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.

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.

Please Sir, may I have some more?

Well this is nothing new but of COURSE we were not fed this past weekend at yet another fancy-fucking-pants golf club. Well - I suppose 'technically' we were....well, read on...

Earlier in the day, when i arrived at the brides house there was a huge spread of fruit, sandwiches, snacks and shit. The mother, an under-nourished over-tanned handbag of a woman, said not "Why don't you help yourself to a sandwich." but rather, "You should get shots of the food spread."
Really, you Leather Cunt? Thanks for offering. I'm not hungry after my 2 hour drive. It's fine. Really.

That put aside, that evening AS I'M SHOOTING, the huge, sweating cargo-truck of a man catering manager whispers in my ear (as i gaze longingly at everyone's surf and turf) "Hey! I have a sandwich for you in the other room." No kidding? Let me drop my camera right now because that sounds so fucking enticing. "I'll get it and bring it to you." he says. I get a boner right on the spot in the middle of the dance floor, and start touching myself, I'm THAT excited.

Said sandwich never materializes, and as i'm about to wrap up for the night he says, "HEY! Did you ever eat?" Ummm, did you BRING me the sandwich, Jumbo?

I say, "I'm really ok, I ate the one I brought."
"No,no!", he insists, "It's still good. Tell you what, I'll package it to go and out it by your bag." So now I feel a bit (only a BIT) bad because he's actually being nice.

And as a huge fatso, you KNOW this guy likes to eat.

I walk over to my bag to see a tempting styrofoam container, which as i pick it up is at light as a feather. I open it to find a grade school proportioned sandwich, delicately cut on the bias to make it fancy. For a moment I assumed Gigantor ate the rest of it, but no. It was just a wee little thing. Hobbits eat larger portions. I've flossed out larger servings of meals from between my teeth. Along with Le Petite Un Sandwich was a bag of chips smushed in there as well for additional nourishment. I could barely contain my excitement. My erection returned. How would I finish all this? AND I get to walk out like early-bird douche who could not finish his omelet and asked for a take home container. How humiliating.

And so in the end, there really is no final punchline to this story, other than the fact that more often than not the nicer the place, the worse you get served. THAT and the fact that many people who are Golf Club members and thoughtless assholes.

Craisglist Cunt

So this has been all over the internet like wildfire today, and this enchanting blog seems the perfect spot to highlight such an article. Please read then come back. We will wait...

http://seattle.craigslist.org/kit/evs/2804332414.html

OK- so without going into what the actual cost of doing business as a wedding photographer is, I will just say that no one, as far as I can tell, is holding this cheap redneck hostage in her Double-Wide forcing her to spend $3000. There are PLENTY of sites and photographers offering their services at a cut rate. Sometimes because they are starting out. Often just because they suck, but regardless--the options are available. If she would put down her Silver Bullet ( beer/ Vibrator? ...who knows, could be either) long enough to do some research she would see this is the truth. Turn on that dial-up, pop in that AOL floppy disc, and look up 'Budget Weddings' Or maybe, "Cheap-ass wedding photos"--anything will likely yield a result to compliment your Piggy Wiggly wedding bouquet, Payless Shoes and KFC Catering.

Ahhh--imagine the lucky guts that get to revel in the splendor of your Special Fucking Discount Day...most of whom you have slept with in order to raid money for the event of the milemnnium.

Bridal Must Haves

...an expression as passive-agreesive as "please advise", MUST HAVES is the latest aggravating bridal expression no doubt coined by all the fucking wedding rags that fill brides heads with deluded, unattainable dreams.

You know - you'll get that email with something like, "...and these are my photo 'must-haves' :) " with that mutha-fucking smiley face to diffuse the point that she knows how damn cunty she's being. But I suppose putting it in quotes diminishes the bitchiness somehow.

There are a LOT of things I MUST HAVE--just a few of which are listed here:

1. a pretty bride
2. a dress i haven't seen 20 other weekends
3. a dress that has been properly altered so you're not pulling up your tits all night long
4. flowers that are actually interesting and not from a grocery store
5. bridesmaids that FIT in their dress
6. a bridesmaid group MINUS the inevitable 'sad fat one'
7. kids that fucking behave
8. a wedding party with under 23 people in it
9. a DECENT room to photograph getting ready shot in, that actually has a window and this interesting thing called 'light'
10. a priest thats not a fucking dickhead
11. a church that is lit more than with 5 votive candles
12. groomsmen that are not all drunken douches
13. groomsmen who won't call me 'photo guy'
14. less than an hour drive between venues
15. a wedding someplace that is not a wedding factory
16. a wedding that has actual creative thought put into it, of which mirrors on the tables with sprinkled rose petals do not count
17. enough time for formals
18. did i mention an attractive couple?
19. howz about a meal at some point (thats whole other story)
20. to not be tapped on the shoulder all night being asked "HEY!!! Take THIS picture!!!"
21. less than a 12 hour day as really, lets face it, your wedding and you are not all THAT interesting.

Oh---surely I could go one forever, but Brides Of America--consider these demands before you ask me for your fucking Must Haves. March right into the bathroom and throw out all those stupid old copies of Modern Bride right now...your head is already filled with enough stupidity.

"It's Christmas - come work for us!"

At times it's hard to believe how obnoxious people are with their expectations and lack of consideration for any 'life' you might have out of photographing their fucking events. Aside from a bride wanting to stop by after Thanksgiving to 'discuss photo options' for her fucking 2012 wedding (REALLY?? are you bringing me a dessert? Its not until next summer and you need to interrupt MY weekend with your asinine 'thoughts' all stolen from The Knot?), the latest offense is one of wanting photos done Christmas Eve.

Now I don't know about YOU, but i'm usually VERY busy Xmas Eve. Generally I wake up around noon next to an empty bottle of scotch, masturbate onto the christmas the to mimic new fallen snow, then dress up as Santa and go to the mall food court, where I drop my pants and await the arrival of security. Why? FOR ATTENTION obviously, because I have NOTHING THE FUCK ELSE TO DO. Except--oh! yes...photograph your greasy, baloon head family on a holiday. Though apparently I am the only one who sees that day as part of the holiday.

I will come over there so fast, snatch that menorah out of your twat and slap you across the face with it you selfish cunt. How about I arrive at about 2 am, as that's convenient for ME. Are there any other ways I may serve you, your Highness? I'll bet you also expect the images up online by Christmas morning so everyone can look at them for 2 minutes and then never order anything. I'll get right on that.

You know what else i'm getting right on?

NOT calling you back...

It's 9-11!!! Can I have a discount, please?

Yeah I'll say it -

there are brides who book their wedding on 9-11 and think they are entitled to a fucking discount. As one photographer told me, it was suggested that "…due to what happened that day," that she was entitled to a break in the cost.

I am appalled. Like--nauseous appalled.

Any bride who freely chooses that day and then expects a discount, is a fucking hillbilly trash-cunt whore, who deserves to drop dead that day right on the altar. How DARE you choose a day that day which is so raw--so fresh ... such an open wound for the ENTIRE country and then try and milk it for a deal. Have you no dignity, sitting home in your pajama-jeans planning your ass-wipe, discount based wedding? What kind of low-life would do that? Do you think you really are that important because you chose some matching poly-blend table linens and ordered a dry wedding cake that no one will remember, after they gag on it and chase it with warm coffee while they all stare bewildered at your cheapo Christmas Tree Shop 'gift' they all received at their place setting?

You wanna choose that day- fine. No problem. ASK FOR A BREAK however…NOT SO FINE. I cannot wrap my head around that concept. Oh wait: because YOUR wedding is the most important of them all, and people jumped to their deaths and 2000+ people DIED you should get a price break.

Are you totally mental? You have 52 weeks in the year, with 2 days in each weekend. How about you pick on of the OTHER 103 dates that happen to not fall on a national tragedy to have your special, stupid muthafucking day. You are not that special, really.

There are days like this, where I would like to get on a spaceship and leave this planet for good.

Kindly Get The Fuck Out Of My Way

You know what I DON'T need? Here's the short list: fucking limo fucking drivers, and church fucking coordinators in my fucking photos.

Stumpy, sausage-fingered 'Soprano' leftovers who feel the need to 'assist' the bride out of the limo (even though her dad is standing right there and fully capable of opening a car door) Did it ever occur to you that by you hovering around the bride in your poly-blend one-size-too-small plastic looking tux that you haven't dry cleaned in a month, that you are in all of her photos? Her memories? You are now PART of her special fucking day, in a way she had not counted on? Why do you think that's ok, you bloated douche tube? Do I photo bomb your summertime Mafia-themed Coors Light-manicoti filled home parties?

I think not.

Go the fuck away and - - - OH!!! HERE'S an idea: learn the directions to all the locations and be on fucking time. How about THAT rather than you lingering around holding the back of the dress. Maybe you didn't notice genius, but there's 16 bridesmaids with their fingers up their pussies just DYING for something to do. I know it's 'always a bridesmaid never a bride', but back off Luigi: YOUR special day will come sooner or later, and I hope I can stand around all sweaty and gross in the background of your shots.

And PS - NO: I do NOT want to have you set up a fucking staged champagne toast on your mini-godamn red carpet. Don't do me any favors, seriously. Check your datebook dickhead: it's not 1989.

And as for the ever-delightful church coordinators: those enchanting women who have not been fucked in 19 years who's job it is now to boss around the bridal party and any wedding professionals that may enter their Holy sanctum. They take their job VERY seriously as after all, God himself is watching them.

But do you know what God hates as much as I do? YOU STANDING IN THE FUCKING AISLE BEHIND THE BRIDE WHILE THE BRIDE WALKS DOWN TO THE ALTAR!!!! Why do I want to look at you in your frumpy schmata housedress behind my beautiful bride? WHY WHY WHY??? The same goes for clueless wedding planners - who equally believe that mystical powers are in full force during a wedding as their hide behind their magic "invisibility-shield" Staples clipboard. Somebody call Batman: even HE didn't figure THAT one out.

Guess what you old cunt: I can see your ancient ass, standing there as you watch the bride walk down the aisle - that permanent sourpuss affixed to your face as you think to yourself each and every Saturday, "Why have I NEVER found a man? Why can't I BE loved?" I'll tell you why- it's because you're sour, miserable, cunty and smell vaguely of mothballs.

Now get the FUCK out of my shot and go in back to see which altar boy the priest is mistreating...