[ a post sent in by a beloved reader]
I've come to realize a long time ago, you really can't judge a person by their family members, whether immediate or extended – as it’s not always the brides fault what hellhole she was reared in.
A few weeks ago pre-wedding, I get a call from the Bride who says, "Hello Mr. Photographer - I just wanted to give you a heads up that my Dad hired 2 of his own Wedding Photographers for the Wedding." WTF???
Promptly I respond: "Dear Missy Bride- to-be, you do realize that the first clause of your contract indicates that it is understood that I am the sole professional photographer for the wedding, right?"
So now I start thinking; okay, perhaps the couple wasn't happy with their engagement session images, so I tell her: "If you and Husband to be weren't happy with my work, I would be glad to terminate the contract without penalty." - "Miss Bride responds - oh no, we love your work, its just that my family is totally fucked up" - Uhhhh,OK.
I say, "I have no problem with anyone taking images at the reception and such, but it will cause a nightmare at the church and during formals as no one will know where to look, etc, yada, yada"
Okay now, on to the Wedding that which crawled from Within Satan’s Asshole
I arrive a bit early at the Salon on Saturday morning and everything seems to be going "normal" - as I enter the Salon I promptly go over to the Bride and have that early-morning-never-slept-last-night conversation and she introduces me to a few of the girls. By no means are two of them anything I really need to be pointing my lens at, cuz during post editing I would have a nightmare with the one chick's pepperoni-zit-splattered fucking face; and there is no way I can ever make this other chick NOT look like a man, no matter how much RAM i have in my computer.
Time to meet meet Zombie-Mom - ya know the over bleached blonde hair down to her ass, more rolls than the fucking Pillsbury do-boy, all in a sad attempt to turn someone's eye - that low cut blouse showing nothing but zit infested teats, not to mention the shoe leather skin from years of attempting to bronze her moon shaped ass in the golden fucking sun. I think to myself, I already know what this lady will be wearing, it will be some weird ass out of the ordinary-never-worn-by any other human being before Loehman’s Special type of dress - you know exactly the kind I am talking about, don't you?
So I do my thing at the Salon and say goodbye to everyone and head over to the Brides house -- and let me say Stephen King would jizz his pants over this place, as the only thing that seemed to be missing was Gomez and Fester. I see the flowers and bouquet on a dimly lit (what I assume to be some sort of dining room table) - I grab the bouquet and begin searching for a room with some fucking daylight in it - I walk around the corner and head into the kitchen and HOLY FUCKING SCARE THE SHIT out of me, I blurt out "there's a DAMN ROOSTER in the kitchen!!!" I hear someone say, "I'll put him outside. "YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT YOU WILL - nearly gave me a heart attack as I rounded the corner and hear that loud ass rooster making noise, Jesus. Why oh why, for the love of god, is a rooster inside the house? I finally find a table in the living room, and after blowing off years of dust, lay down the bouquet and get my goddamn shot.
As I begin to walk up to the bedroom, I couldn't believe my fucking eyes, there is a HUGE MUTHA FUCKING chunk of ceiling missing, so big that I could clearly see the room upstairs - I mean the size of the whole had to literally be 4' or 5' square, and I am now going to be very cautious of where I step, last thing I need to do is fall thru the fucking floor. Perhaps they're installing a spiral staircase? Or perhaps they are simply po' White Trash. Going with the 2nd idea, I go into the brides bedroom and there is just shit everywhere, I mean every-fucking-where, I don't know how long ago they painted their room that bright ass canary yellow (that they MUST have gotten a deal on) but clearly they left the blue fucking masking tape at every trim point as they planned on doing more painting. There was so much shit on the floor, that I am not even sure how the fuck to describe it. (for a better idea, check out 'Hoarders' on A&E tv...) I find the brides obviously ‘not even what I would call gently-used shoes’ and look at the heel first thing. They are those cheap satiny shoes, and her heel has been frayed so badly that I couldn't even imagine Photoshop the muthafuckers to make them look better. They looked like something left over from some old friggin drag queens box of goodies. Bitch – get your cheap ass to Payless for fucks sake. The pearl necklace and earrings were obviously new; so most likely stolen or borrowed. I then come across a bracelet that I swear was older than fucking freedom. I mean, couldn't you at least de-tarnish the thing, you trashy cunt?
Now I get the dress and I am going in every room trying to figure out where to hang the fucking thing and finally settle on the doorway with the masking tape. I would have taken the dress outside, but the evil rooster was back again watching my every move preparing to eat my eyeballs, if it had the chance.
Bride to be finally arrives back at the house, I grab a couple quick shots of her, then I see this great big window letting in the most beautiful light and I have her sit on the stairs for a moment, but the blinds aren't open enough, so I ask her if I could pull the blinds up, she says yes and JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ARE YOU KIDDING ME… A huge-ass chunk of plaster comes falling down on my head and right shoulder exploding into plaster dust. I looked like someone busted open a 100lb bag of flour all over me as the shit hit my camera as well. I was so fucking pissed, but politely said - oops, sorry about that; bride says, “We're slowly fixing things up” – REALLY? KEEP ON WORKING, SISTER.
I position the bride, do my thing and now I wanna shoot down at her, so I have her go down the stairs - as I am framing her, I see there are fucking smiley faces written on the fucking wall, are you kidding me, who the fuck puts smiley faces on their walls and leaves it there? I;m glad your happy on your special fucking day, but there are other ways to express your joy than drawing happy faces on the way.
I use the upstairs bathroom to do my business before the church, and I really wanted to flush that toilet afterwards, but was just so damn afraid something disastrous would happen with the plumbing I just wanted to get the hell out of there, so left my golden yellow deposit remaining for all to see.
I am done here, I've had enough – though still wondering who the fuck keeps roosters indoors... So I proceed across the street to the church, chat with the groom and his men, and we go inside to take a few shots. Suddenly, the 125 year old 6'4" priest busts his fucking ass, I mean goes completely falls down and the entire floor shakes. I wanted to grab a shot, but after all I was in church and didn't want to see Hill Billy Jesus when I pass on.
Remember I mentioned the two pro photographers (not one, but TWO!) the brides Dad hired, well I get introduced then to whom I termed "beach girl" and "prozac-tified" --- seriously now, you are shooting a wedding with your Tonka Toy Fisher Price point and fucking shoot camera in blue shorts and rainbow-brite halter top (naturally,no bra) and flip-fucking-flops. I’m sorry, are we at the beach? A circus? Put those damn sad tits away and go get dressed you moron.
Groom says, “this is my photographer, if he doesn't want you any where you don't go there, understand?” which actually kinda scared me, but they didn't go into the church after all. The dopey bridesmaids practically run down the aisle in this tiny school bus sized church, I can barely grab a shot. Ceremony happens, and priest announces the couple as “husband and wife” and Uncle Fester in the audience yells out, (I don't mean mumbles, I mean fucking yells) "Ha-ha dude you're fucked now!!!!" - the place gets real quiet and the priest quickly cracks a joke to break the silence. Unbelieveable.
No we head to a barn to do formals (kinda figures, right? To continue the crumbling barnyard theme of the day) - it was a nice enough barn and there were no cocks running around…or other wildlife. Formals go pretty much okay, except I need to tell Mother of the Bride to put down her can of Schlitz a few times.
I get to the reception and the couple is introduced and "beach-girl" and "prozac-tified" are shooting the couple and I'm not sure what "prozac-tified" was actually shooting, as her camera was by her stomach-- face was no where near the viewfinder, but she sure as hell kept firing it.
The rest of the reception just gets stupid, the DJ is an entertainer type of guy full with giant, oversized super-hilarious foam rubber cowboy hats, blonde wigs, dark wigs, he played the guitar, sang, it was a regular old freak show - I did manage to grab some video with my iPhone and posted the horrors to YouTube.
At one point all of the guys (mind you they are wore kilts) have some gizmo on them big cowboy hats, blonde wigs, construction hats, for a minute I thought it was a fucking Gay Pride parade, as they were all up their singing songs. Did I mention the DJ put on pink tights with a Cher-like wig and started singing "Close to you"? Oh yes. Yes, he did.
Father of the Bride, now termed ‘Peter Pan’ by me, was graciously floating thru the air every five minutes throwing rose petals over anyone who was on the dance floor. What a fucking mess. In between distributing rose petals, he requests a huge entire family photo which he quickly assembled---but what did they do? They all stick their 'fuck-u' finger at me - are you kidding me???!!! There are 3 young children for crying out loud - I was like, "Can we at least take the kids out?" He says, "hell no, they are part of this family!!" This is probably a minor incident in these kids lives when you think about it--STILL---someone call DCF, please.
The night ended with the world’s tallest black homosexual I have ever met singing karaoke to Michael Jackson's Billy Jean sporting a Fedora and a stunning Feather Boa. Work your props, Black Sista'!!
Am I dreaming, or have I truly crawled into hell right through Satan’s asshole? Nope - I am indeed slithering around satan's colon.
Have a Beautiful life, you lucky newlyweds!
