Themes I Have Considered For My December Wedding, Based on Some Recent Viewings/Experiences

1. The Chrismukkah Episode of The O.C.
While the temperature might not drop during the Christmas holidays in Orange County, things will get progressively chillier within the central adult relationship (me and my future husband) of the mid-2000s teen drama that is my life. Before the wedding, I will pick a fight with my long-term, shaggy-haired, devastatingly-eyebrow-ed male partner. Upon arriving at the party (wedding) we will engage in a high-stakes game of emotional chicken by letting our wealthy, bored friends talk us into participating in what is clearly a key party. We will side-eye each other all night from opposite ends of the room, wondering who will crack first. Finally it’ll be revealed that the eyebrow-ed men deceived me — he never even put his watch in the bowl! — but honestly I am grateful and will announce I feel ready to commit to a monogamous relationship for the rest of my life. Meanwhile, teenage guests will pontificate about Death Cab For Cutie.

Dress Code: aggressively shifting palette of blonde streaked, flat-ironed hair, shimmery peach blush (Orgasm by Nars preferred), Chanel purses, flared Seven jeans.

Decor: “The O.C. Chic.” Tasteful twinkle lights, silver accents, a slight smattering of red and green; it is the holidays, after all. Superfluous Menorah just in case God is watching.

2. Surprise Wedding
My friends will hide in my house on a day when my hair, makeup, and outfit are particularly on point. When I walk in, fresh and rejuvenated after a long but rewarding day working for The Internet™, they will jump out and yell “SURPRISE! WEDDING!” I will automatically be married. Someone will order pizza and glasses of whiskey with just a splash of soda will keep appearing in my hand; all of my favorite music will be loaded on a carefully crafted playlist; everyone will wash a dish and then leave by midnight, leaving me with a spotless home.

Dress Code: That sweater I just bought that I’m not sick of yet, those tights I just can’t find although I know they’re totally in the back of my closet somewhere, some dumb skirt, new Acne oxfords. Guests can wear whatever they want, I don’t care.

Decor: My house, so, nothing. Maybe the couch could be pushed out the way to accommodate everyone? Idk.

3. The Ice Storm-Themed Wedding
Guests will be invited into a perfect replica of a 1970s-era American suburban home, complete with conversation pit. Alcohol will flow very, very liberally; casual pill use will be encouraged, but not required. Guests will be forced to confront their own sense of suburban ennui when the hostility of nature outside the wedding finally matches the hostility brewing inside our immaculately decorated newly built homes. Ceremony will feature me casually smoking a cigarette; will respond to all vows with a shrug. By the end of the night I will be able to say my favorite line from the movie with at least the same accuracy, if not the same lethal delivery, as Sigourney Weaver: “I have a husband. I don’t have a need for another one.”

Dress Code: We will all wear polyester, either in pantsuit or jumpsuit form. Preferred colours are ice blue, paisley print, and orange. Hair should be coiffed and big.

Decor: Shag rugs, modular couches, the more clichéd the better.

4. Bachelor in Paradise-Themed Wedding
A close group of friends, my partner, and I will be sent to an exotic locale to capitalize on a previously popular thing we once participated in. We will lay around in the December sun, getting progressively drunker in that particular insidious hot-weather way: lazy, hazy drunk, where you can still walk and talk and feel like you’re thinking normally but actually you’re descending into a deeply emotional and sexually aroused state that seems destined to lead to incomplete unsatisfying penetrative hetero sex, a fit of tears, or passing out for a fretful five-hour sleep.

My partner and I will enter the wedding as the “special guests” to the Bachelor in Paradise “house” and he will present me with a “date card” to signify the ceremony is beginning. We will give talking head interviews to imaginary cameras before the actual ceremony confirming that neither of us knows anything of value about the other person but we will both adamantly claim to be soulmates. Ceremony will be the exchange of a single rose.

Dress Code: This lime-green bikini I saw on Asos last week. Flip-flops. Men are required to wear puka shell necklaces with their mics discretely attached. “Beachy” hair; interpret that as you will.

Decor: Sand. Sunshine. Rooms with bunk beds even though we are all adults.

5. Blog Wedding
I will be standing in front of a solemn judge trying to ignore the buzzing of my phone in my pocket. “Just a second,” I say, before the ceremony can begin. “I know this is so rude but there’s this thing on the Internet I really should check.” The judge will be like, “Not at all, this gives me a chance to check the analytics of my last blog post on providing nontraditional weddings for millennial assholes.” My soon-to-be-husband will put his headphones in so he can listen to his favorite podcast while he waits. I’ll poke him on the shoulder to be like, “Hey, sorry, can you read this dumb thing I wrote really quick? It’s about the deep ambivalence I have towards the institution of marriage coupled with the real disgust I have for some aspects of traditional wedding ceremonies and why, you know, it’s tied to this whole thing, whatever.” He will scan through it and tell me, adamantly, it’s the best, smartest thing I’ve ever written. I will turn to Anna and be like “Hey, sorry, can you read this dumb thing I wrote really quick?” She will scan through it and shrug and be like, yeah, sure, it’s fine, just post it, who cares. I will post it right as guests have finished scrolling through their Instagram feeds; they will transfer over to my blog post, see the first line, and quickly scan to the bottom to leave a comment on all the reasons I’m so wrong. Someone will suggest I am worse than Hitler. A glass of whiskey will materialize and I will drink it, satisfied at another day of hard work on Internet™. “Ok,” I’ll tell the judge. “I’m ready.”

Dress Code: Black leggings, black sweatshirt, huge old grey socks; blogging uniform. Hair in ponytail. The lip balm I keep on my desk reapplied every time I need something to do with my hands.

Decor: I don’t know, is seapunk still a thing? Whatever aesthetic is big on The Internet rn.