You'd better believe it!

This is a blog post I'm not sure how to compose, because really, how many times do you have to get it just right so that it's read in a way that conveys my excitement.

We're getting married!

Before I start fielding questions about details and proposals, I'll refer you to the FAQ portion of the post:

Q: Who Proposed?

A: Well, given our history, this is a good question. The answer is...no one. Unless you count my sister. As you've read previously, joking around about a drunken shotgun wedding in Vegas provoked her to say if it's for real, she'll go, which made Rod and I break down into a laughing fit when I lovingly took his hand, stared deep into his flecked green eyes, and said, "Darling? My sister wants to know...will you marry me?" No answer (too busy laughing). As of this post, no official offers of marriage or acceptances of proposals have been extended by either party.

Q: Then how the hell are you getting married?

A: Easy! Joking about it with everyone put me in mind of thinking about finding something to wear. After all, what looks good with a shotgun and a groom in handcuffs? My mother comes in here. I've never been a big "white wedding/pretty princess" type of kid, and I actually wasn't really considering white, never mind a bridal gown. But my poor mother had to give up her choice of wedding gear not once, but twice, and she was in Fort Chip at the time of my sister's wedding planning, so my mother has never had the experience of being in a bridal salon. So I agreed to do it for her, and we went down to the Bridal District of New Westminster, which sort of snowballed the whole joke into a whole new territory...Realdom.

Q: So? How's the shopping going?

A: Well, there's a dress. It's white. It's bridal. I'm still leery about it. Okay, for anyone who's never been married, or, in fact never cared for the "bridal" experience, going into a bridal salon is scary as fuck. In the first salon, I grabbed some gowns, and headed in. I flubbed my way into the first one, and was immediately terrified that I would break it some how. I was lightheaded the whole time in the first salon, and still not convinced I was going to do white, even after 4 dresses. Until I tried on a $2900 silk sheath that just...whispered 1930's socialite elegance. I fell in love. Okay, so white is a possibility. But not for $2900. *sigh*

Q: So? Keep going!

A: We next went to a consignment store down the block, where I tried on 2 dresses, and fell in love with the second on for $325. It was a strapless sheath, one piece, but cut in a way that appeared to be two piece, and S-E-X-Y. The waist was tiny, the boobs were big, and it just screamed, "Yes!" We agreed to think about it, and moved on to The Bridal Gallery across the street, where I literally walked into an appointment without having made one in the first place. They started me off with paperwork, asking all kinds of questions, to determine where to start helping me. I checked off a maximum of $1000, and out of nowhere comes...I don't even know, like...a million dresses? Blurg. Another good moment came in this really fricking hot dress that screamed "I BELONG AT A PLAZA HOTEL MANHATTAN WEDDING!" I felt confident, sexy, and RICH. But it was at the upper end of the limit. Moving on. Mum fell in love with the last dress I tried on, a strapless gown with a starburst pattern of jewelled beads reaching out from the faux wrap on my right side, but again, upper end of the price point. But we did come down to a chiffon-covered gown with a 3 foot train-thingy-type-deal, and clear and blue Swarovski crystals around the top hem. So, do I go with this totally girly, "bridal" dress, or do I go with sexy as hell across the road?

Q: And?

A: And the winner is....Frou frou wins because I'm food-deprived, wearing heavy dresses under hot lights, and getting the tough sell from the sales girl, who must be ready to hit me by now cause I've been waffling. It won by default...I was still wearing the dress and was feeling the pressure of a tough decision. Yes, it looks beautiful, but it's not me. And it's non-refundable. So there's a dress. Ergo, there's a wedding...Thursday, September 13th.

Q: Thursday?!?

A: Yes. Non-negotiable.

Q: Okay, mang, whatever you say. How's Rod taking it?

A: He's calm and accepting. I'm scared. Six months ago, it's the same old chorus of "I'm still afraid of commitment" with a rousing verse of "EVADE! EVADE!" Now, he's all cool, and we're discussing the pros and cons of beach vs. garden vs. Mountain (oh the woes of weddings in Vancouver :D hahaha). Last night it dawned on me that I knew the reason for this change in attitude...He's PREGNANT!!! That's the only explanation for such an about face! He wants to keep me around to take care of him and his alien spawn!

Q: Alien Spawn?!?!

A: Yeah, didn't you know? Rod wasn't born, he was implanted and hatched from the Vegreville Pysanka fully grown by Aliens. Any pictures he tries to pawn off on you while claiming to be younger than 16 years old are fakes.

There' I hope all that helps. So again, to sum up, dress, wedding, Thursday, September 13th, Rod okay (alien).