Deer caught in headlights.

Don't tell me you don't see the resemblance.

Photographic evidence to follow, I promise!

You know that scene from A Christmas Story when Ralphie's dad goes to the basement to battle the furnace? And you hear a bunch of profanity, and the voiceover says, "Some men work in oils or clay. My old man's medium was profanity?"

So, that sort of describes my dad, too. My brother and I were exposed to colorful vocabulary from a young age. This probably explains why BFF remembers me as being the very first person she ever knew to drop the f-bomb. Seventh grade, baby.

All of this just provides background for why I cussed walking down the aisle at my wedding.

So, I was dressed. And my dad drove me to the venue, and we sat in the car from a few blocks away so we could watch people going in and gauge when was a good time to make our grand entrance.

We parked the car. We got out of the car. And then we stood in the entryway.

The staff at the venue was all lined up, smiling at us. I had my arm draped in the crook of my dad's arm, and my hand holding his. I guess really, really holding his. Like, cutting off the circulation. He asked if he wanted to hold my hand like that while we walked down the aisle.

I heard the beginning of The Beach Boys' "God Only Knows," the official Seating of the Mamas song, and I felt a strange, emotional twinge. I told my dad that yes, I did want to hold his hand.

I felt calm about marrying My Guy, but I also had this weird anxiety.

Then the processional started. Of course, it was "Don't Stop Believin'."

We started walking.

My Guy and I got married in the round, so all the guests were in a U-shape, facing me as I walked in. The first person I saw was BFF, who promptly put her hand over her mouth and got teary. Then I saw My Guy. Then I realized that allllll these people were loooooooking at meeeee.

I turned to my dad. "Oh, SHIT!"

But we kept walking. And I started crying.

At one point, I started to move my bouquet to hide my face, but then decided that no, that was a bad idea. I was crying for the whole world to see. Maybe my makeup was running. Maybe my fake eyelashes were now stuck to my chin. I had no way of knowing, and nowhere to hide. It was like that dream where you realize you're naked. Except I was wearing a 20-pound wedding dress.

But then we got married and it turns out that my makeup didn't run at all and instead of looking like a giant goob, I just looked like a bride who was happy and in love.

And about the cussing? My dad's comment after the fact was the best.

"Well, you ARE MY daughter."

And then?

And ... we got married!

And there's so much to write about that I don't even know where to begin. Here's the Cliff Notes version:

• I cussed while walking down the aisle. Yes, I'm classy like that.
• The ceremony was absolutely incredible.
• Lots of people traveled a long, long way to be with us.
• Some stuff was funny.
• Some family was insane.
• We've been hiding from the world for a week.
• We moved all of the furniture out of my house and have been unpacking our new house.
• I wouldn't necessarily recommend moving as a honeymoon activity, but it works.

I'll post stories and details. But for now? Here's one of my favorite photos, with a caption courtesy of My Guy.
Cha Cha 5 minutes after the wedding. Letting herself go in record time.*

*For the record? My Guy brought my beloved slippers to the hotel. He obviously knows my idea of luxury.

The final countdown!

T-minus 44 hours!

The parents are here. The last-minute details are being addressed. And holy crap, we're getting married on Saturday.

Yippee!

We aren't having any attendants - I figured it was a gift I could give my friends. However, I think there will be one rogue attendant.

Most people think of this when they hear the term "flower frog."

But I think at our wedding, the term will conjure something more like this.

!Viva la Krampus!

Non-Krampus image courtesy of replacements.com, which is an awesome site if you love some vintage tableware. Seriously.

Maybe we should get a doggie door.

Doxie.

Doxie looking outside through the torn screen door in his parents' falling-down house.

Doxie showing some ingenuity.

Free doxie!

Time passes.

Doxie remembers he hates outside.

Doxie who can't jump on the bed finds the inner strength and fortitude to hop up to the door ...

... and through the torn screen. Success!

Images courtesy of Ione the iPhone, which I held while hiding in my kitchen to catch the hot doxie action.

At least I’m not talking about my boobs. For once.

Oh, Summer’s Eve! You’ve done it again!

I have been known to go from the workplace directly to an establishment that serves alcoholic beverages. I enjoy me some happy hour. But never have I thought, “I’d love to enjoy a drink after work – if only there were a way to conveniently freshen up my delicate ladyparts!” And if I’m putting my women’s studies minor to good use, I will also point out that the vajayjay is a maintenance-free operation, and the patriarchy is to blame for any shame around nature’s original self-cleaning oven and its accoutrements. This ad campaign pisses me off – like I’m supposed to constantly be wondering if my ladyparts are in acceptable condition for various social situations. Is there a similar product for men? Because dude, I think we all know that that business can get funky. And women don’t get jock itch.

Just sayin’.

Since this ad appeared on Pandora, there’s an offer for “V Radio.” Which, actually? Is pretty funny. But my vajayjay doesn’t listen to the radio. It’s totally more of a podcast girl.

Know when to hold 'em. Know when to fold 'em.

In the last few days, My Guy and I have been finalizing the music for our wedding. The best part? The groom's dance with his mama.

My Guy asked his mom what song she'd like to dance to. She thought on it. And then she decided: "You Light up my Life" by Debby Boone.

Whatever makes Mama happy. That's fine.

Except that My Guy didn't really know the song, so he YouTubed it and looked up the lyrics.

"You light up my days and fill my nights with song."

Umm?

My Guy called his mom back, and she answered the phone by proclaiming, "We can't dance to that song! I looked up the lyrics!"

But she had a back-up: "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof.

Whatever makes Mama happy. That's fine.

Except that My Guy didn't really know that song either, so he YouTubed it and looked up the lyrics.

And then he felt like slitting his wrists.

Now, he's trying to convince his mom that a little Kenny Rogers is more appropriate and less suicide-inducing. He's pushing "Through the Years."

Personally? I'm holding out for "The Gambler." But whatever makes Mama happy.