Two things that could ruin my wedding

From what I have observed in myself over the course of me proposing to my girlfriend to now, there are two potentially devastating things about me that could turn my wedding, which is a mere three months away, into one gigantic clusterfuck.

Let me explain: preparing for a wedding isn’t exactly cheap–to put things into perspective, let’s just say that in the last couple of months, I have spent half of what I earn annually booking some of the suppliers I need for my wedding.

All of this would’ve been fine If I was doing really well for myself. Well I could probably say that I sort of am but then again, let’s not forget that I am also paying for the house I bought early last year.

Add the fact that the actual preparations are taxing both mentally and emotionally into the mix and you’ve got yourself the perfect formula for an obese, manic-depressive train wreck waiting to happen. So stay the fuck clear.

Anyway, to cope with all the financial and emotional stress that are weighing heavily down on me, I’ve stepped up to take in more work and made it a point to drink myself into a coma every chance I get.

This becomes problematic when:

My Workaholism

In my wedding, I will be known to some people as the “sales pitbull” and the “douchebag screaming into his BlackBerry in English” to some. The thing is, with what I do, whenever I see a deal that needs closing, I attack it like a cheetah would attack a gazelle: Going for the lithe hind legs first before dragging the carcass back to my den for midnight snack and some necrophilic action.

My hunger for money nowadays is only dwarfed by my thirst for beer, so really, it’s only natural for me to be talking to Chinese internet moguls via my BlackBerry 24/7. If the guests in the wedding couldn’t understand the importance business and trade has in modern society, then I suggest they kick themselves back to 18th century France so they could listen to Rosseau tell them how awesome communism is and invite them to share their meager broth with him.

My Alcoholism

I cannot say this enough: I love to drink. You can blame my Ilocano genes or my dark past but the fact of the matter is I love alcohol okay? This insatiable thirst coupled an unlimited supply of booze afforded by the mobile bar I signed as one of the vendors for my wedding is a lethal combination. In my wedding, I would start off innocently enough, first swinging back the ceremonial glass of wine my future wife and I would share. Then I’ll knock back a few beers while going table to table for pictres. Then the wheels would come off–Somebody just handed me a Jaegerbomb!

Next thing I’ll remember is me putting my penis in the chocolate fondue. Another blackout. Then I’ll vaguely remember trying to rally everyone into dancing the Macarena on the dance floor. This will be followed by another blackout. Then it happens: The moment of true humiliation: I’m struggling to keep my balance on one foot holding a bottle of tequila before finally falling backwards into our wedding cake.

I wake up the next morning in a forest wearing an Igorot outfit hugging a rice cooker.

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