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Monday, October 10, 2011

We finally found a venue.

And set a date.

You can begin your mourning now, because you only have 13 more months of me before I graduate from "Groom" to "Helpless"...


So with that, we're finally able to do a few things--most notably select our wedding parties (now that we know we have a venue big enough that I don't only have my brother and Emilio Estevez standing next to me on my wedding day.)

We're going big. Why not?  Seven a side.  Sure--there are plenty of people who we'd like to include in even that large number, but seven it is and we're going forward.
In Melissa deciding that seven was the number and me making that fit, I realized that I really only know her sister and one other person in her wedding party.  I know who all of them are, and am even facebook friends with the majority of them, but the fact remains--I don't know these women. 
Why is that?  Sure--most of them are on the eastcoast, and one is in London, but there has to be more to the story.
I recalled something my father used to say to me in high school when our house was never the height of the social scene. 

He'd say, "If you're children aren't inviting their friends to the house, they're either ashamed of their friends or ashamed of their family."  (My father of course overlooked option C: Your son is a social pariah and would gladly invite over his friends if he had any.)
What I do know of Melissa's friends is that she's crazy about them.  So it isn't the former.  Which regrettably means that she's clearly ashamed of me in every way. 


Okay. That's not true either. I think the truth lies somewhere between "Very few of them are nearby" and "You're a weird dude and I am not sure they're going to like you."


Well, fair enough. But I want to help, as I truly want her friends to be part of our lives. 
And in reality, you're really just introducing me to their significant others, so we can occupy each other while you two have girl-time.

With that in mind, I've created a little cheatsheet of sorts, so she can quickly dissiminate who she should introduce and who she shouldn't.  We'll call it:

THE LIST OF SIGNS YOUR FRIENDS' HUSBAND AND I ARE PROBABLY NOT GOING TO BE VERY CLOSE FRIENDS.

No hard and fast rules. Many people I like violate one of these.  (In fact my friend Tobin violates nearly every one of them and I've tolerated him for about 25 years now...)  So as with any guideline, they are just a rough boundary for your info, my darling wife-to-be.

1.  He has one of those stickers on his car where Calvin is peeing on another brand of car-maker.

What is the thinking here?  "I own Car X and therefore, I hate everyone who drives Car Y.  In fact, I now hate them so much that I'm going to buy a sticker of a cartoon urinating on the logo of Car Y.  That will teach those bastards with different tastes!!"

2.  You "LIKE" generic stuff on facebook.

I understand hitting "LIKE" on the occasional fanpage.  Your friend Becky owns a nail salon and wants publicity--so you click a button and !pow! you've done her a solid. 
Or your favorite movie is "Gross Pointe Blank" and you want to add that logo to your bio to tell the world that you are a Cusack Super Freak! Fine.
But when you're surfing America's greatest time-waster and clicking "LIKE" on things like "Taking naps", or "Traveling" or any other item in the list of generic things that EVERYONE likes, it is probably time to reconsider your relationship with facebook.

3.  You have a tattoo that you don't at least partially regret.

I have no problem with ink, but the reason I've never had a tattoo (aside from the copious-amounts-of-body-hair thing) is that I can't think of anything that I want on my body for eternity.
Maybe you regret the size. Maybe you regret the color.  Maybe you regret the placement.  But if you can tell me honestly that in a private moment, alone with your thoughts, that you don't at least regret 1% of that rainbow-colored, smiling sun with the words "Carpe Diem" that you plastered on your lower back for eternity, I don't think we're going to be texting much in the near future.  (And yes...I know someone.) (And yes...it's a dude.)  (And yes...we give him endless amounts of crap.) (And yes...he is much taller, smarter and more-athletic than I am and I'm thrilled that I have one thing to forever hold over his head.)

4.  (Back to car-decor...) You put one of those "26.2" stickers on your car.

It's bad enough we had to listen to you yammer for 8 months about how you are "so busy" because you were training for a marathon, now we have to ride in your Camry with this ridiculous hipster emblem on the back?
Running a marathon is a great accomplishment (and one that I will undoubtedly never complete.) But lots of people do it.  People with truly unique accomplishments rarely flaunt them. I don't know any personally, but I'm guessing there aren't a lot of Nobel Prize winners who suddenly adorn an "NP" sticker on their car to let people know how special they are.  No, instead they let their accomplishments speak for themselves.

5.  (And this is the biggest one...) You're openly-straight.

I am not one to bash anyone for who they choose as a makeout buddy, but if there were a group that outwardly picketed, harassed and occasionally injured straight-men-who-won't-shut-up-about-how-much-they-like-women, I'd be the first onboard to start chucking AA batteries at these moderately-evolved dufuses.
Have you ever been around one of these a-holes? 
You know the type: They say pointless, inconsequential things like, "Dude, the chicks in Oklahoma are hot!"  They use moronic acronyms like "MILF." And if you're really lucky, they will pull you aside at work to tell you how nice the secretary's rack is.
You know openly-straight guys! Your buddy who makes a point of TiVOing the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show so he can turn it on when other dudes are over as a not-so-subtle reminder that he is into women and not afraid to waste an hour of your time proving it to you!
Not ringing a bell? Maybe you know his girlfriend.  She dresses like a hooker, likes to go to strip clubs with cars full of dudes and has a pink jersey from the local NFL team. 
Still not coming clear? Just picture the worst person you know. I'm sure he's openly-straight and you just haven't figured out why you dislike him so much.


This blog is my voice in the wedding process. If any of you have questions for a male with an opinion, please don't hesitate to ask.

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