“Or at the very least, not throw shade at their happy day.”

There’s the rub, isn’t it? You can’t complain because if you do, then you’re just grubbing for gifts and attention. But it DOES sting, when you put yourself in debt to attend people’s weddings and then they can’t even bother to send a card when you marry a decade later.

Please enjoy this $10 bottle of red, Horn E. Elk. From the vineyards of Ernest and Jimmy Bob Gallo.

Same. My wedding was something I endured for two sets of families that were only emotionally invested in me for this one day and then went back to not caring about my life.

Nothing is as indie and off-beat as Pennsylvania table wine, and I should know, because I drank a lot of it at a wedding once and had to call the Poison Hotline shortly thereafter.

Ah, I was the last of my friends to get married too. This meant that, as a poor twenty-something, I still had to scrape together cash to travel and gift them up (engagement party, house-warming party, bridal shower, wedding...). This meant, that as a thirty-something getting wed, those same friends flaked out, used…

Free Space square: Lesbian shitass (commitment ceremony)

Sorry, Ted, but any male using the term “Daddy” makes me think of Tobias.

With a Han Zimmer soundtrack.

This is why, when I die, my remains are going to be throw into the sun with all of Earth’s nuclear weapons, so that I may be reborn as Nuclear (wo)Man.

I drift more to the atheist side of things, but I still go every home every Memorial Day (or around then) to clean graves and plant flowers. Maybe it’s a regional thing. My mom was always the sibling who planted her grandparent’s graves, but since she died, no one does. I kinda judge my aunts and uncles too for…

Congratulations, AnonymousCivilPerson. You made me snort oatmeal out of my nose, and my coworkers are disgusted.

Shifts eyes nervously from side to side. “Yup, 2007. Ha ha. Obviously.”

I like to think that in an alternate universe, Leo is in a Pussy Posse that helps humanely capture, spay/neuter, and then re-release feral cats. And rehome kittens who can be domesticated.

I can affirm that it does work. Which is why I wear a furry top hat in all moments of my life, from dating to business meetings.

I like that Father Frank is not only telling me what to do with my body, but he’s also telling me how to feel.

Or she tried to give it a deworming pill....

My cat will sometimes just walk up to me when I’m sitting on the couch and slap my face. No claws, just a tough little kitty-slap, like an old-timey Parisian gentleman trying to start a duel. I have no idea why she does it.

Ray Harryhausen’s skeletons gave me nightmares as a child, but you still get a star!

But dad-bod is so hot right now! It’s trending!