Wedding Tears and THC

 

IT'S BEEN AWHILE, BUT I'M BACK, BITCHES.....

The day started like any other. entering the brides room for getting ready photos. Only this day, I  find her lying in bed under the covers working on a laptop.

 

And fucking crying.

 

Before I see she's crying, I say, “oh hey, how's it going?” She doesn't even acknowledge me through her bridal tears, so I say, “I'm just gonna run to the bathroom.” 

 

Turns out I probably should have fucking stayed there all day.

 

So I eventually find out she was working on her vows, which I suppose is why she was weeping openly as I do not think she was slicing onions…although i'm still not sure. Makes perfect fucking sense to do this 20 minutes before your wedding, no? Shortly thereafter, as she begins to transcribe it to her stupid Etsy vow book for the ceremony, her goddamn computer battery dies. Naturally, dumdum has failed to back this up anywhere else, and so roughly 30 minutes before she's supposed to leave for a first look, she's in a panic because her shitty computer won't turn on. I decide it's best not to get involved, so I leave for the venue.

 

At said venue I then have to wait for roughly an hour later than both the bride or the groom are supposed to be there for their fucking first look. Finally the groom shows up and, in a peculiar twist I could not have predicted, he too is crying. More fucking crying.

When I say crying, I'm talking ‘hand covering the eyes can't stop himself crying’…to the point where his groomsmen were mocking him. This blubbing continued for the next hour and 15 minutes. The bride, incidentally, is still not there. I was supposed to have roughly 90 minutes for photos. At this point I have about half an hour.

 

I'm considering starting crying myself.

 

She finally arrives and naturally is in absolutely no rush to start anything. I try to get things rolling. And she says she's ready to go, so I get the groom positioned outside.

 

And in case you were wondering (you KNOW you were) pussyboy is still crying.

 

The first look goes as you might have imagined with generous doses of sniveling, bawling and ALL the snot bubbles, as she tries to comfort him and get through their private vows.

 

It’s also starting to rain, because of COURSE it is.

 

Guests are arriving and being held in the foyer. We’ve not taken a single family or bridal photo, but on the positive side, most of the tears have evaporated.

 

Luckily, the venue was nice enough to let us let us use the other side of the place, so they could let guests come into OUR side. I have 15 minutes for all the photos. “OK, Bridal party!,” I scream, “We’ve got about 15 minutes until the ceremony so I need you motherfuckers over here for a group photo!” Instantaneously, a bridesmaid and groomsman turn and leave the tent running into the building like there was a fire. “WAIT!! What the fuck are you doing…where are you GOING?!?!”

 

“Oh, I just have to get something,” The Lady Non-Listener says.

 

“I gotta grab something for the groom,” The Man Ignorer says.

 

I decide to do whatever I can with whomever hasn’t decided to flee the tent. They finally come back, and I bang out as much as I can in roughly 9 minutes, as at this point, I sorta don't fucking care.

 

You’d think that’s it but NOPE, there’s more.

 

During the ceremony, as he goes to slide his ring on butterfingers drops it and says (very loudly) “OH SHIT!!” (which was frankly kind of funny but I was feeling cunty and in NO mood) 

As the night continued, I noticed that the grooms eyes were never not red, even though the little fellas sobbing had stopped. His behavior seemed a little off as well, and the couple would disappear a lot. 

 

Then there was a rather incomprehensible toast, after which I find out that the bar had been secretly diluting the couples drinks and that after every round they’d go outside for a vape session.

 

At one point when we couldn’t find them, they were spotted yelling at each other in the bridal suite. Then they were MIA for about 20 minutes (which is fantastic for wedding night photos.)  The ballsy DJ decides to knock on the bridal suite door twice, then slowly opens it to see them silently embracing IN THE CLOSET (marijuana for the wedding win.)

 

They eventually bounce out like 2 happy go lucky fucking lunatics and fumble through some stupid dances. His puffy eyes nearly sealed shut yet somehow glowing a satanic red. Shortly thereafter, he is spotted out cold on the floor in front of the photo booth. (Who doesn’t need a nap during a wedding?) His friend helps him up, but he stays propped up against the wall like a cheap Spirit Halloween prop.

 

But soon – vapey vapey: HE’S BACK, reanimated and ready to dance with his visibly saddened and greatly disappointed mom, who spent the dance half trying to ‘enjoy’ the moment with her pathetic son, and half not throwing her back out keeping him vertical. 

 

I’m pretty sure she immediately jumped on the brides now charged computer to take him out of her will.

 

Then jumped in the fucking lake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Limo drivers should not exist

Hey Limo man, please get the fuck out of my way.

No like, really.

I know you have a job to do, and here is what that job is: to drive the limousine.

Here is what your job is not: to be in every photo of mine with the bride.

Look, we all know you love your little-red-riding-hood red carpet runner, which you lovingly have rolled up in the trunk. We know you love the sideshow of removing it like a dead body and unrolling it like it was filled with gold coins or the Lindbergh baby.

You adore your wobbly wine cooler propped precariously on the sidewalk. OHHH - the DRAMA when you un-pop the cork and the crowd swoons having never heard that sound before! "AVERT YOUR EYES, IT'S WITCHCRAFT!!" the crowd screams.

And then the 'assistance' begins. Yeah, let's not let Dad open the car door (because how would he know how to do that?) Instead, let's have this strange Driver Man open the door, takes the brides hand and then stand there like a pile of old dry cleaning. This way years from now, the bride and groom can look back and think, "Oh sweetie, remember that special man who opened a door for us and is now in every fucking picture?"

Look, most of these fucks are dressed like they stopped at the Goodwill bin behind a highway Mobil Station to find an outfit on the way to the wedding. Frumpy, disheveled and dressed like a cartoon version of what a 'limo driver' looks like - they stand around, tiny arms flailing, trying to 'help' but rather blocking great shots and becoming an unwanted guest in their photos. "Hey Photo Guy - do you want to get the shot of the door opening?" they'll ask. "Nah, I dont really do that," I often say more to watch their baffled looks than anything else.

Even better, is when this drivey douche decides to walk the bride up the fucking church stairs, while poor Dad trails behind not knowing what to do. "Maybe she isn't my daughter after all," Dad ponders holding back tears of paternity uncertainty moments before the ceremony.

So Limo People - do the couple a favor know ALL the addresses ahead of time (yep, that shit happens) and just drive the fucking car towards the church or reception or wherever. Don't stand there with your mental pre-programmed dog and pony show - people just want to get from 'A' to 'B.' 

And speaking of being IN THE WAY, next time we'll talk all about cunty Church ladies.

The Stupid Castle On The River

There is a ridiculous wedding venue 'castle' in Connecticut - why it even exists I have no fucking idea. It's filled with bizarre labyrinths, doorways you have to leave the building to access. There is more hideous wood carved furniture than at a Vermont Hipster Woodworkers fair.
And stables.
There are horse stables...inside. Filled with fiberglass horses standing guard to haunt your dreams. I kid you the fuck not.
Yet this mish-mash-monstrosity is a very popular and expensive wedding venue, I would guess because all these fucking girlies dream of being a Fairy Princess (in Central Connecticut, of course) and this dump is the closest they will get, as soon after the wedding they will be relegated to living with their Past-drinking asshole husband in a tiny cape house off the merritt parkway
And really - who am I to judge - good for them.

But lets talk about the food. Both the vendor as well as the guests food. Horrible, stale cold-glop served with a friendly flourish (i'll give them that) - but still uneatable nonetheless.

First course: Mystery garlic pasta with red things in it.

Of course we couldn't SEE what we were eating as we were LITERALLY eating in one of the stables with the plastic horses watching us from the pen next to us. Dim purple LED lighting left over from their Halloween haunted house was ll the light we had to see this pasta-horror. Were those sun-dried tomatoes? Severed fingers? Who knew - all we DID know was that the one side of our plates were luke warm, the other ice cold. Not 'cool' but chilly-ass cold. So heavy was the garlic and cream that it was like eating a cold clove of soggy mushed garlic.
One we were done eating this shit, the waitress brought over cheese, which I was ready to eat out of the bowl with a spoon as a consolation prize.

Second course : lumpy salad greens with cheese nuggets 

In all fairness this wasn't that bad, as how can you fuck up a salad? But the salads had some sort of lumpy pieces that again, in our haunted-house lighting were impossible to see.

This and Final Course: 'steak', salmon and eggplant parmigiana

I'll start with the steak which deserves 'quotes' as I had no idea what it was. As grey as an old hookers pussy, this thing looked BOILED rather than grilled or even pan browned. The fancy potatoes (obviously piped out of a pastry bag) were so HARD and cold, we were able to pick them up as a solid piece. I don't know about you, but i'm accustomed to mashed potatoes that you can eat by the forkful rather then nibbling pieces off the edges like an old sandwich.

The salmon was also as frigid as the bride will be in 6 months. Also full of bones, which again - you could not see due to black-light mood lighting terror atmosphere. It was a Heimlich Evening waiting to happen.

And finally the eggplant parm : a strange disc of sauce and eggplant from outer space. Part hockey puck, part Italian scented doorstop, this thing was also ice cold, dry and full of a weird grainy texture. Is beach sand now an ingredient in Italian cooking? It is at this Mighty castle of delights.

Now you may think its just us being sour vendors ( imagine! ). However once we all decided what was placed in front of us was uneatable and we'd pushed it aside, a GUEST walked by and said, "How's the food for you guys?... as BAD as OURS was?"

For what these dumps charge all the time trying to be 'really fancy' - they should be ashamed of them selves for serving such shitball food. Stop it with the silly white glove service and bells and whistles & cook something people can EAT!!!

Someone get me the Lord of this fucking castle on the phone--I need to have a few words with him about his cooking staff.

And his fiberglass horses.

The Angry Innkeeper at the Bee and Thistle

PRO UPDATE - 2019!
"Ding-Dong The Witch is dead" as the lunatic referenced in this tale has gone back to whatever godforsaken place from whence she came. The inn is now managed by a perfectly delightful staff and the place is as enchanting as it SHOULD have been all along!!

_____

So here’s the scenario we received regarding a wedding at a well known inn in Old Lyme CT.....oh fuck it... It's The Bee and Thistle Imm. Girlfriend had gone mental. 

"Everything is delayed—the bride while very sweet, moved slowly and no one had any concept of time nor was in charge or aware of anything. We’re a good 45 minutes late for the First Look. It’s raining—no wait; POURING, so the ceremony is moved into a rather small tent. The ground is flooding and I’m standing in about an inch of water in the grass.  They are putting down carpet and digging trenches to try and divert water. There is no center aisle, so I have to squeeze behind the back row in 2 inches of water to maneuver anywhere. Get the picture? Good.
And seriously can we stop playing games and cut to the chase!? It's that looney Linnea at the Bee And at Thistle.  

A gorgeously designed spot overseen by a modern my Norman Desmond. She has no clue how to run a functioning inn, and think she Better suitee to some giant haunted lost float at Burmimg man. 

I’m patiently waiting by the groom and JP hoping I can get a clear shot of the bride entering as it’s the smallest tent space you’ve ever been in. We’re waiting on the bride. And waiting---and waiting.

Suddenly the Innkeepers assistant – in front of EVERY GUEST – calls for me. I’m like, “You want ME?!” The JP, Groom and video guy all look baffled, as I am as well.

Once inside, I’m met with the furious innkeeper who says, “ I need you here NOW for this shot!!!!” 

I’m sweaty and wet and now very confused.

“Uthh, Ok-but I was waiting outside for her to come into the tent, since the ceremony is starting!”

“NO!!" She commands,  "You’ll have time for that, we need to get these shots for ME now!!!” She’s really mad at me. Like REALLY mad with an insane look in her eye. Obviously I didn’t know she planned a fucking photo shoot.

I give her ‘The Look’ and talk to her like she’s a 5 year old, “OK—What shot is that? Because you know everybody is waiting….”

“You’ll have time for that",  she repeats, "for now, you need to go to the top of the stairs at which point I will bring out the bride and you will stand in the back corner and I’ll position her and you can get a photo of her looking away, then down, then back at you…then you’ll go to the bottom of the steps and get one of her and dad…etc etc.” This goes on and on. Sad part about this is our Colleages in CT have all COMPARED notes have the same terrible experience. Where she delays, yells, belittles and commandeers.
If it were exactly as a couple asked, I'd steer then away.but if not the case ( as we suspect) Who is this woman, where did I she come from. 

So this lunatic basically orchestrates an ENTIRE series of photos that SHE wants, telling me where to stand, and what angle to use (in fact MAKES me move for one when I’m not where she feels I should be) It was absolute insanity. The bride looks pissed and completely not interested while steam is coming out of my ears. After she gets her forced, stupid images she then ‘allows’ me to go back in the tent for the wedding to start.

Tee!!?? NOOOOO!

So with no concern her kitchen amok cook? Tell her goes the rom. Shouts,he'd editor for timing or delay or the brides wishes, not to mention her telling me how to do my job, she plots out her own mini-shoot for her Inn IMMEDIATELY before the ceremony (which remember, is late as it is)

The wort offensive is she has done this  to MULTIPLE photographers OVER AND OVER NOT ONLY RUINING Their photo mojo, BUT impeding  ON their creativity. If you want your smapshot fine,,but not 15 seconds before they're ready to walk down the aisle. This ain't how wedding photography functions. 

I am still flabbergasted and don’t even know what to say about this other than share the experience.

How many years do I have to do this job to stop having people like this telling me how to do it?"   

MomTographers

I suppose you always wonder what the next fucking aggravating trend is going to be that makes you want to jump off a church roof during a wedding. So today we present for your the newest aggravation called "Momtographers".

Lets get thing rolling with this quote from some fucking 'MOMMY' internet group:

"Pictures by Mom is just what I needed. I love all the mom articles and posts, and the photography tips are just fantastic. Now I feel like a professional photographer whenever I pull out my camera - which is all the time."

or:

"My wife just put together a whole family photo shoot. She knew exactly what she wanted us to wear, where to go for the pictures, how to pose us - even how to put her camera on a timer so she could be in the pictures too. We are so happy that we now have some fantastic pictures for our home!"

Really? Does your wife have Downs Syndrome? She learned how to use a fucking button on her camera...you married a genius.

Then there's bullshit like this:

 "What every Momtographer needs to know about taking professional looking photos."

You can read all her handy tips here:

https://keytopictures.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/What-every-Momtographer-needs-to-know-about-taking-professional-looking-photos.pdf

"...what I like to call Open Shade" she says. What YOU like to call open shade?! Now this dopey twat is claiming she invented that expression?

Here's another to make your skin crawl right off your bones and out of the room from a website called 'Chasing Rainbows' (can I make this up?!) With a post named "Unleashing My Inner Momtographer"  

http://www.kateleong.com/2012/03/unleashing-my-inner-momtographer.html

Naturally there is a motherfucking Pinterest board devoted to it as well. I mean, why wouldn't there be yet another board to drain any sense of original thought out of medicated, starry eyed housewives?

https://www.pinterest.com/normajeangrl/mom-tographer/

_________

I could go on forever. When and how did this become OK and a 'thing". Do you see people running around unleashing their inner "dentist' or 'oil rig operator'? Whats worse, is because there are internet groups for this shit, some of them go out and start charging money for other unsuspecting people. "OH hooray - my husband bought me a big fancy camera for valentines day--I think i'll start a Facebook group (which makes one instantly valid and professional, apparently) and photograph kids---and maybe even WEDDINGS. Ahhhhh--aren't weddings simply dreamy?!"

There a zillion groups and workshops and fucking support meetings for these cunts with Canons where they can carry on about "balancing life and being a mama." Heres one offering a workshop for $50.00:

http://the-momtographer.blogspot.com/p/momtography-workshop-registration.html

Spend $50 to take some snaps, have a glass of boxed wine and Yenta it up about 'how tough everything is'. Boo-hoo-hoo. It's as bad as those painting or 'wine and pottery' classes where you can go and pay to do glorified finger painting and smear paint on a canvas like 5 year old.

Guess what sister, you really can't have it all, as life involves making choices. You want 4 kids--terrific: now stay home and watch your incubi destroy your house and shit on the rug and stop complaining about not having 'life balance'. I don't begrudge a parent wanting to learn how to take better shots of their kids for fun, but when they start claiming they are a business and do shit all half-assed, it simply degrades the ENTIRE field of photography. How about you NOT be the Cheesecake Factory of life and try and do everything but do it all poorly. Instead, pick something and excel at it. This applies to fucking everyone, not just Nudnicks with Nikons

Recently I came across a facebook post with another one of these lunatics asking, "...I want to spend time with my kids while their babies...does anyone have advice how I can stop my business (and I use that term loosely) and start it up again when they older in 3 years?"

For real? Does Target close down because they need to spend time with their kids? Here's a thought--decide what you want in life and either close your business or close your pussy. 

It's really pretty simple.

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.