I spent about an hour yesterday looking for rules about what to wear to weddings, though I do think most rules surrounding weddings are bullshit. (Startling, eh? Yes, this is shaping up to be one of my edgier posts. I also think water is wet, and opening your eyes helps you see.) Nevertheless, it’s important to know rules before you break them, and occasionally there’s stuff that makes sense, like not wearing white because it would be embarrassing if the bride’s slightly blind grandmother mistakes you for the bride. (Hey, Grandma, see above on the eye-opening rule.)

There is nothing like spending an hour looking at wedding guest attire rules to make you feel vain and superficial. Almost every advice column you will read on this subject ends in “Of course, no one will be looking at YOU,” which makes you feel like kind of a shitty person for even spending this much time thinking about what you wear. As if by even considering your outfit for the day you’ve already concocted a major plot to upstage the bride, at whom everyone WILL be looking.

I’m not anywhere near this marriage business, but I will just say this: if I ever do get married, please think about what you’ll be wearing to my wedding. Feel free to put a lot of thought and effort into making yourself pretty. Because a five hour reception where everyone stares determinedly at me and only me is about the worst thing I can imagine.

The weirdest part of the whole business is I cannot imagine the brides are on board with these rules. Because honestly, who throws a party for their friends and then gets bent out of shape if the guests wear floral dresses to an evening event or a black cocktail dress in the afternoon? So basically I’m just going to wear something non-white that I like the look of and the rules be damned.

If, however, you are not so free-thinking, here are the results of my research:

For a daytime wedding, you dress as you would at a garden party. Colors, sundresses, florals, these are all good. For evening, you wear cocktail dresses and darker colors. If there’s a dress code listed on the invitation then you follow that. That’s it, that’s all you have to remember. And anyway, everyone will be staring at the bride like they are saber-toothed tigers and she is a wounded woolly mammoth. No one will be looking at you.

Those of you who have begun to enjoy taking the torturous path through our household labyrinth of broken televisions, various computers and general clutter will be disappointed to hear that I am indulging in some spring cleaning. For the rest of you, coming over is about to become fun again.

As often as we march, ladies, we never seem to be able to take back the night. But by God I am going to take back the apartment if it kills me.

The first wave of stuff was cleared out yesterday, and I emerged with a few giveaways. Katy has first dibs on the rugs if she wants them, but if she passes then any of you are welcome to them:

Small rug, 40″ long by 23″ wide, not counting fringe. Comes with no-slip mat cut to size.

Medium rug, 63″ long by 45″ wide, not counting fringe. Comes with no-slip mat cut to size.

Michael Graves coffee maker. This makes about 6 cups. It works fine, but the hot plate heats up slowly — it takes about half an hour for the coffee to be hot.

Watch this space, as I will continue to post giveaways as the cleaning progresses. I’m also getting rid of several bags of men’s and women’s clothing and a stack of old cookbooks. If you want any of that you will have to move fast, as it’s going to be donated to charities and the library tomorrow.

I will have an eye to the comments and my email, so let me know if you want anything.

As Gene is just about done building me a new computer to replace my 1950s vintage laptop, I am getting serious about making space for my work in the house. (I considered just changing my career altogether to suit the apartment — become a TV repairman, say — but ultimately decided to stick with what I know.)

My dad helped me buy and transport a little oak desk that is small but fits perfectly into my corner of the dining room. And the smallness of the desk is actually good. It doesn’t permit a lot of clutter if I want to keep using my keyboard and mouse, which means I have to deal with paperwork as it comes up. Unfortunately, sometimes there’s stuff I can’t get to right away for whatever reason. Rather than piling it at the forgettable bottom of a paper stack, I wanted to buy this:

Memo clips

I could hang papers from it, and plus, so cute! But then I remembered that $15 is too much to pay for cute plastic farm animals (they stick you with shipping), so today I took a trip to Cliff’s to see what I could do about this on my own.

I bought four clips, four 3/4″ keyrings and a length of chain, for a total purchase price of $5.67:

I threaded the clips onto the rings, then threaded the rings at intervals along the chain. This lets the clips hang at the right angle so the papers will hang flat against the wall and I can see what they are.

Next step: put tiny nails into the shelf that runs along the top of the wall, so I can hook the chain over the nails. Note the marvelously girly tool chest. When I got my first non-dorm non-parent place, the Moms made sure I had a tool chest to take with me. She said every woman needs her own tool chest. The best part (for me) is that Gene somehow does not own his own hammer, so every time he needs to hammer something he has to go into the tool chest with the Disney princess stickers on it.

And voila! My very own paper hanging cord, which I made my very own self. Now all I need are the cute sparkly butterflies from Cliff’s that can be wrapped on either end to pretty it up and I will be so happy.

I’ve been thinking about April Fool’s Day. I don’t really enjoy being tricked, so I find it handy to have all the tricking compressed into one day. In fact, I think we should start rounding up more unpleasant stuff and cramming it all into one day a year. Naturally, I began my brainstorming with some of the irritating things I myself do which can and should be curtailed through my new holiday system.

May 14: Drunk Day

I think that boring, rude, angry or messy drunks (such as myself) should only be allowed to get drunk in company every May 14. This wouldn’t prevent Ilk from being forced to listen to a forty-five minute gushing recitation from me about how much I loooove Gene, but at least he would only have to sit through one a year.

December 8: Plot Day

Let’s reserve December 8 for people who want to tell you the plot of their dreams, or of any media they’ve recently seen or read. Everyone knows most dreams are boring, but I bet many people don’t know that it’s very, very dull to listen to an episode of a TV show explained in great detail. Exceptions can be made if you’re responding to a question, but the question better be “What is that show about?” and not “How was the new show?” or “Did you sleep okay?”

Relating a dream about a TV show is never okay, not even when I have serial dreams about being on Gilmore Girls for seven nights running.

“But then Rory was a ghost and they were kissing…”

Image from here.

December 9: Art Day

December 9, the follow-up holiday to Plot Day, will be there for people who want to show you their art. Visual art is usually ok, because it doesn’t require a lengthy time commitment, but people who want you to read their novels or poetry are going to have to wait until the 9th. Unless they are Jason or Sean, or can prove themselves worthy of being classed with Jason and Sean. (This will also prevent me from requiring people to read my blog in order to catch up on my life. Which was a bad system anyway, considering how spotty my posting schedule is.)

This very fun image is from here.

March 25: St. Shutterbug’s Day

On March 25, everyone can pull out their vacation pictures from the previous year and show them around. I actually like photos that people just post online, because I can go through them at my own speed and without shaping my face to look more interested than I maybe am. But otherwise, unless I like you a lot, your photos are exceptionally artistic, or you’re posed with a good-looking celebrity, I just don’t want to sit through an in-person viewing with you.

February 12: Critic’s Day

Let’s set aside February 12 for us to openly criticize one another’s wardrobes, lifestyles and music preferences. Some of us will always want to be wearing a glittery cartoon character t-shirt, and some of us will always be bothered by that, so everyone gets a day to voice their concerns. Remember, you’re making someone feel bad here, so your “it’s for her own good” justification only applies on opposite day. And that, of course, is July 19.

I always figured I’d grow out of my distaste for wearing makeup, like how after you achieve a certain maturity level you no longer own backless shirts or have friends in Santa Barbara. (Then later on you hit another level where you do have friends who live in Santa Barbara, but these are old rich yuppie friends who own homes there, not college kids packed eight to a room in Goleta.)

Only recently did I realize that it’s not a maturity thing. You start wanting to own and wear makeup at the same age that you realize how shiny it is. After all, the word “shimmer” is right there in the names of many, many makeup products. Lip shimmer, shimmery eye powder, body shimmer that you put in your lotion to make your skin all sparkly. Most girls knew about this way back when you could choose between shimmer and glitter, but for me it’s all new and exciting.

I got all crazy and bought a shiny lip gloss a few days ago. Now my lips look like little lengthwise jewels all the time, and they smell like apples, which attracts both fellas and insects. I’m working my way up to some shiny eye business, so that whoever I’m talking to will become dazzled by my gemstone eyelids and have to lie down for a moment while I slyly steal their wallet. I will use the cash I earn from my sparkle crimes to procure more shining makeup for myself.

I’m going to try not to become a Tammy Faye Bakker face, but it might be hard to help. The shine must go on, after all.

This is not my face.