What Kind of Bride Would I Be?

I work in public relations. What's worse, I work in public relations in New York. I should not be fazed by self-promotion, bad grammar and evil girls.

But yet I am.

And as more and more friends and family take the plunge into wedded bliss, I'm even more astounded by the metamorphosis that so many women go through once a ring is slipped on their finger. They go from skulking caterpillars braving low paying jobs and the ridiculous cost of denim and cocktails to flamboyant she-monkeys with wings who offer their friendship up to you in a menu of overpriced entrees. You know you're BFF with one of these ladies when she asks you to open a new line of credit so you can participate in the most special day of her life. Lesser friends and relatives are invited to pick from an assortment of options that cement your connection to the bride and her beloved. Whether it's the $300 copper pot for the lady who until yesterday lived on Ramen noodles or the just-cause-they're-Tiffany tchochkes for the couple who can't even spring $5 at a friendly game of beer pong, everyone with a checking account is invited to share in the love and sanctity of holy matrimony.

Blame it on my Jehovah's Witness upbringing or the fact that as a gay child every day was a celebration (in my head), but I've never understood formal ceremony and celebration. No Christmas, no birthdays -- for me it was a way of life and in fact, I still feel kinda funny whenever I get a present. I had a birthday party for my 25th birthday and swore off future festivities because I felt plain weird accepting gifts from people.

But to watch the brazen "gimme gimme gimme" attitude of the modern bride has gotten me to thinking that I am doing myself and my relationship a grave disservice.

I have been doing a terrible job at publicizing my relationship. For instance, I barely told anyone that James and I exchanged rings on New Year's Eve! And when James brought up the idea of having a formal ceremony in the fall I cringed.

What would I do in a tux and under an altar? Or a chopa?

But now I'm changing my tune. Everyone is cashing in on people's sappiness and I'm missing out. I'm not going to wait for George Bush and his thug cabinet to let me and my man collect the bounty of glorified panhandling.

I'm going to plan a wedding and I am going to be the biggest, baddest most nightmarish Bridezilla ever to appear on Oxygen. And no one can stop me. Stilettos for my bridesmaids, speedos for groomsmen, I want to be dipped in gold body paint and lowered into the church a-la-Moulin Rouge.

I will now start accepting applications for bridesmaids....