It�s harvest gold.

You�ve all seen plenty of pictures. I�m a porcelain princess. Harvest gold does not come near me.

I�ve been a good sport in past weddings. I�ve worn the dress ordered for me that was two sizes too big. I�ve worn the dress that�s covered me from neck to toe. I�ve gotten the mandatory up-dos, the manicures with funky colors, the Dyeables because someone feels that my wearing black or silver shoes won�t cut it.

I�ve flown to attend wedding showers. I�ve been instructed to tell people that the couple is registered at one of a billion places. I�ve spruced up wimpy floral arrangements with stuff purchased at the grocery store only hours before. I�ve sprinkled rose petals on the hotel bed. I�ve made those stupid crowns with the tulle veil for bachelorette parties. I�ve painted JUST MARRIED on the back of a truck.

In sum: I�m a good sport when it comes to something I find out-right ridiculous. If nothing else, it�s made me laugh with friends over IM today about what my wedding would look like.

If I get my way, it�ll be a quickie dealio where we both say something sweet, smooch, and then sign a paper before heading out to meet friends for a drunken dinner somewhere where the music is loud and people are encouraged to act like fools.

TV tells me that when you meet The One, you�ll know. In an ideal world, he will go along with what I have to say and accept the above scenario. Everyone knows that wedding planning is for girls anyway.

But something tells me that the man I�m gonna be saddled up with will be a bit of a pain in the ass. Knowing that, he�ll probably want to have the entire rigmarole. And so long as he doesn�t whip out a book with cut-outs from wedding magazines from years past, we�ll have a wedding and reception. Of course I�ll have to make a few non-traditional changes to get it to suit both of us...

Future sir, be warned. If you force this social and societal norm upon me, you will regret it.

During the wedding, I will insist on wearing a fitted blue dress. For one, I look awesome in blue. Second, I�m gonna rock my bod while I�ve got it. No. Puffy. White.

And if you think I�m gonna carry flowers, you�ve got another thought coming. I�m going to MC Hammer dance down the aisle while tossing condoms into the audience.

Of course my sixteen bridesmaids will have already scampered down the aisle, tossing sample packets of Astroglide and wet naps. They will be wearing anything nappy they find at a thrft store. The more 80s it is, the better.

Our nuptials will conclude with a high-five instead of a you-may-now-kiss-the-bride declaration. Then we�ll retreat down the aisle to Hava Nagila.

No worries about the lack of smoochin�. I�ll jump your bones when we retreat to the limo you forced us to rent. I figure if I�m shelling out to ride in luxury, I might as well get my money�s worth.

We�ll head to the reception site, where there had better be some cake. I want a six-foot sparkler-covered cake with our initials around the layers. And when the grub comes out (I�ll let you choose the menu, so long as I get two corn dogs and a swirl of ketchup and mustard for dipping), I want the entire wait staff to be made up of little people. Children, midgets, dwarves -- I don�t care. So long as they�re shorter than me, I�m up for it.

Instead of a DJ or a band, how about circus performers? I want fire-breathers! And unicycles! And juggling bears! How about a contortionist who gets stuffed into a Plexiglas box?

On and on and on.

Do note that I didn�t mention the jewelry in the above loony listing. I�m not fucking around with that. I want this.

I repeat: No fucking around when it comes to my jewelry.

Hey, there are some things that this woman won�t stand for. Even if it�s wedding-related. �