Wedding Details

As some of you might know… I got married. CALM DOWN. I have always said that getting married brings out the worst in people, you get a ring on your finger and all the sudden you think the world revolves around you. Brides are the biggest assholes ever.  Like, don’t even get me started. I wasn’t a bridezilla because I am a simply a lifezilla. Being so, I had a very clear vision for what I wanted our wedding to look like, feel like, sound like, taste like, you get the picture. I thrive in decision making, delegation and spending other peoples money so I really felt in my element during the planning process. In the most non-basic self indulgent bridezilla way, I wanted to share some elements of my wedding with my bitches.

Music | There is nothing worse than a wedding with shitty music. Being that my groom and many of our wedding guests are in the music industry, it was the most important element of our wedding. We curated playlists for pre-ceremony, cocktail hour, reception, after party. Sometimes providing track by track playlists aren’t enough – we also included a list of DO NOT PLAY THESE SONGS OR ELSE THE BRIDE WILL SHANK YOU IN THE THROAT ( anything Jason Mraz, Baby Got Back, YMCA, the fucking song from Twilight, shoot me). My husband produced the music for our processional and it was one of the most special aspects of the wedding.



Personalization | I think a wedding should *feel* like the couple and not some sad replicas of your pinterest board. I love a personalization. Matches, napkins, place cards, specialty cocktails, anything and everything. It’s inexpensive, chic and unique. Just make sure everything is COHESIVE. Fonts are my life. I made sure the fonts and monogram used in my invitation were the same throughout (details bitch).



Monofloral | This was something I felt extremely passionate about. I am 93% positive I have severe OCD (cute) but floral arrangements give me shpilkes (yiddish for nervous energy). I wanted all centerpieces/bouquets arranged by flower type. No mixing. I had a legally binding “use roses and hydrangea sparingly” rule and stuck with mostly modern structured flowers (calalilies, orchids, gladiolus) and it was fresh as fuck.


Acrylic | I love anything non child friendly. It’s clear, it needs to be windexed constantly, its sharp and it’s perfection… it’s acrylic. My save the dates were acrylic with gold imprinting and totally set the tone for the wedding. For our escort board, we had a sexy plexiglass board with all of our guest names printed in a clean block letter (I hate a swirly font – again shpilkes), place cards were acrylic drink stirrers placed in champagne glasses and for reception chairs we used “ghost chairs” that gave our whole decor a super modern look.


Mixed Metals | I love shiny shit. So I would never limit myself to one metallic accent color. I love mixing gold and silver, we had no other color in our wedding scheme. Silver mirrors, gold rimmed china, silver votives. You get the picture.


FUR (because why the fuck not) | This was a controversial decision on my end. When you think a spring wedding in the middle of the piping hot desert, you don’t usually think of white fur… unless your a psycho like me. I ordered 20 white sheepskin throws from an illegal international import website to achieve my dream of casual white fur draped over the outdoor furniture, you know, for “texture”. I am a monster.




Mirrored Err’thang| We used mirrored round table tops and mirrored runners for all the tables. Not only because its fucking pretty but it also reflected the chandeliers, candle light and center pieces to really pump everything up a couple notches.



For more juicy details on the wedding check out my podcast episode “Blushing Bitch” with Lauryn Evarts from The Skinny Confidential here: CLICK ME FOR PODCAST!


Gorgonzola In My Gucci

I realize the title of this post sounds like a sick sexual innuendo but calm your boners… I am not even sure what this article is about but it seemed super funny last night. Shut up. Yesterday I hit a new low point. I don’t offer up these morsels of truth lightly and was forced into the realization that I’m slowly but surely becoming my grandmother. For the record she is next level fabulous and my favorite human being ever. She also requires that even standard t-shirts be steamed and travel in garment bags and averages 3 send backs per restaurant visit all while lovingly stroking the waiters arm and referring to them as “babe”. She can get away with just about anything and I admire that.

I don’t know if it happened all at once or after slowly testing the waters and having it come so naturally went balls deep. The key to being a high maintenance bitch is doing it all in a really overly nice self-deprecating manner and with enough persistence that people will eventually succumb just to get rid of you.  So my boo and I headed to Palm Springs to celebrate my birthday, drink a shit ton of blended drinks, get a tan and hang out with the gays poolside. Heaven.

After moving rooms 3 times (the first didn’t have enough natural light, the second had bad energy and the third was the last available) we settled in and I did my standard post check-in run through. Robes? Check. View? Check. Small children adjacent? Check. FUCK. I don’t want to sound like a she-devil but small children can be such a buzzkill. I would love to say I am someone who finds all children precious… I don’t. I headed to the pool and was welcomed by a tidal wave from some little screaming bastard who was at least 11 years old with water wings, a scuba mask and a fucking cast (unsanitary) cannon-balling into the pool #birthcontrol. His mother looked on in her trucker hat and Coors Light, “Tim don’t forget the bathroom is just over there.” Basically proclaiming her meatball shit of a son was not only infecting the waters with his open flesh but also had an inclining to pee in the pool. Something feels wrong about putting a water wing on a casted arm right? Put little Timmy back in his cage.

I called the waiter over and ordered an adult beverage asap “light on the mix, heavy on the pour *wink”. This has a 50/50 success rate. After chugging my drink, asking the waiter if they could turn up the music to drone out the shrill sound of children, had any hypoallergenic sunscreen I could borrow and if they had an adult only pool (am I an adult?) I knew it was time to vacate. I have never had a near death experience but I was pretty sure my waiter was one request away of shanking me. Feeling his hate vibes I decided I had wreaked enough havoc and retreated back to my room to get ready for dinner. I got in my robe and realized I was having a wild craving for a blue cheese martini. What like you haven’t had that craving? Instantly I started dialing local restaurants “Hi! Sorry I know this seems strange but do you guys have blue cheese stuffed olives?” After 3 disappointing phone calls, I decided to take matters into my own hands like a boss ass bitch. “Babe I’ll be right back!” “Where are you going?” “Um… just going to check out the fire exit routes. Be back in a jiffer!!”

I headed to the on site restaurant at my hotel with a clear mission. As I approached the hostess, I tried to evoke my best girl next door with a warm heart and friendly smile essence. “Hi Jessica, I know this sounds absurd. Is there anyway I could just get a small side of blue cheese crumbles to go? It’s part of my paleo diet…” I don’t even know where that came from #noshame. “Sure! One sec.” I fucking love Jessica. It was then that I returned to my hotel room and began stuffing my own olives. I wrapped them in a salvaged piece of plastic wrap and hid my gorgonzola garnish in my Gucci bag. Because that’s so fucking normal…

We headed to an Italian restaurant, I radiated the scent of cheese and no matter how I tried to mask it I was one pungent pain in the ass princess. I immediately ordered my cocktail and swapped out my pimento stuffed with my homemade garnish with the finesse of a true bitch. My boyfriend looked at me horrified. I am a boundary pusher by default but this was a new low. What’s more bizarre is I found this in no way strange. “What? I wanted blue cheese stuffed olives in my drink. Fuck off.” It was then that the waiter came over and looked down at my drink like he just birthed a transgender. He was so confused, I awkwardly laughed and told him I had brought my own blue cheese olives. “Haha! My manager told me someone had called about that earlier. You’re nuts!” Excuse me? Shit he was totally right. Am I a desperate control freak or just a complete pain in the ass? How long have I been getting away with this? This may have been my high maintence breaking point but the beauty of this downward spiral is my inherent resourcefulness and will to meet my high expectations. Right? Well fuck. No shame in my game….  This is what we call a glass half full approach to life, my glass just happened to be filled with vodka (and blue cheese stuffed olives).

Not ready for this jelly.

Not ready for this jelly.

Bitch Bible Lesson: When life hands you regular martini olives, bring your own Gorgonzola and stuff them yourself. #deepthoughts


Wedding Crashers

This holiday weekend I went down to one of my favorite places, Palm Springs. It’s a go-to vacation for me because it is always hot, the dry air does wonders for my hair and it only takes about 2 hours to get there. Unfortunately, leaving at 4:00pm on a Friday afternoon of a holiday weekend was not the best move. After 4 hours of sitting in traffic alone while seeing the cars in the carpool lane wiz by, I decided to get crafty. Meet my new passenger Cassandra…

Cute fedora girl.
Cute fedora girl.

Finally after almost 5 hours of driving, I arrived to our hotel. My parents, sister, boyfriend, Aunt and Uncle and cousins stayed in 2 houses at the La Quinta Resort right across from each other. We aren’t the most demure group so it was evident that we would get ourselves into some rowdiness. MVP of the trip was my cousin Andrew who now goes by the street name “Ruckus”. Ruckus made La Quinta his bitch by showcasing his dance moves, getting into a verbal altercation with a bar singer (not Ruckus’s fault) and investigating the property’s events calendar for some post-dinner activities. Ruckus got word of a wedding going down and decided it would be appropriate for us to attend. We quickly changed out of our PJ’s and worked with what we had to attend a black tie wedding. Here is our video documentation of the family-oriented Haute Mess event crash. Enjoy…