things that weren't done right, part 1

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.