The Wedding Planner From Hell

Circe [name fictionalized to protect the guilty] is getting married, meaning, she’s now on the margin of insanity.

Her psychosis is getting malignant everyday as she frantically obsesses over the most minuscule, seemingly insignificant details on her wedding preparations. Her eyes have dark circles from losing sleep, giving us impressions of what a deranged panda would look like. She chain-smokes to rival the locomotive exhausts of primitive diesel-fuelled buses scampering along EDSA. A slightest crimp on her plans would send her detonating like a nuclear warhead doused in butane and progesterone. No one dares approach her. Even her fiancée. She’d educate you to the meaning of the word fear.

In the interest and welfare of mankind, there should be a resolution proclaiming weddings as public hazard.

~ ~ ~

Circe’s madness had me thinking of JLo’s abysmal movie The Wedding Planner and in a blinding flash of lunacy, greed and delusion, I realized I can be a wedding planner! Yes, gentle blog reader! If JLo can last two hours of acting in a movie without a slight change in facial expression, hey, I can get creative and exploit the impressionable madness of brides everywhere!

Oh no, you groan, rolling your eyeballs. Not again.

Listen. Having endured many hideous weddings in my distorted clan, not to mention the boring-beyond-belief unions of friends, friends of friends, pesky neighbours, classmates and having been involuntarily subjected to televised mass weddings I hereby declare myself qualified for the job!

Fasten your sanity. This is going to be a warped ride.

~ ~ ~

Common knowledge has it that a wedding is not just a public display of lunacy. It is a grand opportunity to show off to everyone, especially to those deliberately neglected to be invited, that you are better off than everyone else. For those unfortunate to sit through approximately ten million hours of laughable vows and dreadful bridesmaid gowns, it is the marrying couple’s way of inflicting the guest with subtle display of superiority. That they are more successful, more cultured, more sophisticated, more tasteful, and certainly extremely disturbed.

So how would I plan (specifically YOU do) an ultimate wedding?

Read on and cash on in your trust funds as I reveal the supreme wedding that shall make everyone shrivel with inferiority.

• Announce your impending wedding by NOT sending those dreary generic embossed invitations. Commission obscure monks from the outskirt monasteries of Tibet to do delicate hand calligraphy. Then have them gilded by hand by reclusive artisans from the last generation of Japan’s imperial manuscript letterers. Spray the invites with a customized fragrance specifically formulated by little known apothecaries milked from the rarest exotic roots and oriental spices. These precious invitations SHOULD be hand-carried by adolescent butlers from the royal Siam ascendancy preferably atop an ermine and suede clothed elephant.
  
• Ignore the suggestions of incompetent wedding planners to fill your Bridal Registry with insipid presents. Who the hell care about 500 thread-count sheets and coordinated toiletries, or worse, a pitiful punch bowl. Show your imagination. Stipulate a Faberge coronation egg, a 300-foot Yatch furnished by Armani Casa and Fritz Hansen furniture, a custom-painted Bugatti Veyron in pearl sheen, or private islet off-coast of Amalfi. There is a huge probability that your guests will have no clue as to where to obtain these gifts, granted they’d not plunge to unthinkable poverty if they chose to get one. This is where you showcase your utter graciousness and thank your hated sister in law magnanimously when she hands over her paltry wedding album and measly picture frame combo.
  
• Insist that the wedding be cancelled if your fiancée suggests you wear Vera Wang. Please. Vera is SO de rigueur! Vera is for aspirational plebeians, or for your lesser best friends. Assemble an intimidating team of clothiers; embroiderers NOT from Lesage, because everyone from Chanel to Valentino use them. Trace the last surviving progeny embroiderers from the grand court of China’s last century’s dynasties. Have the finest Italian textician collaborate with a Moroccan regal seamstress with insights from the Thai palace weavers to produce a fabric so fluid and luminous you’d appear like a floating dream.
  
• Anticipate bad weather on your wedding day. Meteorologists and weather forecasters are wankers with shaky reputation. As such contract Rem Koolhas, Tadao Ando AND Frank Gehry to build a retro-futuristic tropical biodome complete with orchids and exotic flora smuggled from preserved and restricted endangered zones of Borneo, Malawi and Micronesia. Then have a man-made pond inside the dome filled with the most expensive red-spotted carps from Japan gliding underneath a glass platform which will serve as the bride’s entourage runway. Then instruct Yves Behar, Marcel Wanders and Ron Arad to dream up a centerpiece chandelier made from combined stones of DeBeers, Swarovski, and heirloom pieces from Turkish and Sierra Leone monarchs.
  
• Disregard your phlegmatic parish priest and have the Papal envoy to St. Petersburg preside over the ceremonies.
• Never hire an hundred piece orchestra or a dorky band to play lame jiggety jig tunes. Instead assemble a supernova ensemble of musicians composed of an Armenian cello prodigy, a Scandinavian mezzo soprano, a quintet of Italian castratos, Ugo Farrel/Andreas Scholl (The world’s prime countertenors), Cecilia Bartoli, the Leipzig chamber musicians, select band members of Travis, Franz Ferdinand, U2, Smashing Pumpkins, Coldplay, Deathcab For Cutie, Interpol and the surviving members of Velvet Underground, The Rollingstones, The Beatles, The Clash and Silje Nergaard. Then specifically instruct them that the repertoire should include ONLY pieces by Berlioz, Rimsky Korsakov, Sibelius and Debussy.
  

Having achieved all these feats, frown and look displeased towards the end of the ceremony. Never look satisfied. Express regret profusely citing how disappointing the turn out of the event was. Even if the entire event is the most spectacular, most magical event in recent history to eclipse the Charles-Diana travesty. Sob uncontrollably. Wail your apologies and in between choked snivelling let out that your only dream is to create a humble wedding event for the pleasure of everyone present. With mascara streaking and make up melting run towards the bathroom refuse to talk to anyone. Let your guest wonder how a spectacular wedding should look like if YOU HAD it the way you imagined it.

Expect envious guests to hate you.