So I Just Tried To Plan Something For The Wedding

I haven't really done a lot of the wedding planning so far. Some would say that I've done none of the wedding planning so far. If some would say that, and some have, I really wouldn't have much to say in response.

I haven't met nor spoken to our caterer. I was there when the appointment was scheduled with the florist, but I never went to the meeting with her, and I don't know her name. I've never taken a tour of our wedding spot, I've never been in the hotels where we are reserving rooms and I haven't solved our rehearsal dinner blues.

The wife is a workhorse. Our four parents are totally on the ball. I am worthless.

So I tried. Two months ago I saw this DJ spinning at a bowling alley, and I was imbibed, so I asked him for his digits, and he refused to give them to me. I asked him if he had a MySpace page, and everyone knows that a DJ who says he doesn't have a MySpace page is a lying DJ, so he begrudgingly agreed to let me contact him there.

A month went by. I spent a week thinking of ways not to come across like a d-bag in my message to him. Then I wrote, asking if he would do our wedding.

The DJ waited three days to return my message, and then he let me down easy. "That's a bit too long for me to book," he said.

Who gets rejected by a wedding DJ? Who gets turned down after offering someone thousands of dollars? Who looks for a DJ at bowling alleys and on MySpace?


'We Just Got Married & I Have Bites All Over My Body'

The current discussion around the house involves where we're going to sleep for four hours next August 31.

We've lived in sin for a year and a half. We currently sleep in the same room, and in the same bed, even though she usually passes out on the couch first, although that's largely irrelevant.

What is relevant right now, for some reason, is where we're staying on our wedding night -- in our apartment, or at a hotel?

We're getting married a $5.50 cab ride from home, which would account for .0001 percent of our wedding budget, so logic would dictate that after our wedding we would come home, harass the cat and say things like "wow that was fucking amazing" and "I don't remember a damn thing that happened in the last 6 1/2 hours" and "Matt, about your dancing tonight -- I can't believe I just married the most awkward guy, ever."

Instead, tradition says no, we shouldn't treat our wedding day like every other night of our lives. We should give it the grandeur and greatness it deserves, and fall sleep in 50,000-count sheets in a hotel suite.

But I will NOT do that to my beautiful bride! We shall stay at home, and the picture above of Kevin Gued's back is why. Kevin and Gayle Gued were horrified earlier this month when they pulled back the sheets of their blessed wedding bed at the Country Inn & Suites in Brandon, Fla., only to find ... ants! According to NBC6 in South Florida (thank God a news operation covered this crucial story) the couple even videotaped their ordeal:

"We pull back the sheets, and sure enough, there's the black bugs. And we lift up the pillows and that was the worst." Kevin's back and shoulders are covered in bites. "We're just frustrated because we're going on our honeymoon, just got married, I've got bites all over my body, and I just don't feel we were treated fair," Kevin said....The hotel also paid the Gueds' bill. But Kevin Gued said he would also like the hotel to take care of his medical bill...

Thanks for letting us know about this wedding night terror, Kevin and Gayle. You've saved our marriage. But three questions:

First, Kevin, dude, those aren't bites--that's definitely backnee. Sorry. Second, after you "pull back the sheets" to find the bugs, you apparently got into the bed anyway. Why? Third, what were you doing with a videocamera in your honeymoon suite anyway?


Marriage Stats Serve To Depress

We all know that 87.5 percent of statistics are made up, but it's still hard to be all engaged and excited to get married while getting deluged with an endless stream of statistics that make marriage seem like a more unsuccessful venture than even my fantasy baseball team (which will finish the year in 14th place, a slight drop from 13th last year).

Just under half of all marriages end in divorce, according to statistics. The younger you get married, the more likely you are to split up -- mostly because the older you are the more likely you are to die before you can file the papers. Marriages are most susceptible to divorce during the ironically-named honeymoon period, and first marriages that end in divorce last a measly eight years, just in time to break the news to your first born after his first day of 2nd grade.

This week, there was more news: More than half of all couples that might have celebrated their 25th anniversary since 2000 were either divorced, separated or widowed, which is triply depressing.

But have no fear! The Germans have a solution! A bizarre-looking district administrator (pictured above) from a rural state in Germany is running for congress with a conservative Christian party and proposing that marriages expire after seven years.

"This would mean that one will only commit for a fixed period and will actively have to renew your vows if you still want to continue," said Gabriele Pauli, who has been divorced twice (shocker).

In 7 1/2 years someone please remind me not to suggest this to the wife. Thanks.


Celebrity Brides Trade Cocaine Bumps For Baby Bumps, And So Should You

Sometimes when you're in a relationship you know what the answer is to certain things by making jokes that you don't realize are jokes, like, "If we had a baby before we got married we'd have to sit down for some serious one-on-one convo, ya know what I mean?" and then getting a response from the future Mrs. that's definitely, definitely not a joke, like "WHAT?!? What exactly would there be to talk about?!?"

So there's that. No visits to Planned Parenthood in this guy's future. And that's a good thing. Why? Because being pregnant on your wedding day is a trend! Yay! And maternity bridal dresses are practical, and sexy! Check out this press release from Philly-based (and adorably named) Pea In The Pod and Mimi Maternity:

Even celebrities have made getting married while expecting a trend. In
the past, these women rarely wanted to be photographed with a baby bump.
Now, they feel confident and proud to show off their bellies, even in a
wedding dress. They look fabulous!
Because celebrities are exactly the people we should be modeling our parenting behavior after.


Dear God, It's Me, Matt

I guess it's something of a rite of passage: Man goes home to visit his family, Mom makes Man clean his crap out from the basement, Man finds diary from when he was a Boy.

The diary, written in 3rd and 4th grade and recovered late Thursday night, proves that my personal development over the last two-plus decades has been minimal, at best. I overanalyze friendships: "David came over for about 4 hours and he feels like a friend to me." I question faith, and then I cave: "The first day I'm not sure about my religion in some way, BUT I LOVE IT." And I get dramatic: "About the worst day of my life...I have so much work to do I'll never get finished with it but I'm worried and Mommy's not. I'm definitely in trouble...I feel like I'm going to kill all my teachers even though they're great."

But more than anything, I talk about girls, particularly Lisa -- she can be found here, if you're interested. My pencil used to make out with Lisa's pencil during class, which is either weird or adorable. This passage is classic: "Jeremy thinks I like Lisa, I DON'T. So I hope he doesn't." And: "She was near me a lot today. With her sence of humor I have a headake."

Then it gets strange. For the record, my fiance's name is Deborah. And for the record, I have no recollection of there being a Deborah in my elementary school classes. But I still wrote this: "I think I might marry Deborah because there are so many coincidences about us."

WHAT?!? First off, what 8-year-0ld says "coincidences"? And second, that's seriously spooky. No other mention of marriage in the diary, by the way.


You Know You're Engaged When...

...you fart in yoga class, loudly and sort of for a long moment, while surrounded by women at close proximity. And you don't care at all.*

*you do care, however, about this new trend in your yoga studio locker room where all the dudes feel the need to drop trow, completely, after class. Do you really need to change your underwear after yoga class? This isn't something that could wait? I'm trying to get my zen thing going here, and your bare ass is looking at me.


Britney Spears Is Fat. Also, America Is High On Crack.

Britney Spears danced to an occasionally catchy song at the MTV Video Music Awards Sunday night wearing black underwear. Forget, for a minute, how truly sad it is that a wealthy, attractive, moderately talented mother of two was told by a group of people whoring her out that the best way to improve her image and career is to dance like a stripper on national television in her skivvies. You already knew that was sad. And you knew that no matter how well she performed, this woman was destined to be trashed by the entertainment noisemakers, and the biggest criticism was going to be, no matter what, how she looked.

But you know what's surprising? What's truly, truly, twisted and fucked up? Britney Spears actually looked good Sunday night. I don't have a straight male friend or female gay friend, relationship status notwithstanding, who would kick Brit out of bed for eating crackers. And I don't know of many women who wouldn't kill for that butt. And yet the mainstream media, followed by the blogosphere, declared her "out-of-shape" (Washington Post), "flabby, bloated," (Fox News), with a "bulging belly" that "was so not hot" (E! Online).

Britney is clearly not everyone's type, and she does, well, sort of look like a stripper. But excuse her if she doesn't have a 19-year-old body anymore -- SHE'S NOT 19. And remember that TWO KIDS POPPED OUT OF THAT BELLY.

So why should we care that it has been accepted as fact by the mainstream press that Britney is fat? Because this has an effect. Because those opinions seep down, from newspapers to pop culture web sites to a 19-year-old's MySpace page to a 13-year-old's cell phone and then, before you know it, to 5th grade classrooms across America, where 10-year-olds are talking about Britney being fat. They were 3 when the poor girl dressed like a Catholic school girl and pretended she was a virgin. They wouldn't know "Hit Me Baby One More Time" if a baby hit them one more time. And yet they still believe she's fat.

This kind of brainwashing -- based on an unrealistically narrow idea of how a woman's body should look -- happens over and over and over again; a cultural buzz that infiltrates school yards and frat houses and water coolers. And it's based on bullshit.

The best part is guys who look like this (that's the one who called her "flabby") are the ones saying it. The worst part? The kids, and the adults, are believing it.

Eventually the 5th-graders will be 25 years old, and they will be sorely, sorely disappointed. No one will be happy with the bodies they have. We won't be happy with the bodies we're with. We'll be miserable, skinny, confused skin-and-bones, collateral damage in the war between inner strength and big boobs. We'll be Britney Spears.


BREAKING! The Gender Divide Closes! Women Can Now Pee Standing Up!

This is not a good month for the final remnant of masculinity, the Men's Room. First, a certain senator from Idaho (allegedly) ran his hand underneath the partition next to to his potty. (Note to the Larry Craig defense team: Try the "he was asking for more toilet paper" excuse).

Then, there's this. The British have finally proven that their empire has jumped the shark. They've developed the world's first "female urinal," or "She-Pee." The She-Pee, as you can see in this picture, doubles as the thing that cows eat from.

To help use the She-Pee, there is The Whiz, which is a funnel that allows women to pee standing up, according to the BCC. A third product, the Go Bag, is a pouch of crystals which turn liquid into a solid for easier disposal. But isn't the best part of peeing the fact that it's not a solid?

Some of my fondest memories as a male took place in the boys' room -- in a male-bonding, not Larry Craig way, of course: The long-distance peeing contests in 2nd grade in the bathroom of PS 221, the massive troughs that they used to have at Shea Stadium where hundreds of drunk men and their children would cross streams.

The last remaining difference between men and women is the fact that for men, public urination is a pleasurable, even festive experience, whereas for women it's generally annoying. These British innovations will erase any difference between the genders. What could be next?!? Next thing you know, men will start blogging about their weddings.


"Matthew Katz Is Allergic To Feathers"

I finally decided to go to an allergist to find out if it's normal that I've been secreting mucus from three bodily areas (I won't tell you which ones) in the shower each morning since last February.

Apparently, it's not normal. And unfortunately, it appears that the two major causes of my allergies are critically central to my relationship with the soon-to-be wife. First, our cat is a dander-filled beast, and the allergist said that I must be "smoking crack and drinking crystal meth" if I consider for one moment getting a second (third?) cat.

Well, I figure my wife shouldn't hate me until AFTER we get married, so I'm not getting rid of the cat. However, there's something else I'm allergic to: Feathers.

One of the things that went into the garbage disposal once Deborah and I moved in together was my crappy egg crate bedding and all my sheets, pillows, etc. This was replaced with a down comforter and four feather pillows to create a place commonly referred to in our home as "heaven."

Well, kids, heaven no longer exists. The pillows are in the closet. The comforter is...well, that's still under -- let's call it "discussion." I thought we did a wedding registry at Bed, Bath & Beyond for these things, because that's how much I pay attention, and so I asked the allergist to write a doctor's note so we could return the stuff.

It turns out I'm a sneezing fool, and we had this long before we got engaged. So we'll have to register for new stuff that I'm told "just won't be the same." At least I got an amusing doctor's note out of the whole thing. I shall post it on the fridge and read it to myself as I fall asleep at night on the kitchen floor.


This Week In Awkward

At work we sometimes get bizarre things sent to us -- self-published conspiracy books about the Catholic Church selling steroids to NFL linemen, newspaper clippings with obscene things written on women's ears -- but recently I got something that actually wasn't that disturbing: The Today Sponge.

OK, maybe it's a little disturbing. Born in the 70s and popularized by Elaine on Seinfeld (are you "sponge worthy"?), this alternative means of birth control was repackaged this summer as a hormone-free, spermicide-filled donut for women to enjoy "spontaneity, confidence and control." The sponge is like a combination of the condom and the Pill, except it doesn't work (89 to 91 percent accuracy? Are you fucking kidding me? What is this, Russian Roulette?!?!?).

A message went out over the internal IM system at work: "Are you sponge-worthy? Come pick up a free Today Sponge."

You had me at free. "Matt's going for it," a watchful colleague commented, loudly enough to be heard by multiple coworkers.

The ladies laughed. It was funny, I guess. As was my decision to actually tell them the next day that when I brought the sponge home I was met with 30 seconds of silence and four hours of disgust from my future bride.


Rainbow Chupah!

By an overwhelming vote of 16-8, "rainbow chupah" beat out "bartenders serve vodka," "only straights have to pay" and "wedding cake depicts Pat Robertson and Ted Haggard in naked embrace" as the most mature way to comment on gay marriage at our wedding. This, of course, means I have too many Jewish readers.

The chupah is the tent-like canopy that stands over Jewish couples as they get married to protect them from the sun, because we tend to be on the pale side and we shouldn't burn ourselves before the honeymoon. As a result of this vote, our chupah will now be rainbow colored.

Votes aren't just for fun, people. YOU have the opportunity to bring the democratic process to our wedding day. Vote early. Vote often. Vote from various ISPs and URLs and AOLs. Rock it. We will abide by the voters' demands, and do what you say on our wedding day. Unless someone overrules me. Like the wife, or my mom.

The next ballot question is as follows: What song should I walk down the aisle to? Big Pimpin by Jay-Z, Captain Jack by Billy Joel, I Think We're Alone Now (The Beating Of Our Hearts Is The Only Sound) by Tiffany, Walk Like An Egyptian by Different Light, a 30-second compilation of tunes from Michael Jackson's "Thriller," Gin 'n Juice by Snoop Dogg, Paradise By The Dashboard Lights by Meatloaf or Talking World War III Blues by Bob Dylan?

More suggestions for songs needed. I'll add them to the poll.

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