Friends, sisters and co-workers, it's bad enough when you subject us to miles of meringue and talk of honeymoon trips for weeks, months and years before your nuptials, but for God's sake, after you've signed the marriage license we no longer have to pretend to even care about your wedding related drivel. C'mon, like you think you really distinguished yourself in any way by wearing a cloned strapless gown with a wholly innovative calla lily bouquet, not to mention writing your own (treacly) vows? Puh-leez. And while we're on the subject, humiliating bridesmaids through the torturous method of inflicting bad bridesmaids dresses on them is so over - you're still not prettier than us. Oh, and your destination wedding? We know it's because you really have no friends to speak of and pretend that people couldn't get away to share in your big day. You know, the day that only you and your incredibly relieved mom care about.
Now, lawyer by trade and self involved to new heights of nausea, Elana Glatt, what's this nonsense about suing some poor florist over your flowers being the wrong color? Let's get this straight, "The use of predominantly pastel centerpieces had a significant impact on the look of the room and was entirely inconsistent with the vision the plaintiffs had bargained for," and for this offense you're suing the poor florist for $400,000 when your mother in law shelled out a grand total of $27,435.14? (which is in itself an obscene amount of money to spend on gratuitous foliage, but we get it- you're incredibly shallow, and close to $1,250.00 per centerpiece makes sense to you and yours) And you think your pain and suffering on getting pastel pink instead of rust hydrangeas warrants you an additional $372,564.86? You've either got too much time, too much money or a complete lack of a soul. My guess is a combination of all three.
And as for you journalista Vanessa Grigoriadis, first you whine about your boyfriend getting **shudder** fat, (that's not emasculating! And he actually went on to marry you. I'm wondering about the treats you saved for the wedding night) and you, you brave skinny girl, you loved him anyway. Excuse me for a mo' while I wipe a tear from my eye. If this public humiliation isn't enough, when you rant about Gawker in New York magazine (which was a pretty decent if far too long article), you start off with a pity party about how they mocked your wedding announcement in the New York Times. Hell, I'd consider myself fair game if submitting an announcement at all, much less bosom heaving/aren't we interesting? crap like this is part of your announcement: “There was this immediate visceral feeling that we really liked each other,” (probably because he wasn't fat yet) she said. Together they explored the festival, (Burning Man, and just in case we're not soignee enough to know what it is, she actually describes the burning man. No, I promise, really- read the entire announcement) a mix of counterculture philosophy, art, music and pyrotechnics." and gushingly from him: “It just went crazy for us. We fell in love that night.’’ But of course. Doesn't everyone of extreme substance fall in love in a night? And then pout if their wedding announcement doesn't get enough attention that they then have to start an entire feature by telling the world just how often they (poor self involved navel gazing reluctant media darling) are maligned in a malicious gossip blog?
Ladies, it's time for a new hobby that doesn't involve putting yourself up on a Vera Wang draped pedestal.
Ain't love grand?
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