Landamlett Wedding Necessity

Photo Submitted by Garrett Haake.

Someone set up a skype booth of Russ singing Keith's 2003 hit album, "Feelings" or whatever it was called.

Blog, Counter-blog

Hot blog http://allisongettingmarried.tumblr.com/ is stepping up its game and needs your ideas to plan a wedding, which Mitchell just started doing evidently. All of the dream features listed and submitted could come true! Including,

# 10. Free bitch slaps from Caitlin, well known to be the World's Least Friendly Human Being.

Y'all know where to send your REAL ideas.

Allison Getting Married!!!! Like, soon.

I woke up this weekend in a panic. I have SO MUCH TO DO before the Landamlett wedding, 3 weeks hence. I have precious little time to buy new Wayfarers, feed vicious rumors about myself into the Mountainbrook parent gossip circle, and write a toast about Mitchell.

But the panic was also paired with a preemptive sense of loss (see: In Memoriam, coming soon) for the blog that has given us so much joy - allisongettingmarried. Because once she does, it will become incorrect tense. And we will lose it forever.

Which got me to thinking. Has anyone else felt that Mitchell's G-Rated limitations* on allisongettingmarried have kept it from reaching its full potential? Are there often questions you'd like to ask and photos you'd like to submit that are shunned by his Puritanical editorial eye?

Then you've come to the right place. Metablog is the home for your PG (SCANDAL) ideas of all things allisongettingmarried could be. And yes, Mitchell, this is how I beat you for fellowships. I took your ideas and slutted them up.

Some ideas for the adult version of allisongettingmarried:

1. A single person match generator, in which two people are randomly paired for hook ups at the wedding. Like a pre-fixed game of Spin The Bottle. Except, the only possible combination is Matty and Denver.

2. A place to post all the lines you've crossed out in red on your toast draft, your sense of good taste having won out. Like how I won't talk about the time I made Allison attend a bachelorette sex toy party with me, and I know what she bought.***

3. A virtual tour of the reception hall, filmed with Keith having sex in each room. From the first-person-point-of-view of the Ringbearer's helmet cam.

Submit your ideas here!

*in bed **

**heyO

***nothing, see first Coda.

Standing Outside The Fire

Things were pretty bleak for a while, there, Blogosphere. The complete and utter destruction of my computer in an incident we will call, non-ironically, Watergate. The complete and utter destruction of my soul by Public Financial Management. The guy from Cali Swag was murdered, never to impart the knowledge of how to Dougie again. We’ll just have to go back to paying for milkshake lessons.

But life, Blogosphere, is not tried if it is merely survived.

So now, better, stronger, Macbook Airier*, I have no choice but to listen to the signs the Universe is sending:

1. Google sent me a $100 gift card to spend on advertising, that I would keep blogging. This is a real thing. More on this later.

2. Metablog’s Biggest Fan Trent came to visit under the auspices of “work”, but really to figure out why Fake Trent (Mike) had failed to keep me on the blogwagon.

3. With her Farewell Spectacular looming, someone must fill the void left by Oprah (that is, the sliver of the void still unfilled by her cable network).

4. While there hasn’t been much to report about life on The Compound except that we got two cats and our water pressure has been inconsistent, at best – much in the larger world has gone unreported. So many names have been Not-Names, so many things Hot Mary has worn have been Not-Shirts, and Wes has learned about so many foods that are Not-Whataburger. (“What is this, a giant onion?” “No, Wes. It’s a melon.”)

5. People have gotten entirely too comfortable saying dipshit things around me (see above), thinking it won’t be broadcast to the world.

6. Dan called me irrelevant. And now he will pay.

So lawyer up, Blogosphere, and roll that montage sequence of me learning to Blog again.

*we’ll give Kelly Sharp a six year time out to recover from this latest injustice. Although given that she is probably reading this post on her iPhone4, we will reduce that to six minutes to get over it.

If You Can't Beat 'Em - Join 'Em.

And then beat 'em.

Farewell, Blogosphere.

He's more an Atari...

Dear Farmer Dan,

I'm not so much a Robocop as I am a Gold Digger.

Which is why, demonstrably, this never would have worked between us.

Benevolently, I wish you all the best with Samantha, or any other woman who is less shocked to discover that you graduated from college in the year 2009.

Lots of love anyway, and please do get in touch if you ever need career advice or a guarantor on your next lease.


Kelly

FARMER DAN RESPONDS!

Thank you for your wonderful submissions. They all made me laugh and for that, you will always have a special place in my heart.

I thought about writing real letters, but decided that it would be impossible to survive the wait, and no one in their right mind would pay an exorbitant amount of money to have a letter tracked by the postal service. Right?

Judith, Katie, and Kelly:
I have good news and bad news. The good news is, despite my slow response, I still like you girls. The bad news is I don’t really like like you girls. See, I've met you (Kelly you don't count as knowing Caitlin is enough of a red-flag) - and thus it is far easier to put Samantha on a far-away and indestructible pedestal.

Judith,
I know you’re probably thinking, “This blog is stupid. Why am I even looking at it? And I wrote a submission for Jeff Goldblum, not you, idiot.”

It is quite obvious that your persistence in voting for Jeff Goldblum instead of me, and your decision to buck the trend and write a submission for an old, semi-famous guy who will never know your name instead of someone who actually exists in your life is really nothing more than a brilliant plan to devalue my worth to better your own chances. I get it.

A few words about your submission: I’m actually 6’4’’ just like Jeff Goldblum (that last part should be pronounced like “plum,” but with a “b”… obviously not a name), and plenty of people have had successful lives despite not getting a role as the drunk party-going extra in Annie Hall:

Not bad, huh? These three gentlemen account for a Nobel Peace Prize, 11 Grammys, and a Sixth Man of the Year Award. The point is, I may be broke as a joke right now, but I’m working on that. Jeff Goldblum’s biggest accomplishment is Jurassic Park. That’s pretty impressive, but I’d rather shoot for a Nobel Peace Prize, 11 Grammys, and/or a Sixth Man of the Year Award.
Your plan was clever, but you didn’t come correct. You don’t have to lie about your feelings, and you certainly shouldn’t try to make me look like a scrub to better your odds. That’s just weak, Judith. (But you still have bangs… call me? Don’t tell Samantha.)

Katie,
I watched your video but I didn’t really understand it because I happen to be of the male persuasion. Also, those cards sort of make things romantic for a little while, but the more I thought about it, your speech impairment could be an issue. I mean, we could sit around writing on poster board all day in order to communicate, but the number of trees that would have to die for that to become a reality is more than I can stand. And I like being able to sleep at night with a clear conscience. That being said, you’re a pot of chili and a sheet of chocolate chip cookies away from getting a ring on it. For real.

Kelly,
What happened to you? For the readers who weren’t around, Kelly had a dramatic fall from grace in which she started criticizing me for my age, not calling her at a phone number I don’t have, and then began talking (to no one in particular) about her job, lunch, a dog and other nonsensical babble before screaming something about not needing me (yeah, right) and fleeing the (chat)room. You have established yourself as a Robocop.

Furthermore, as funny as wearing the recycling turns out to be in a blog, at the end of the day, you’re just wearing trash. There is a distinction when you’re putting recycling and trash into their respective bins, but when you are draping all of that stuff on your body… honey, then it’s all just trash. I guess Caitlin didn’t tell you, but you have to be first day of school fresh, everyday. Cardigans, jackets with elbow pads, horn-rimmed glasses and boots can help keep you fresh. Tin cans and wine bottles cannot.

I hope you find peace with your internet links, art trolley, and second apartment. Do yourself a favor and have the walls padded. And don’t come within two states of me. #nutcase

Samantha,
You extended a difficult challenge and I’m not entirely sure that I can measure up. I’m only 6’4’’. It’s possible that I’m not worthy of your Tuesday lunches because I have no idea what that entails. My dance moves are okay, but when “Teach Me How to Dougie” becomes old news, so will my act. Basically, the one thing I have going for me is that I’m Caitlin’s second prettiest friend (until Elsa gets engaged or lets herself go, in which case I’ll take the crown).

I’m not entirely sure what that does for you, but it can’t hurt, right?

In the meantime, I’d like to get to know you, to better understand your demands and to train myself to meet every last one. If you have a place for a tired farmhand to rest his head (your bedroom? I mean that in a good way), I’ll begin riding my bike in your direction before sunrise tomorrow.

Your farmhand,

Farmer Dan