Dearly Beloved...

We have gathered here today to witness the complete and total meltdown of a bride-to-be.

Seriously, this is my 100th post and it was supposed to be really, really, REALLY great. Awesome, even. But I kept having these little freak outs so I kept putting off writing my 100th post, because I thought that if I was all "Bridezilla" in here, it might be weird and freaky and strange and then my 100th post would forever be known as the post that made people stop reading my blog. Except today I realized that I haven't posted here in almost a month and another really good way to make people stop reading your blog is to just completely stop posting in it and also to pretty much disappear from the internet completely. So, you know...given the two options, I went with "Bridezilla - blog writer." Please accept my apologies for what is, unfortunately, my official (but not really great or awesome) 100th post:

"I Am Not Afraid To Blow Up My Beautiful New House Just To Destroy Your Zombie Asses"
~ a mostly true story by Bridezilla

My house is infested with ants. They were NOT here last year...I'm pretty sure they actually showed up right about the time I was writing in here, all "Check it out you guys! Zombie ants! Coooooooooool!" And then all the zombie ants got together and were like, "Check it out you guys, this chick LOVES zombie ants...Paaaaaar -tay!" And then they got in their little zombie ant bus and hightailed it over to my house for their zombie ant party which I did NOT give anyone permission to throw and now, every day of my life is spent trying to plan a wedding and work and do battle with the largest colony of zombie ants I have ever seen in my life. At first I tried to gently coax them to leave...I cleaned all of my counter tops and floors with white vinegar and sprinkled baby powder all over the place and sealed up all of the people food and the dog food in plastic containers and was all, "See, ants? I'm your friend...I'm not even trying to kill you or anything, I just think you guys should maybe party somewhere else?" And the ants were all, "Ok, sweet, sorry lady, we'll leave," and then they left and came back with a gazillion of their friends and were all, "HA! In your FACE, lady! Let the zombie ant party continue!" and they started shaking their asses and drinking wine straight out of the box and doing jello shots.

So then, I went and got some grits and some yeast and spread it all over the place because I read that the ants will take all of that stuff back to the mother ship and get really bad gas and also get dehydrated and then probably not come back to my house because the food sucks.

Except...no. Not so much. They left for a few days and then brought a gazillion trillion friends back with them and also, they did eat all of that stuff I gave them and it did give them gas and I'm pretty sure that what I thought was smelly socks is really just a bunch of ant farts.

So then, because I'm still trying to be all nice and organic and environmentally friendly and stuff, I dug up a bunch of ant colonies and moved them all over the house because all of the ant experts said that when you do that, the ants will battle to the death. Except farting zombie ants don't battle to the death...they become super best friends and throw raves and invite all of the other ants from the neighborhood over and get drunk and listen to techno all night.

So I gave in and bought some ant spray. Except it wasn't like I was all peaceful and calm and went to the store like a normal person and bought some ant spray. I woke up in the morning, went to check my mail, saw the ants in my mailbox and went completely apeshit crazy for a little while. I jumped into my car - in my pajamas (which aren't cute pajamas, they're actually extra large, paint splattered, holey guys sweat pants with the pee hole saftey pinned shut and a too small t-shirt with what I think is a large grass stain over the left boob), with my crazy half flat, half afro "just woke up hair", gigantic eye boogers, and some wicked morning breath -and drove to the closest store. Then, because I was at least sane enough to know that my breath could kill someone, I refused to ask anyone for help finding the ant spray and instead wandered back and forth throught the same aisles over and over and over again like the neighborhood crazy person.

I'm not 100% sure, but knowing me, I was probably singing, too. Crazy neighborhood singing crazy person that finally walked up to the counter with about 10 cans of ant spray, a bunch of ant stakes, a bunch of ant hotels and the latest issue of InStyle magazine...which, given my appearance, either came off as a joke or a desperate plea for help.

I went home...I did not shower, brush my hair, brush my teeth, or change into a normal, sane person outfit. Instead, I began spraying and staking and setting up hotels all over my house and outside...and being all, "YEAH! Suckers! Take that, you zombie techno asshats! Where ya gonna live, now, HUH??? Whatcha gonna do when you're all DEAD!??!?!" And my neighbor across the street was outside weeding her lawn so I tried to keep it down a little bit so I bent down to kind of whisper/yell at the ants and probably all my neighbor lady saw was the crazy outfit and the crazy hair and me talking to my yard and she was probably really glad that I moved into the neighborhood.

Also...the ants did not die. I think I overheard them talking about having a music festival on my front porch...I think they have cell phones and computers and twitter and facebook pages and are networking with every other ant in the world and inviting them all to my house.

It's very difficult to battle the world's largest army of zombie, techno, farting ants when you are trying to plan a wedding. The good news is, we asked for Lowes gift cards as wedding gifts....so that maybe when we are reduced to blowing up our house to kill the zombie-techo-farting ant army, we can maybe build a new house. And the neighbors won't think I'm crazy anymore.

P.S. Ant experts are idiots.


P.P.S. This video is appropriate because of the above post and also, because I really, really SUPER need to have a wedding photo based on this theme and James is being all, "That's really dumb, I'm not doing that," and he's totally trying to sabotage my...I mean our....wedding day and probably his mom is going to be really mad at him and more than a little hurt because our wedding pictures are going to suck so bad. Clearly, James doesn't care about moms.

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I would so ninja kick bridezilla's ass...seriously.

So, I'm channeling all of my wedding stress into really complex ninja fantasies, where anyone that aggravates me even the slightest bit gets a serious ninja beatdown from me...

At the office supply store, the lady that was standing in front of the paper that I really REALLY needed...the lady that wouldn't move because she had to stand there and talk on the phone...even though she obviously didn't need any paper...and I really did...and this was the 5th store that I'd been to...and I'm super stressed out...and I was all sweet and stuff and she was totally NOT...

...she got the most serious ninja beatdown of them all...

Me: "Excuse me, ma'am, might I just squeeze past you and get that batch of paper there?"
Evil Lady: "Meh...hmphh...no."
Me: "Ma'am, it would only take just a second and I'll be out of your way in a jiffy!" (check out how sweet I am)
Evil Lady: "Pffffffffft...meh." (I KNOW! Can you believe this chick?)
Me: "Ma'am, I suggest you step aside before I unleash the horror."
Evil Lady: "Heh...please....harumph."

...and then I totally did....I unleashed the horror. I grabbed a pack of 30% post consumer recycled cardstock, real quick origami'd them into chinese throwing stars and whipped a swarm of them at her head...

...she was all "Aiiiiieeeeeeee!" and was yelling into her bluetooth head set thing for somebody to help her...but nobody can protect you from "The Horror" (that's my ninja name ~ it's pretty awesome)...then she tried to run but she tripped over her bright orange Crocs because everybody knows that Crocs suck for running...then I did a double back flip and landed on the top shelf where normally you're not even allowed to reach for stuff up there without assistance but I'm a ninja so that doesn't apply to me...anyway, I combined my ninja skills with some wrestler moves and I dropped down and body slammed her. Then I dug my elbows into her back (I do this to James all of the time and he freaks out so I know it hurts pretty bad) and I was all, "Who doesn't get their paper, now, HUH? Meh meh, right? RIGHT????"

...and then my phone rang and I snapped out of it and she wasn't even there anymore so I got my paper.

People are so lucky I'm not a real ninja...yet.

P.S. I was telling James about this and how my ninja name is "The Horror" and he was all, "your ninja name is the whore?" and I was like, "no, it's The Horror, like...I'm scary...I'm The Horror," and he was all, "What's so scary about a whore?" and I was like, "I'm not a WHORE, I'm The Horror, I'm a ninja and that's my ninja name, I'm The Horror, asshole!" and James was like, "Stop yelling about being a whore!" and I was all, "I'm not a whore!!!" and then we remembered we were in a restaurant and people were staring so we told them that we were planning our wedding and everyone kind of nodded knowingly and went back to eating their food because apparently everyone goes through this.

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