The part of me that is still addicted to wedding blogs is a little irritated that I did this all wrong. By "this" I mean, the photos. We did not do engagement photos, both out of just putting it off until it was too late and also because I just don't like the idea of them. I was really terrible at "being engaged" and felt super self-conscious and was convinced that engagement photos would just expose me for the faker that I was. We had our photographer come to the rehearsal and take a few shots during cocktail hour at rehearsal dinner instead.
But then I also fucked up the "getting ready pictures" because our official photographer did not come over to do those. Initially I was a little miffed, but once I was getting ready at my dad's apartment with my maid-of-honor and my sister and my horrible, nervous stomach cramps and the unlady-like belching fits - well, at that point I was relieved that the only person there with a camera was my best friend from high school (who brought her Holga). I haven't seen her pictures, but I felt much better about her being there than feeling obligated to look pretty for someone else. Admittedly, our photographer is a friend but not so good a friend that I wouldn't feel camera shy in my mom's bathrobe while my maid-of-honor tried to burp me like a fucking baby. These would not have been elegant photographs.
So we met our photographer at the venue - except that when I showed up at the venue I was surrounded by the paparazzi family members who we'd asked not to be there. I was pissed but kept smiling. My maid-of-honor shielded me from a lot of it - rather, she distracted me enough that I couldn't dwell on all the people staring at me before I'd even gotten a chance to see my fiance.
We didn't have time to do hipster photos of the bridal party or fancy shots of our rings. I got a few family pictures. There was no private time for a first look, just me and H. We were surrounded by family members with their damn digital cameras in our faces who didn't seem to understand that I was about to hyperventilate and go bridezilla on their asses. H was running around trying to wrap up last minute details and saying hello to people and he sat next to me on a chair and there was no special moment. No tearful photos. I insisted on getting one large family photograph over with so that I could run out of the courtyard before I snapped - the groomsmen could take their photos after I was gone. But I really, really needed to be gone.
There is, quite likely, videographic proof that while I waited to walk down the aisle in the art gallery next door I was cursing like a sailor, belching like a frat boy, hiking up my skirts, and exposing my sweaty armpits to the air conditioning vent. Babs, my maid-of-honor, always helps keep me classy. I may or may not have attempted to the do the stanky leg. I swallowed a glass of white wine like it was water. We checked the score of the LSU v. Florida game on my father's phone. I managed to calm down.
The rest was gravy.