the wedding industry are relentless and pernicious in their insidious ability to infiltrate, coerce, and entice. there isn't a week that goes by where i don't look at the dotytron and say, "why are we doing this again? why don't we call the whole thing off?"
we're trying to save money (officiants charge an arm and a leg!) by getting hitched in upstate new york. my sister's judge (he sits on new york's court of appeals, the highest court in the state) lives 10 minutes away from her and would be willing to do it for bupkes (we'd buy him dinner or a bottle of scotch or something of course.) there's something very very very appealing about getting hitched in sleepy little small town upstate new york in jeans and a t-shirt and then pigging out at dinosaur barbecue after or going to the drive-in. sounds pretty darn near perfect, to me. a marriage license in new york costs about 1/2 as much as one in toronto - don't ask me why. it's so tempting to have just our families there and leave it at that.
we talked it over on the weekend, i was having a case of the lazy sundays and didn't feel like doing much of anything - let alone face the prospect of putting together a performance piece that's going to cost a good chunk of our hard-earned/borrowed change. then the dotytron reminded me of why we're doing the big party - because to have all the people you love in the world, all in one place, is a rare and beautiful thing and doesn't happen unless it's a wedding or a funeral. so what's a few thousand dollars over a lifetime when it's a (hopefully) once in a lifetime fancy party for your friends and family? when you put it like that, it's the ez-coating that makes the matrimonial pill a lot easier to swallow.
the key is to stay away from wedding blogs. i fell headlong down that rabbit hole and it was the biggest mistake ever. snippet and ink, brooklyn bride, modern vintage, style me pretty - the lifestyles and tastes these sites peddle are insane! it's really hard to remember that i'm actually NOT a fantastically lithe and twee graphic designer in brooklyn marrying a semi-ironically mustachioed furniture designer groom, or that i'm NOT actually tinsley mortimer or georgina chapman flitting around cape cod during my whimsical, week-long "new england clam bake" wedding. the house of a thousand inspiration boards is a frightening place indeed. inspiration boards are this girly blog phenomena where people put up groupings of objects/photos/products based around a theme - snipped and ink does a zillion colour-combination based inspiration boards with wedding-based flowers, favours, shoes, details all grouped (and let's face it, probably photoshopped within an inch of their lives) according to themes like "blackcurrant and lime," "tourquoise and red," "dove grey and tiffany blue." i love my colour theory as much as the next person, but there is no way in zion that i could be that coordinated. plus, what do these picture perfect, art directed brides do with their homely guests? they sure as hell don't show up in the pictures. people who buck the trend and didn't listen to the colour scheme gestapo aren't represented at all. it's kind of bizarre. where's the weird uncle? the aunt of a million shawls? the stocking-feet dancing mom brigade?
speaking of moms...i went to see mine tonight. i dropped off some food. one side of her head is super swollen and she kind of looks like sloth from goonies (in the cutest, most turtle-y way imaginable.) she's so good at reading lips that it didn't seem to make an appreciable difference in her ability to communicate (once you get the cochlear in, you're completely deaf in that ear.) she's sporting this crazy, jagged scar that hooks around her ear and is held together with about a million staples, and she's keeping herself occupied in her painkiller induced haze by sending the family pictures of said scar with the subject line: "GROSS U OUT" lol! that's my mum. we were talking about our plans to do the signing of the nuptial papers in the states and she said, "why don't you just take us all to vegas." (i didn't make a mistake with the punctuation. it wasn't a question, it was a statement.) you seriously don't get more hong kong entitled than my mater.
tonight for dinner i threw together some french onion soup...2 giant spanish onions caramelized in olive oil and a bit of butter, deglazed with rapidly vinegaring white wine from the fridge of provenance unknown, and bulked up with 1 L of chicken stock from the freezer. a bit of salt and pepper, a chunk of baguette and some gruyere melted on top (the best part of the soup is the sopping, onion soaked bread with its' chewy coverlet of funky cheese.)
i also threw together an impromptu fridge clearing salad of lentils sauteed with diced onion and roasted garlic slices in a spoonful of the mysterious fat-in-a-jar (turned out to be duck) that i found on an excursion to the deeper recesses of my shelf of random jarred goods. with some baby spinach, a shot of red wine vinegar, sea salt, and some roasted pepper slices, it was pretty tasty.
now i'm having my now 5th night in a row nightcap of butterscotch pudding. the dotytron found it too hard to reconcile his savoury associations with the laphroaig i used to flavour it with the sweet preparation and has been abstaining, which means that i've had to shoulder the burden of methodically plowing my way through our stores. i think that after this week, my taste for butterscotch pud will have been satisfied for at least a full year.