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.

Just because I don't have anything specific to write about doesn't mean that I won't further victimize you with my opinions.

A few quick-hitters.  Some of them are even wedding-related.

-We're quickly realizing that the only negotiable pieces of a wedding reception are chairs and alcohol. Beyond that, you're pretty much dead where you stand.
And the question is really dealing with an inverse relationship between the two, namely "Can we get our guests drunk enough to know that we're cheaping-out on chairs?"

-I've found myself in a tweeting-circle with a bunch of established wedding bloggers, planners, etc. on Twitter and am constantly surprised how nice they are to one another despite being direct competitors.  It's like my real job except the exact opposite in every way.  There isn't another market in the world where competitors are this nice to one another.  Not that any of them deserve it, but just once I'd like to see a tweet that says:

These ideas are stupid. Try harder. RT @anonymousweddingblogger Check out these fun new napkin folding ideas! http://tinyurl.com/akjf8

-Starbucks' Apple Fritters look like your lower-intestines.  Which is appropriate because that is the part of your body they're going to do murderous damage to. 

-You know how your fiancee has a 19-year-old friend named Stephanie whom you've never met but you're in touch with every 3 or 4 days? No.  Yeah me neither. Totally don't know what you're talking about.  And it totally isn't creepy in the slightest.

-The Hampton Inn in Missoula, MT has a readerboard outside that says, "Come as a stranger and leave as family."  Translation: the bellboy intends to knock you up.
Even if you're male.

-I have a great dry cleaner, but he doesn't really speak English.  So I get really frustrated when he asks me questions that require an explanation. Today's exchange was:
Him: Hey! We don't see you lately!
Me: Yeah, I work from home now, so don't do as much dry-cleaning.
Him: Oh, you take cleaning somewhere else?
Me: No, I just don't wear dress shirts anymore.
Him: Oh, you bring shirts somewhere else?
Me: (Stepping into traffic.)

-I saw a wedding venue online that was setup like "theater-in-the-round."  Note to bridesmaids--you may want to increase the normal "one week of exercise and a crash-diet" model for your prep for that one.

-Just overheard in the bar at Famous Dave's BBQ in Missoula:
Woman: "What types of cabernet do you have?"
Bartender: "We have Kendall Jackson, 14 Hands, Sutter Home...I think that's it."
Woman: "Oh...none of those are from the Sonoma Coast, are they?"
Bartender: "I don't know...but don't think so."
Woman: "Okay. I'll just have a white zin."

-I heard a guy in ?Georgia maybe? got two DUIs in a night.  Consider the new standard set.

-I've noticed a lot of wedding blogs are about invitations. Is this really important? I mean--do people really have a tough time convincing others to let them buy them a $300/plate dinner and grant them access an open bar? 
And has anyone in history looked at a wedding invitation and said, "These colors are not complimentary. I'm not going to the wedding of my step-sister Elaine."?

This blog is my personal voice in the wedding planning process...but is by no means meant to be private. If you enjoyed it, don't be afraid to press the "SHARE" button on the facebook link, or the "RETWEET" button on the twitter link...or just forward it on to your friends and family.
And if you didn't like it, you are clearly a black-hearted social devient with no taste. (But share it anyway, I need the help.)

If you have questions about weddings, sports, pop-culture or life in general that you'd like me to answer in the blog, just hit the email button on my profile and I'm happy to include it in an upcoming entry.

Thanks for reading,

The Groom

Friday, Melissa and I finally saw "Crazy Stupid Love".

And I say "finally" because at this pathetic stage of my mandom, when a romantic comedy actually features someone I like (Steve Carell) it becomes as high on the "Must See" List as a new Star Wars movie, the best new restaurant in town or a doctor after a week in Mazatlan.

I have no intention of writing a review of the movie, or even supplying spoilers for those of you whipped men who will eventually be dragged to it, but the early premise of the movie is a topic worth exploring. 

In short, in attempting to assuage his woes/move-on from a surprising divorce, Steve Carell mopes at the bar of a local hot-spot, observing Ryan Gosling continually pursuing and leaving with a new, beautiful woman every night.  Eventually, tired of being depressed by the sight of Carell, Gosling does a "Miyagi" on Carell, changing his wardrobe and demeanor, turning him into a ladies man himself.

It is certainly no secret that every unmarried man, in a quiet moment in the mirror, fantasizes that he has the looks, style and bravado to approach and receive the affection of whatever beautiful woman he comes in contact with.  (Any guy that says he hasn't thought about this is either lying, or has actually been successful in this endeavor and doesn't have the time to day-dream...)

What is less-known is that, much in the manner that Gosling does in "Crazy Stupid Love", that every man also dreams of being the guy that is so smooth, handsome and charming that he can convince any woman he comes across to go home with...his single friend.

Sounds ridiculous, I realize.

But there are a few factors working here:

1. Men--no matter how married and how deeply-committed/loyal they may be, will never grow tired of being liked and appreciated by beautiful women.  We may have no intention of cheating, but we absolutely noticed her and really want her to like us.  (Women are exactly the same in this regard.  They love good-looking men the same way we love good-looking women.)

2. Much in the same way that grown men attempt to play tackle football on Thanksgiving with their high-school friends, married and engaged men like to dust off the ol' cleats every once and a while to convince ourselves that we've still got it when it comes to attracting a woman. (And much in the same way, we wake up the next morning feeling like they just got run over by a dumptruck.)

3. I don't know if a better analogy is "superhero" or "Robin Hood", but the badge of honor that they feel they've earned by giving one of their buddies what they wanted and were unable to gain on their own is a tremendously prideful opportunity for a man. Whether it is helping them move a heavy object or picking up a woman, the other guy doesn't forget, and you have a badge of manhood on your Cub Scout Uniform of life.

All of these combined lead to the simple premise:

Most committed men believe that they can pick up women for their friends.  (Of course most men also believe that they were one bad break away from playing shortstop for the Dodgers.)
Call it "wingman" or "sidekick" or "Scottie Pippen" or whatever you like.  Married and engaged men think that because we convinced one short-sighted, ill-fated woman to spend the rest of her life with us that we can convince a whole generation of unsuspecting women to spend at least the latter part of the evening with the buddy we walked into the bar with.

Pay no attention to the fact that we never once succeeded in that endeavor for ourselves.

Pay no attention to the fact that when we were single we didn't even approach women in public settings.  Instead, we'd just decide between one of our two go-to options: A) walk around a bar, spilling drinks on every woman in sight, hoping that the goodwill achieved from your apologies outweighs the number of slaps and dry-cleaning bills you receive. Or B) spend 4 hours of every weekday analyzing papayas in the produce section, hoping that some woman will invite you back to her place to...well...do the same thing there...

And finally, pay no attention to the fact that our single friends have been doing the equivalent of living in Barcelona for the past 12 years while we're relying on high school Spanish to communicate with this foreign race of long hair and flowery perfume.


So a message from me to those affected by this ridiculous dillusion that afflicts so many of us:

To our Wives/Fiancees,

We need this.  Allow us to go along.  Allow us to brag about the minimal favor we did for our friends who never asked us to perform it.  We're not going to cheat...we're not even going to think about cheating.  We just need the strange, warped ego-stroke here and there.

(But let's be honest--you know that we don't have the courage or wherewithall to ever be unfaithful.  Because we love you, cherish you and saw what Elin did to Tiger with that pitching wedge...)

Hugs and Kisses,
Us


To our Friends,

We need this.  Allow us to come along. Allow us to brag about our skills.  It's really all we have.  (But I'd continue to go after women on your own...we're really not going to help you.)

Fist-pounds and Chest-bumps,
Us