Three times a bridesmaid. . .

never a bride. . . forget that shite. It should be more like, "First one to the alter gets the bridesmaids" or "Once a bridesmaid, forever committment phobic."

I kid, I kid. A little.

One of my all-time favorite peeps is getting married this year. And I'm in the wedding. Yipee! Okay, now that the honeymoon phase of being included and loved is over, I'm starting to see that this wedding business is not a joke. Not even a bad joke. Or a pun. For example, so far all that is required of me is to call the bridal shop that is making the dresses with my measurements. Sounds easy enough. Well sure, it sounds easy. I'm sure it would be easy too, if I had a tape measure - or if I had a "tape measure buddy" I want to see at me in my underthings to make sure I don't transpose any of the numbers when I write them down. Molehill ---> mountain. You get the idea. And this is just one tiny task. The other day the bride-to-be left me a voicemail including all the wedding stuff she and her finance had been doing - they registered at Crate & Barrel and Bed, Bath, and Beyond. They had bought their wedding rings the day before. . . the list went on. I had to rest for two days before I could return her call.

If I wasn't seriously single enough, wedding planning by proxy is sealing the deal. When I get married, you can expect to read about it on here - I won't worry about whether or not I'll pay for an open bar on the big day and you'll send nice comments and lots of page loads instead of gifts and we'll call it even.