So, I’m getting married in a month. Like, literally. On this date in November of 2015, I will be getting married. Okay, so now we’re one day off cause I fell asleep writing this.
Lots of things are tough about wedding planning. Just like lots of things about it are totally easy and totally fucking awesome. Some examples…
Things that are tough:
*Getting save-the-dates and invitations out on time
*Finding a good bridesmaid dress if you’re confident enough in yourself that you actually want your chicks to look as awesome as they are.
*Finding the time to do everything
*Not going crazy when the post office is out of your stamps
Things that are easy:
*Cake tasting
*Spending money
*Imagining the getting married part
*Being excited
*Losing track of time
*Feeling lucky
*Stressing out
*Saying fuck (truthfully, this is always)
Things that are awesome:
*Cake tasting (this deserves to be on two lists)
*Picking out wedding party gifts
*Playing with fire and wax to seal your invites
*Finding your dress
*Asking your bridesmaids to measure their heads
*Knowing that for one day you are legitimately the goddamn most important person on the face of the earth or at least in your world.
Now in addition to getting the invites out on time, finding the perfect bridesmaid dress and not going postal on everyone, you know what else is fucking hard? Writing your own damn vows. 
Now, I know there is someone out there that just closed their eyes and imagined their wedding and *boom* the perfect vows were so created. And you know what? I bet they sucked. I bet everyone at that wedding was like, “what the shit is Sheila talking about or “Jesus Christ, why didn’t they just go traditional?” Because writing vows is hard, people.
If you give even two of the smallest shits about the person you’re marrying, you want the vows to be the best damn words that ever entered into their ear-holes. And if you fancy yourself the creative type or the funny type or like me, the arrogant bastard child of Jane Austen and Amy Schumer, the vows are going to give you fucking nightmares. 
Seriously. Like Poltergeist-type nightmares. 
You know what’s tougher than trying to mix the sentiment of Gilbert Blythe with the comedy of Chelsea Handler? Trying to do it in a wedding dress. And god knows that you don’t want to be one of those people that try too hard or go too far with it — after all, it’s supposed to be about the love and the moment and the rest of your lives. 
So, I’ll continue on, writing my fourth draft of vows that will describe in absurdities and flowery language how lucky I feel to be marrying the love of my life. I’ll somehow find a way to convey in a minute or two that every unsolicited dick pic, every name-dropper, every total fucking stalker (I had three) was worth it. That the homeless man who used his tent in the Home Depot parking lot as a bargaining tool or the guy who ran across four lanes of traffic on Wilshire Blvd once he realized he wouldn’t be sleeping with me that night or even the cop running for councilman who tried to make my then-current twosome into a threesome was all so totally worth it…because I met HIM
And hopefully, I’ll find a way to do without using the word “fuck”.