ARE BRIDES THE NEW AL QAEDA?

Plus: renovation updates in MAKING THE MANOR

I’M A HYPOCRITE

In my popular and spiky post on etiquette, Class is in Session, I wrote some strongly-worded commentary on entitled brides-to-be.

“We’ve all been on a bachelorette trip with Stalin. We’re forced to buy the $750 plane ticket to Mexico, only to stay in the mega all-inclusive resort with the shitty buffet food that the bride thinks is “so good”, and pay $450 per night for a four-night extravaganza (way too long). (Not to sound stuck up, but I’ve never heard of an all-inclusive that actually has amazing food. I think that’s kind of why they’re all-inclusive. The economics don’t work otherwise).”

- Class is in Session

Now, as I sit here with a dreamy wedding Pinterest board full of my “North Star vision” (feel free to slap me), I fear being sucked into the vortex that is the Wedding Industrial Complex.

That’s right motherfuckers. 💎Dave and I are engaged. 💎

What was originally a land-grab and expansion of wealth between families under the guise of religious faith, now feels more like a direct manipulative attack on my feminine psyche and desire to be the princess I’ve always wanted to be.

My feeds are all of the sudden flooded with taunting videos of weddings in Italian castles and villas, or my personal favorite, brides galloping across a breathtaking Montana backdrop, white dress flowing behind them, arriving to the altar on horseback. There are a lot of logistical things that could go very wrong here but ‘tis a dream nonetheless.

To quote the voice behind my inner monologue - Jackie Schimmel - brides are the new Al Qaeda.

We’re made to wear coordinating outfits, which we had to purchase just for this trip, and of course we have to lug an extra jumbo suitcase stuffed with sashes, bedazzled crowns, streamers, balloons, penis necklaces, and all the other paraphernalia required to make the bride-to-be feel special.

- Class is in Session

So what’s a girl to do?

I can’t be the dictator the WIC wants me to be and make completely unrealistic demands of my friends to spend gobs of money and time on little old me. To be honest, I don’t even view any pre-marital bridal celebrations to be about the future bride.

They should be a celebration of female friendships to honor the women who lifted you up and gave you the support you needed to get you to this place. They held you upright as you stumbled out of the bar. They sat patiently and listened as you tearfully droned on about a loser who broke your heart. They supported you in your slut phase.

Female friendships are the real heroes that ought to be honored leading up to the wedding.

So, how do we celebrate and honor these relationships without asking too much of our friends?

I’m still workshopping this and welcome any advice from those who have been churned through the WIC and those who have been collateral damage - bridal parties, friends and family members who suffered at the hands of a terrorist bride.

I also have a major issue with the formulaic nature of weddings. Arrive, slug a cocktail or two on an empty stomach. Ceremony. Hors d'oeuvres and more drinks while bridal party takes photos.

Reception. Watch uncomfortably as two people who can’t dance hold onto each other for dear life.

Shitty food arrives. CHICKEN OR FISH??!! CHOOSE YOUR FATE. You choke it down because you’re fucking hammered from drinking three vodka cranberries on an empty stomach.

Now you’re being told to GET THE FUCK UP IT’S TIME TO DANCE!!!!! Shitty DJ starts playing hype music to get the people going. He finally kicked his heroin addiction and now the only time he feels anything is when he’s playing Black Eyed Peas.

DANCE MONKEY DANCE!!!!

You dance because your life depends on it. With Tilapia and rail liquor slushing around inside of you. You think for a moment you might yack. You swallow it down and keep dancing. A conga line starts. You join in, gripping the sweaty love handles of the bride’s uncle Ron.

As the night goes on, the dancing becomes more violent. An exorcism of sorts, as guests writhe and wriggle, not a one to the rhythm. The bride’s sweaty uncle Ron makes eyes at you, beckoning you from across the dance floor. You dodge eye contact but he has you pegged and chassés over as you desperately look for an escape.

At the last moment you make hail mary reach for your friend, who’s dancing with her husband. You tell her husband to fuck off as this is life or death, and you yank your friend into your arms and begin a forceable dance just as Ron approaches bearing a big grin on a red face.

Ron, bamboozled but not defeated, pivots and redirects his focus to a new victim - the brides maid of honor. You see it coming but you leave her to fight for her life. You can’t fight this battle for her.

The DJ is now crying while Aerosmith blasts, “every little thing that you do, I’m so in love with you.”

Three more vodka cranberries have entered your system. Dessert arrives at the tables. Nobody eats it.

It’s all a disaster but everyone tells the bride it was SO MUCH FUN!!! The best night EVER!!! As if this reception is the most impressive feat she has ever accomplished. (It might actually be).

The tilapia and broccolini with cold, undercooked potatoes were SO YUMMY OMG.

I guess the thing to keep in mind is this: (I’m say to myself ) nobody gives a shit about your wedding as much as you do.

Well shoot. Nobody’s going to invite me to their weddings after this.

Promises I’m sticking to:

Bridesmaids dresses are inhumane, and I will not ask anyone to wear them.

There will be no chicken or fish. Hell I might not even feed you at all.

If Dave and I do a first dance, we’re going to give you a goddamn show. (Note: he is strongly opposed to this but it’s out of his hands).

What else do you guys think are insufferable behaviors and expectations to avoid?

---

🎀 PINK IS A SLEEPER CELL THAT LIVES WITHIN ME 🎀

Dave nailed it on the proposal. It was exactly what I wanted. In our home that we’re building together. No strangers around, no secret photographer hiding behind a bush. Just us (and the tres amigos) in our happy place.

The chilly day made for an extra bonus with the fire crackling next to us. Queue Taylor: 🎶 He built a fire just to keep me warm 🎶

I’m going to get uncharacteristically sappy for a second so bear with me.

The pink pear diamond is reflective of the peace I feel now that I’m finally able to relax fully into my feminine energy with Dave.

It might sound silly, but I saw this TikTok months ago asking women who are happily married when they knew their husband was the one, and one of the responses really hit a chord. It simply said, “I started to like pink again.”

That’s when I knew I wanted a pink diamond. Hell I even painted my office pink.

It’s so TRUE. When I learned I could lean on him as a reliable protector and provider, I melted into my girlie tastes and tendencies from childhood that had been squandered by the need to perform and manage my life and others with a cortisol-inducing masculine energy.

In this new energetic space, my demeanor changed, my wardrobe changed, and the ways I found fulfillment shifted towards more intimate, community-focused, and creative pursuits.

I stopped feeling the need for global domination, to be seen everywhere, to compete with everyone, to pursue things like VC money for my business simply to match the energy of the bros I was surrounded by.

I began to value my female friendships exponentially more, and I walked away from those who disguised thinly veiled jealousy and competitiveness as friendship. I sought out the feeling of “home,” warmth, and groundedness.

I thought this was fascinating that a color could be such a powerful indicator of a woman’s energy, vibration, mood, demeanor, physical appearance, and how we show up in our community.

That comment, by the way, received 180,000 likes. Clearly there’s something to it.

---

🌸 MAKING THE MANOR 🌸

The main entryway to the house has been a bear of a project (for Dave, not me). I’ve sat idly by like a passenger princess and watched as he chipped, scraped, and heat-gunned the shit out of the door and floor boards, pealing away decades of paint.

The door was completed first, and to his credit and my savant-level color-picking abilities, it looks amazing. We went with a cerulean blue inspired by - what else - the French countryside.

LANDSCAPING: AKA TRISH GETS ASSAULTED BY NATURE

I’m trying so goddamn hard to be a lady of the land. A garden fairy. An earthy goddess who speaks to the plants thriving in her pristine paradise.

So far, I have a mean bout of poison ivy and mosquito bites tits to toes to show for it.

Sorry if you’re squeamish but also, buck up.

I remember Calamine lotion working much better as a kid.

Which brings me to my landscaping progress, which should really just be called a jungle expedition to see if I would survive in the wild. (I wouldn’t).

The old bat who preceded us allowed the gardens and land to become completely overgrown and overrun with weeds, vines, and poison ivy like you’ve never seen. We’re talking SINISTER shit. Hairy vines 20 inches around, slithering up trees and the sides of the house - anything it can climb.

Tragically, one of our willow trees is so overrun with poison ivy it has to be taken down.

Shannon took a hatchet to the vines and poured poison into the open wounds in hopes of killing them, but the ivy splits off higher up into a wicket network that’s impossible to vanquish.

Shannon explained that the ivy climbs as high as it possibly can to disseminate its seed further and further, basically spreading it across the yard and gardens.

When the poison failed to kill the poison (insert Spiderman meme here), Shannon came back swinging. Literally. This woman just so happened to have a hatchet in her car. Look at her go. Clearly not her first time wielding a hatchet.

All of those greener leaves are the poison ivy. It has completed trounced this poor tree.

MY SECRET GARDEN JUNGLE

Aka the scene of the crime. I have to show you just how badly overgrown this garden is so that you can appreciate the “after,” whenever I get there.

On a positive note, the poppies, peonies, and lilies are showing up and showing off honey.

---

That’s all for this week! Don’t forget to subscribe and share Mall Talk with people you like, and maybe people you dislike.

Thanks for reading ˏˋ°•*⁀➷