Day 85 – Wedding

How silly to think that
getting to the paper first
has anything to do with
how long you will keep it

and

how silly to think that
a paper
has anything to do with
love.

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Ask A Poet #1 -Wedding Gig Blues

Got a burning question that can only be answered in a snarky rhyme? Ask a poet!

“Dear Char,

I had to shoot a shitty wedding where I was supposed to get $150 because they “didn’t have any money.” And I felt bad. Well, the bride had horrid tan lines and they said their I Do’s in their house… that was filthy, covered with roaches, and piles and piles of clothes everywhere. Did I mention there were about 30 people in the small-ass house? Needless to say, they paid me half of that, and keep harassing me for the photos even though it’s going to take hours to edit them lines. What do you say?”

– Gilbert in Virginia

Well, Gil…

A bartender’s job is to shoot the shit,
a photographer’s job is not;
but if they coughed up half the dough for the gig
you owe them the shit that you shot.

I get that they’re cheap and their place was packed-
a sardine can of squalid-
but under the roaches and laundry stacks
they’re grateful you did them a solid.

But don’t go too crazy removing those lines,
after all, you’re a busy man!
It’s not your fault if the bride’s outshined
by a heavy dose of tan.

And next time write up a contract
to help you settle the score-
and to keep your sanity intact,
no more weddings in Jersey Shore!

 

Comment below with your burning questions to be answered next week!

Breaking: Woman Turns Down Marriage Proposal Because She’s a Freaking Biotch and Was Probably Cheating Anyway

We’ve received a report today from a distraught young man who tells us that his marriage proposal to his girlfriend has been rejected. The pair had been together for over two years and Tyler Sturgess, 27, says that her dismissal was completely out of the blue.

“Everything was going great- no red flags,” he told us. “I mean, things were rocky when I lost my job about a year ago, but I’ve been doing freelance DJ gigs and working on my Linkedin portfolio a lot. She was totally supportive! It’s not like I forced her to get two jobs, and I said I’d help with the laundry and stuff whenever hockey wasn’t on, but she kept saying not to bother.”

Tyler insists that his proposal was everything any woman ever dreamed of: a moment of romance, passion, and tears, ending with a huge rock placed on her finger.

“I had just bowled a 250, my best game ever, when I looked over at my lady doing taxes or something. She’s so pretty when she’s stressed out. And I was just full of love and I said, ‘Babe, let’s do it’ and I gave her the purple ring pop I won out of the claw machine.”

But apparently such a touching gesture wasn’t enough for Miss Hoity-Toity, who declined to comment on the matter. We didn’t really want to talk to her anyway, because Tyler says she was probably cheating on him.

“She was at work like 60 hours a week, who knows what she could’ve been doing. All I know is, any woman that could just reject a marriage proposal for no good reason and break my heart like that must’ve been up to no good.”

What a freaking biotch.

52 Flashes Of Fiction: Week 21 – The Absence Of A Thing

I am not married nor engaged to be married; that’s neither a good nor a bad thing, it just is. You can tell my current state by looking at my fingers. I don’t have a ring. But there’s a lot you can’t tell just by the absence of a thing, just like many people don’t have cancer. It doesn’t mean they never did.

There are many people whose rings get dropped down the garbage disposal, or eaten by dogs, or tossed in a salad, or stolen off nightstands. The absence of a thing says nothing about whether it existed. Neither does it say anything about how much it was loved when it was there. It says nothing about how it was or was not cared for, only that it must be no longer. It must be.

The same is true for people- we know they can and do vanish. A person being gone says nothing, really. Just like the absence of an engagement ring says nothing much, tells nothing certain about you. For that I’m glad.

Because I had one once, for about thirty seconds- the longest thirty seconds of my life. But the absence of a thing cannot tell that story.

52 Flashes of Fiction Week 3: June

Something about a banged-up old pair of ratty Chucks can make you feel like a rock star on any given day. And something about some crappy mixtape song from an ex-boyfriend can make you feel like the worst moody sailor on any given day. What is it about these trinkets we pour our power into, that they can stick pins into our hearts and turn them like keys, and change our course of events?

I wasn’t thinking about April the morning I almost married June. I was beaming so hard it took me an hour to shave because I couldn’t get around those folds of flesh where my cheeks bunched up- I remember this because I need to. I need to remember that I had no doubts.

June was so happy we were finally doing this. After sticking with me for six years I knew she deserved my full commitment and I was happy to finally give it. I was happy. We were happy.

I knew June was happy that morning because she said so on a scrap of a note taped to a cardboard box of books. She’d had them delivered to me since I wasn’t allowed to see her yet- “Reading material for the longest wait of your life, from the happiest woman in the universe.” It was tongue-in-cheek and it was sweet and it was a perfect gift.

I don’t think she probably remembers our first real argument now, it was so long ago. But I can still see her thick ponytail swaying to the beat of her shrilling concerto, The Royal Chewing-Out of Sir Boyfriend. She wanted me to get rid of all the stuff I had of April’s, but it wasn’t really April’s stuff. It was hers and mine together that she had let me keep: a painting of trees I had done while listening to her sing in the shower, a couple of old jazz records, a flannel button-down we both had worn intermittently, a few books, and a tea kettle painted to look like a ladybug. June said they were “remnants of an old life” which needed to be thrown out to make room for a new one. She “said” this while she was a rational human but now she was just a jealous screaming Mimi because I didn’t think it was worth putting up a fuss over.

At that time I wouldn’t have bothered to explain myself and I didn’t. I just let her sirens wash over me and thought of April while I packed up our stuff. April with the soft, low voice, who grew jasmine flowers in a coffee can and wore them in her hair. April who thought that I would do big things and left when I didn’t, or couldn’t. I told June I was throwing all that stuff out but I didn’t. She found it anyway sometime after that and finished the job for me. She told me she had thrown it out but she didn’t.

I don’t know what June did that day when I told her I would marry her, when I didn’t. I could never explain to her what had changed so quickly, so I didn’t bother. What is it about these trinkets we pour our power into, that can make us believe we’ve changed quickly when we’ve been doing it slowly all along? June thought she got rid of April and for all she’ll ever know she did- except a thrift store book of nursery rhymes with a tiny jasmine flower pressed inside.