Pinterest Mason Jar bullshit

Thanks to The Onion for exposing Mason jar stupidity in it's full glory---

Enough already with this Pinteresty motherfucking bullshit!!! How about a nice, classy wedding that isn't concerned with replicating pre-existing nonsense...is that even a possibility anymore? 

How did we end up down this shitty, copycat rabbit hole?

original link from which this is copied HERE

When I became an executive of a company that produces mason jars back in 2003, I never dreamed my life was going to be like this. A decade ago, we were just another glassware business, but now, there’s not a precious little bar in New York, L.A., or anywhere else that isn’t serving drinks out of our iconic containers. And now that mason jars are on top, now that my fellow executives and I are goddamn beverage conquistadors, we’re going to enjoy this cocaine-fueled rocket ride for as long as it lasts.

I’m blasting off to fucking Mars, dicksuckers, and I’m headed straight through the belly of the goddamn sun!

As long as every gastropub and Williamsburg speakeasy wants to keep pouring craft cocktails into our jars, we’re gonna swim in uncut Peruvian street spice and party like savages. You keep mounting mason jars by your bathroom sinks and using them as toothbrush holders, and we’ll keep buying Fabergé fucking eggs faster than Sotheby’s auctioneers can shit ’em out. You make mason jars into jack-o’-lanterns, we wear tie pins that could fucking put a kid through college.

You don’t think I’m a bona fide golden king? I’m on a hovercraft right now. That’s what that sweet crafting green will get you. That, and world-class trim at every nightclub VIP room on earth.

Seriously, it’s like my mansion magically grows a new Italianate fountain every time someone fills our jars with seashells and uses them as decorative centerpieces. I have eight infinity pools. Look, I never expected any of this from mason jars. Who would? You don’t get a 600-foot mega-yacht and not give an ever-loving fuck if you sink it if all you’ve got bankrolling you are little old ladies canning strawberry preserves. But the way these babies are selling, there’s no limit to what my colleagues and I can get away with. We’re better than men, better than gods—we are jar-powered god slaughterers!

I haven’t slept in five days, and I don’t give a shit. I don’t even remember buying this cheetah.

Do you know what I can do? I can walk into any bed and breakfast in America and just take my dick out, right in front of everyone. And no one’s going to say shit to me. Because they know that without me, those mason jar light fixtures with a bulb strung through the lid wouldn’t exist. They know that I gave them that nice little rustic touch—Me! I did it! I fucking did that!So, my room better be ready, and there better be a kilo of Vermont’s finest crystal on my pillow, too, because if there isn’t, I’m taking every one of my jars out to my Bugatti with me and you can explain to your guests why your flowers are stuffed in a boring ceramic vase that makes them want to blow their goddamn brains out!

Do you understand me? I’m fucking everywhere now because you ballbags can’t get enough quaint jar action. I’m in the Acropolis kicking over vases; I’m in China dick-slapping terra-cotta warriors; I’m in the goddamn British Museum jizzing on the Rosetta Stone, ’cause I’ve got an all-access pass to everywhere and I’m blitzed out of my skull. I’m the high priest of eternity!

Hey, don’t get me wrong. I know you’ll walk away from mason jars eventually. One of these days, you turncoat fucks will be done with your mason jar snow globes and spice planters, and you’ll move on to vintage soda bottles or pewter beer steins or whatever other trendy container gets you rock hard for a while. But until you do, we’ll just go right on fisting porn stars five at a time on the 160th floor of the Burj Khalifa—put a picture of that on your little Pinterest page under “Cute Wedding Ideas.” When we at Ball Mason Jars finally go down, we’re doing it like the Vikings fucking wish they did.

But guess what? I’ve also got investments in wall hangings, votive candles, wicker wreaths, and a hundred other types of wholesome homespun crafts that you brain-dead little dipshits eat right up. The other guys at my company might be content to slink back to obscurity once mason jars are over. But not me. I’m not about to walk away from my new life. I am everything, I’m the world, I’m the last nail they stuck in Jesus, and I’m gonna keep burning and burning and burning till I’m a crispy fucking corpse or you finally get tired of DIY furnishings, which will be never.

Now go make some wind chimes out of mason jar lids. I want another island.

Can you replicate another's work for less, please advise.

I understand price shopping - I really do. Not everybody can afford the Special Fucking Wedding of their dreams with the economy the way it is. But there are still ways to go about that without being an asshole. 

Take Subject X for example. This bitch emailed nearly 3 months ago, ending her first email with the dreaded 'Please Advise." That saying, regardless of how it may be utilized in the business world, is a big giant Fuck You from the get go. Even Urban Dictionary agrees! Only inhabitants from the Planet Passive Aggressive use that expression freely. It's downright cunty.

Our troubles began with this sentence from her email:

On your site it says that the packages do not include hotel/ parking. How to you determine if there is an extra charge for hotel? I will be getting married in Patterson, NY. Please advise.

I basically emailed back and said in so many words, "Don't you fucking know whether or not you're venue has free or paid parking, bimbo?" It's not that hard! Country Club: free lot. Hotel downtown: probably paid. Telling me the town your wedding is in does not automatically indicate parking fees. Realizing now that I was dealing with a Brain Surgeon, the fun continued.


Later, Subject X says: "Thanks! There are not any parking fees at our venue. Could you please also send me some pictures from weddings that your associate photographers did? Would like to get a sense of their style. Please advise."

AH - So now she's not intersted in me (which is fine) but needs to see specific examples. Let me add that this location has some nice water and beach nearby - it's very pretty. Yet during our initial phone chat she wanted none of that when i suggested photos by the water- as if sand would melt her like the Wicked Witch. "Green!!" she proclaimed--"I want it to see GREEN trees!! Please advise."

After she received the additional set of photos we had to hunt for, we were to never hear from her again, and we marked that lead as 'dead' as her uninviting Hoo-Hoo.

Until today.

Subject X E-mails once again, this time suggesting we "...Discount our price by $1000 because her wedding is only 5 months away" Really? Is that how it works? Please advise. News to me. Maybe if I need to buy a house in 2 months I can get a REALLY good deal, huh? 

Simultaneous to this, I see on a popular social media site a photographer out of Boston asking if anyone is available (because she is not)  FOR THIS SAME DATE AND VENUE. Launching into investigative mode, I contact this photographer asking by name if its Subject X, who it is. She too has been strung along for 6+ weeks by her. But it gets even juicier - Subject X not only has never gotten back to this photographer, but initially sent her a link TO MY PHOTOGRAPHS asking is she could 'replicate' them, apparently for a lower price. She said as well, "...I really love ALL the photos in the link attached." So she LOVES them all, but not enough to hire me. I am just loving this chick more and more. Please advise.


But you know, that's just not fucking cool.  Using someones work as a reference for shots you are fond of might be one thing (still not a great idea) but wanting them downright copied is just wrong. What she fails to realize is that it's a pretty small wedding-world, and lot of us know each other and talk. So if you're going to pull that shit - keep it on the down-low. 
That's my 'ADVISE' for you.

my wedding is weatherproof

Although I’ve seen it before and shouldn’t be surprised, this fucking ‘Nemo’ Disney motherfucking snowstorm has brought out Bridal Crazy to a new degree. Brides who think – even though it’s one of the ‘worst snow storms in history’, that their special fucking day deserves to go on. The same thing happened with Hurricane Sandy and whatever the previous fucking Hurricane was called. I recall photographers driving THROUGH DOWNED POWER LINES (I’m not kidding) in order to get to some shitball venue for some selfish brides fucking shitball wedding.

Who thinks this way? What self-centered planet do these cunts come from that they put their vendor, and guests well-being at risk, so they can stand around in their stupid $899.95 wedding dress serving shitty, rubbery chicken products? How Special they are--How dare they!

And with Nemo we’re at it again; assholes who – despite HALF their guests not making it – still insisting the Show Must Go On. I read online about brides not having makeup people show, DJ’s bailing and half the crowd not making it. Really? And you're surprised, you fucking tool? There’s 3 feet of snow outside, you cunty douche.

And for what?

So the photographer whose life you put in danger can take photos of all of your stupid, ‘unique details’ you copied off of fucking Pinterest. You know the ones: the same details she photographed at the last 12 weddings in a row.

To get photos of all the crap you bought off ETSY – no doubt a dress hanger with your new last name twisted in some scrap metal. What happens to those fucking hangers afterwards any? I’m betting Honeymoon night emergency bathroom abortions in Aruba– but I digress….

So people can gawk and wish you fake compliments about how unique that cheapo dress you skimped on looks on you, and how they really 'didn't notice' your Pillsbury biscuit backfat?

To make them endure a 60 minute mass that no one will recall the moment they leave?

To force them to sit and ‘enjoy’ your reception as they worry about the condition of their homes you forced them to leave?

How excited they are to get a 99 cent picture frame from Christmas Tree Shops as a ‘gift’!

It’s rude and thoughtless. And by the way – when your ETSY abortion goes bad, don’t call me. 

I’m certain I’ll be busy…..

America's favorist wedding bloggity

It's another stunningly perfect day here at My Special Fucking Day: America's favorist wedding bloggity that oozes with more creamy wedding goodness than a discarded condom on a gay porn set.

Us dopey chicks are sitting around here at the office, with our fingers jammed up our cooters, simply amazed and overwhelmed at all the submissions get each day. We are so blessed. We thank each and EVERY one of you for submitting, and SOOOOOOOO wish we could accept every SINGLE  photo you send on. We TRULY mean that. But as you all know far too well, we only want to repeat the same type of images repeatedly, since most of our blog readers have no fucking clue and take everything we show them as wedding gospel. One day we might be interested in all-things Ochre & Rust. Or perhaps pretty, happy balloons with Rococo striped hand-twisted paper straw handles. Maybe Tuesday it'll be glittery slipperettes that entice us...and Wednesday it may well be miniature hollowed-out pumpkins coated in chocolate attached to adorable kittens. Regardless, we will feature only what makes us moist, and then forget it all in 2 days.

Which is why today we are SOOO amazingly HONORED and blessed to share Lilac and Earl's once-in-a-lifetime completely unique 1940's-homespun-vintage-instagram-lumberjack-circus themed wedding. We have never seen a wedding so pretty or a couple so happy. We just wet our collective UGGS a little thinking about it...

This stylish pair met in Brooklyn while Lilac was working at her exclusive boutique selling moss-encrusted pot-holders. Earl at the time was an assistant to NYC's top Circus promoter before moving on to a lucrative position as owner of a one-man-band. "We wanted to have this wedding really say who we ARE," commented Earl, "..so we decided to go with our 1940's-homespun-vintage-instagram-lumberjack-circus concept. We now it's been done, but it's really US!"

To compliment the dreamy Lumberjack/Circus theme, this cutting edge couple brought in top NYC wedding designer Rosa Megablatt. Rosa initiated an enticing color palette of milky beige, snappy tangerines and shit browns. "Since we had 2 live elephants for the evening serving drinks, we wanted the colors to reflect what the guests would be walking through all night on the ground. Those fuckers shit a LOT!" she comically muses in her thick Yiddish accent while stifling her giggles with an ironic hand-embroidered kerchief from a Nazi Death Camp.

"I am really excited for this wedding night," proclaims Earl wearing a vintage green and persimmon bow tie and top hat from the year 1659 and suit made entirely of Hemp with crafted buttons made of vintage twine, "... Lilac told me she might let me fuck her in the butthole! I am so blessed." Lilac overhears Earl and delivers a demure smile, "...You SEE?! I TOLD you: I am the luckiest girl in the world!" she says sitting on her antique hand-carved acrylic Greco-Roman ivy-covered throne. "Why, i'm not even wearing underwear!" Her 29 bridesmaids all chuckle in delight and hilarious abandon at how perfectly silly their panty-less friend is.

Miss Megablatt smartly incorporated miles and miles and miles and miles (literally, there were about 25 miles) of stunning, sustainably-harvested burlap from Lilac Fathers Idaho Burlap farm (www.burlap-smells-funny.com), and more mason jars than at a back-alley basement abortion clinic. Overhead hung twinkling candles, actually held aloft by hovering dwarfs wearing futuristic jet-packs covered in lime-green chiffon and organza ribbons. The tables were wrapped in pale rose sequined tule, making eating impossible: but not to worry, as Rosa brought in 25 underage children from Haiti to hand feed the guests. How comical they were, dressed as various circus nymphs and side-show attractions!

Some of the breathtaking food included a molten cotton candy volcano station, French-Style whipped clams and peanut butter served in hand-knitted woolen pouches and a bubble gum and vodka mashed potato-bar. While the men enjoyed cigars and an indoor shooting range with live Elk, Female guests were treated to individual elegant engraved vibrators... in the wedding colors of course! The list of adorable details simply goes on and on.

It was simply a dream come true for both this amazing, blessed couple as it was for us to present this incredible adjective laden blog post of which you will never again see the likes of - until maybe tomorrow.

Cheap and Cheaper

These days things have really started to go off the deep end. Couples come to meet with you wasting your day when You could be watching HBO, spouting off about what a wonderful guy their friends told them you were, not to mention all the AAHHH-MAZE-ing photos their seen in the walls of pals and pages of Facebook. But then the reality monster sets in, there eyes chalk over like a monster in a Hammer film from the 60's, and they look like they took a hit off a crack pipe when you discus your pricing options (or "Investment" if you want to be a fucking prick-tool and sound all pretentious, like they money they give you will go to feed wild pigeons in the Mississippi Delta, rather than pay your Macy's CC bill) These motherfuckers just sucked 90 minutes of my life verbally stroking my penis to only THEN slam me with the 'what can you do about the price' bombshell. I'll tell you what I can do for you: NOTHING, you stingy prick-hole!! I've got staff to pay, taxes to try and catch up on, household expenses, a car thats on its last leg---need I go on? So unless you grab my cock REALLY hard and keep jerking me off until i plop my hot load on your fiancees 'wedding planning binder' - you can take a fucking hike, No-Deal, Discount Boy.

I'm tired of it. TIRED. So very, very sour and tired. I'm tired of it nearly always being the same story we must repeat over and over. It never gets easier. When do I sit back and enjoy all of this? EVER?! Defending ourselves to the same questions about problems some OTHER idiots perpetrated on THEIR clients, to which WE now must defend and promise will never happen again. Once upon a time I believed that work gradually grows and changes and gets better. Jobs come in more easily. Your reputations follows suit. You are hired for expertise and knowledge. You finally get away from answering the basics you've answered the last 25 years. I can relax and rest on my laurels. and peoples past experience making my job easier. I would NOT have to spend each 'mis-season' wondering if I would ever fucking work again You've 'made it'!

What an asshole I am.

It only gets worse. Those cunty brides are fickle. The even CUNTIER bridal magazines cram their skulls full of unattainable wedding-dreams which makes our job more , rather than less difficult. And the more semi-part-time-weekend mommie newbies there are; baby sucking on a tit in one arm, Canon RebelX-p1 Deluxe with F2.5-5.6 Kit Lens in the other,  out there shooting any shit that moves or looks Pinteresty, the more deadly the scenario becomes.

But the clients are not much better. Recently on facebook, a gal posted that her client was PISSED she couldn't get her in for the family session she hoped for, as she NEEDED the photos and had a gift certificate. The photographer says, "i'm taking time of." To which the custoCUNT says, "You're taking a vacation NOW?? Why not wait until after the holidays??!" SO as if thats not bad enough, she finally reveals she's not 'vacationing' and luxuriating on a fucking beach, but having surgery. The douche-nozzle replies, "Well is it SERIOUS, can it WAIT?!"
I TOLD HER TO REFUND THE WHORES MONEY AND TELL THAT TWAT-BALL TO GO TO HELL. WHAT DISGUSTING NERVE! What pack of wolves raised someone that ignorant and uncaring about someone having fucking surgery to even THINK those thoughts?! Maybe she can shoot from the ICU unit if they're lucky. Do a whole tropical take on "The Descendants" and hope she dies for extra drama while George Clooney sits there weeping?

I dont know - it happens each and every year around the holiday - everyone goes insane...and maybe the thought of handling it again is wearing me down. But you gotta watch your step photo consumers  -- keep pissing us all off and we will all retire at once and you'll be stuck with little 5 year old Patty and her Fisher-Price point and shoot---which you know, you probably would think looked fairly good after you had your shitty CVS prints made.

So why am I even bothering?....this little bitch has it all figured out already---and looks a lot happier than we do doing it with the way things are going.

2 Flowers Ruined My Wedding

You know there are 2 types of stupidity- there's 'stupid' and then there's FUCKING DUMB CUNT STUPID

heres a recent email a fellow photographer received---

"We have been showing my family/friends the pics you sent. They are so fun to look through... I'm really loving the pics around the city and all the partying on the dance floor.

I was really hoping you could help me out with something. I have expressed my concern to florist regarding this issue even though there is nothing that can be done to change at this point. I am concerned that I have a polka-dot effect in my bouquet. There are 2 hot pink roses that clash drastically with the ivory and other lighter shades of pink that were used. I only wanted the ivory roses, very light pink roses, and greens to create a more soft, subtle look. I am really keeping my fingers crossed that you can soften the hot pink in the photos. Particularly of the ones where I am walking in and out of church although if we can do to all where it seems more obvious, it would be tremendously appreciated. I am trying so hard to not let this ruin how beautiful everything turned out to be. 

Look forward to hearing from you. Thank you so much"

Honest to fucking Jesus...are you kidding me? A couple of flowers brighter than she imagined for the last 3 years planning this fucking train-wreck of a wedding is NOW going to 'ruin' everything?

[I might add I have seen the aformentioned bouquet, and I can hardly tell what this crazy hooker is talking about]

I mean - how do you even process that in your head? All I keep thinking about is the poor new husband and the shit he is in for if this matrimony sham lasts for more than a year or 2. Why didn't she just yank the motherfuckers right out of the bouquet that day? And what good is telling the florist NOW several weeks after the event? I'll bet her cooter was wet the day of when all her stupid, dopey bridesmaids were OOOing and AHHing when the flowers arrived, declaring them the most beautiful thing on Gods Green earth. Now - suddenly - they suck.

I tell you what REALLY sucks now: YOU

I chalk this up to simple Wacky-Post-Wedding withdrawal, as now you actually have to live your boring day to day life rather than a manufactured fantasy-world. Now you are no longer a Princess each day.  Now, not everyone is going to pay attention to you each and every second.

Now - you may have to acknowledge your husband.

So listen up Little-Miss-Fantasyland: just fucking get over it. There's nothing you can do now and there are more important Life Issue than the color of a couple of godamn flowers in your cheesy-ass Stop and Shop bouquet. No one noticed the day of. No one cared or cares. The wedding day is over.

And so is your poor husbands life.

Donner Party: table for 1...

PRO UPDATE 2017!

This venue has been taken over by caterers  who know what they are doing (finally!) and the food is absolutely delightful! HORRAY!!!!

Well the good folks in the vomitorium they call at kitchen at this well known waterside venue in Westport CT have outdone themselves this time around with their latest Vendor Meal concoction. Behold this slab of horror, which one can only presume is a human thigh or buttock. Gaze upon its rich golden urine like iridescent hues, which are so commonly found in meat products. Wonder in wide-eyed amazement how one can get something that was once alive to look like it's been dead for several years on the roadside.

What you cannot see is that under the chunk of gore sits a horrified heap of mushy mashed potatoes, hiding out for their lives wondering what they did in life as a gentle Idaho spud to end up suffocating under this heap of unidentifiable flesh.

And a couple paid for this--just keep that in mind.