See what I did there? Rock. Like a ring. And bottom. Because I don't have one. I've been trying to get someone to propose to me for a while now, but apparently it's really difficult to make a commitment to a strange girl in a random night club who asks you to marry and/or wreck her. Call me old-fashioned, but I think there used to be a time when it was perfectly acceptable (and not at all totally creepy) to waltz up to a stranger and ask them to make a lifelong commitment (and possibly children) to (and with) you (respectively.) Anywho, I decided "Hey, fuck it. I'm starting a wedding blog." I know it seems like wishful thinking, but I know that someday a perfect gentleman will accept my bold, brazen advances and offers to "put my head between my legs and make you wish I had all 18 of your illegitimate children." One day, my hand will not have the cheap fake rock I put on it to make people think I'm important. One day, a nice boy will take me out on a date, I will announce to him that I am ovulating, and he will squeal with joy and begin his mating dance. Yes, one day, I shall be married. And fuck damnit, that day had better be yesterday. Because I want a wedding. I don't even care about a husband. I just want a wedding. And children to dress up in little chimp outfits. Or chimps to dress up in little children outfits, I don't even fucking care. And so, my wedding blog begins.
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