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She’s back and telling it like it really is.  All those words you swallow back because you’d still like to be friends with people who are making bonehead decisions and asking ridiculous questions (when they’re done doing both of those things).  The Asshole Bride Anonymously vents exactly how you vent to your BFF (when it’s not your BFF you’re venting about!).  Today she’s back with a nice (unbreakable) glass of wine and some RSVP and In-Law woes.

Here I am, 14 days to go. I am nesting in the corner of my sectional, staring at half finished DIY projects covering my entire house, with a half gallon of mint chip in my lap and a giant spoon marathoning Bojack Horseman for the hundredth time. I have no shame anymore. Why, you ask, have I seemed to have given up so close to the finish line? Oh, just my soon to be sister in law.

Today I headed out to the local craft store, because like every bride, I still need shit for this mountain of DIY fuckery 2 weeks out. And I think “Oh I should get the mail because I am an adult and that’s what adults do!” In my mailbox, I find an RSVP. Our deadline was 4 weeks ago. Well, maybe the postal service had an issue. So I check the postmark. 3 days ago. AWESOME. WHO THE FUCK IS THIS FROM SO I CAN HATE THEM FOREVER? I look up the number on the back of the card, check my spreadsheet, and of course. It’s his sister. Because fuck if she can do anything on time for anything ever. Seriously. This girl has made me FOUR HOURS LATE to christmas dinner. And I told her we had to be there 2 hours before we actually did because I know her MO. She was 6 hours late that day.

There has been zero communication from her about anything since wedding planning started. Only when she gets the feels and needs someone to listen to her because her life is the “worst evar” or something. We called on her when RSVPs were due and she said “What you guys needed that?” NO BITCH. I DON’T. I JUST SPENT $50 TO GET THEM PRINTED AND ANOTHER $35 ON STAMPS FOR YOU TO SEND THEM BACK BECAUSE I WANTED TO PISS MONEY AWAY. OF COURSE I GODDAMN NEED IT. “Oh, well I figured family didn’t need to send them in because we’re family.”

Look asshole, I get that you are not married, and I’m pretty convinced you never will be married since you are a miserable human being, but how in the actual fuck am I supposed to tell the caterer how many people to feed if 40% of the guest list doesn’t RSVP because they are family?? Am I Miss Fucking Cleo Call Me Now? Do I throw darts at the list and whoever I hit we cook for? And really am I assuming you are coming because you are family? Or that you aren’t because you spent TWO HOURS last month telling my fiance how you guys will get along better when our fucking relationship is over? How in your idiotic little world does this shit work? Clearly what I’m doing isn’t going smoothly so maybe I should try your crazypants way.

Yes. This girl spent two fucking hours complaining about how they weren’t as close as they could be and it was my fault and things would be “better when I left him”. Wanna know why? Because I reamed her ass out for assaulting my fiance FOUR GODDAMN YEARS AGO and never apologized to her for it. Putting the disrespect of our entire relationship and wedding aside, because I could write for DAYS on this bullshit, why in the actual fuck does she feel she deserves an apology? Yes dickbag, I’m so fucking sorry I told you assault was not only wrong but illegal and you would never hear from your brother again because he is thisfuckingclose to done with you if you don’t knock it off. No, that is absolutely not 100% fucking sarcasm.

All you brides know this, but in case you didn’t, caterers have a date that you have to give them a final head count. Sometimes a week before, sometimes 2 weeks, sometimes a month. Mine was last week. So who knows how this is going to play out. Actually I do. It’s far too late to accomodate her goddamn ridiculous food issues (She is the pickiest eater I’ve ever met. Zero food allergies, she just seriously eats three foods. Three. And not one of them is on the menu.) She’s gonna get to sulk and whine that there is no food she can eat, probably cry in a corner, and I’m not going to give a flying fuck. Because fuck you. You are 30. Get your shit together and mail in the card or don’t eat. This is a wedding, not your fucking Aunt Ethel’s Memorial Day Cookout.

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