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I’m Louise. Blogger. Wife. Designer of TruLu Couture Veils + Accessories.  If you’d like to know more, check out my bio.

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Entries in Guest Blogger (4)


What a Wedding Means to Me

You guys know Anna, right? She guest blogged My Dirty Little Secret not long ago. Wednesdays are all about love on her blog Far From the Wedding Crowd.  Today she’s posted a piece I wrote a looooong time ago for her. It was supposed to be a guest post for when she was out doing her own wedding thing, but I totally got sidetracked and sent it late.

She posted it today out of the clear blue.

I’ll admit, it’s kind of strange to read things I wrote that aren’t recent. I question my past thought processes all the time. I wonder if I hadn’t experience “x” that day, would the outcome still be “y”?

I started reading the post with trepidation. How many f-bombs did I drop? Did I remember to spell check? Did I over use the comma?

Honestly, I kind of shocked myself. I was asked to write about what a wedding means to me. The funny thing is, I still feel the same way now as when I wrote the post more than a year ago.

The Candyman and I had a wedding because of our families. We wanted them there to witness our commitment. It’s the single biggest reason we didn’t elope.

Psssst…..there’s an Unfake Elopement coming up this week!

So head on over to Anna’s world and read my guest post on What a Wedding Means to Me.


P.S. The Candyman and I and UNDER CONTRACT on a house. I think my brain might explode.


My Dirty Little Secret

Today's post comes from our lady across the pond. Most of you #NoseyBitches (follow on Twitter, it's a hoot!) will know her as Anna, from Anna and The Ring. She's migrated to a fabulous new site, Far From the Wedding Crowd. Check it out for awesome weddingness. Anna's wedding journey closely mirrored my own in time frame and often times, WPMs (Wedding Planning Meltdown). Sometimes I feel like Anna is the British version of me. It makes me happy to know that somewhere, a version of me might have a lovely British accent.

Please welcome Anna and her Dirty Little Secret.


Once upon a time I was a happy and healthy child.

Then the chubbiness came. Nothing unusual. I was normal, albeit slightly introverted. Books fascinated me more than people yet I still loved being around people.

Then came 14 and a skiing accident. I remember there was ice and then my knee twisting in a strange direction and I guess happiness stopped.

The appetite remained sadly without the exercise. I continued to play some sports but I was never as fast or confident. I became my true introverted self.

I ballooned and have kept on ballooning since that day.

My body should be able to do amazing things. I should be able to scale rock faces and I should be able to run a marathon and I should be able to wear a dress without Spanx. (And yes I know should is a desperately dangerous word.)

It's so shameful to admit to myself that I am obese, yet to admit it to people who already see I am is even more soul destroying.

Of course I would love to be different. How I wish I were the size I was meant to be. How I wish I could wear the clothes I swoon about. Hence my shoe obsession. I shall never wear the pretty clothes. I shall never be anyone's best friend?

And yet never is a strong word. I guess all these things are actually possible but would you like to know my dirty little secret. A secret I really don't want to share but know that if I do share it might make me realise I'm an idiot. An idiot that can change her life.

Ok. deep breath.

Here's my secret.

There is a significant part of me (well of course it would be significant I have my own gravity!) which wants to stay on the large side.

There is a safety to being overweight. All of life's disappointments can explained away. People don't like me because I am fat. No-one will ever ask me to be a bridesmaid, but that's okay! It's just because I'm
hideous. Who would want to spoil their photographs with me. I hardly wanted to be in my own wedding album. I know I would judge me. I mean who really wants to eat supper sitting across from me? Boys didn't like me when I was younger because was large. Yes boys are shallow and I am happily married now but man, that hurt when I was younger. Young girls please note, sleeping around is not the root of all happiness.

Perhaps I am an intensely dislikeable person. How does one know whether they are a good egg? I think I have the capacity to be a very good friend, but how does one judge whether they are actually a good
friend? Does size preclude me from forming intense friendships? Will I always be the acquaintance? Does my weight imply I am a bad person?

My favourite quotation implies that I know the answer.

What a strange illusion it is to suppose that beauty is goodness.”

Leo Tolstoy


Perhaps, deep down, I know it is me? If I remove my weighty armour I will still be the same "unpopular" person?

Life is short and yet I am consumed by such thoughts and perhaps fallacies?

Is it the height of self indulgence or is it a pervasive evil thread that is destroying my life?

Should I be brave and force myself into my trainers? Will I magically become a better person or is that decent woman already there? Could changing my shape really change my mind?

 Anna, you've already been told how fabulous this picture is, and I know you aren't a fan of it for whatever reason, but trust me when I say THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL.





In Praise of the Ugly

So this next T30SB Guest Post is from an Anonymous someone. Everything fantastic I have to say about her would give up a little bit of her anonymity, so I must refrain from accidentally spilling those little fantastic bits about her. I will say these things about her: unexpected, magnificent, smart.

In Praise on the Ugly 

Weddings bring up issues of beauty, to put it mildly.

I came home from my mother's (not unexpected) funeral in mid July with a month to finish planning our wedding. I was lucky to get up in the morning, much less lovingly craft out of town bags for my friends from the letters that they sent me over the years. I spent my evenings reading schlocky novels and sipping whiskey rather than carefully cutting out our initials to stick on everything that doesn't move. Did I mention I can't even fucking draw a straight line?

Even before my mother died we were against detail. Mike and I are writers, not designers, and our strengths are writing vows in Dr. Seuss meter (trochaic dimeter, if you care), eating great food, and cracking jokes. Mike's best man(woman) wrote her speech in the five minutes between the picture taking and the reception and it was the best damn speech of the night.

My sister-in-law bought the lanterns for centerpieces at IKEA. Did I love them? I loved that I didn't ever have to think about centerpieces again. Don't even talk to me about chairs. Can you sit in them? Fantastic, done. I bought $100 worth of wildflowers from a local farm. My bouquet had a bunch of colors and smelled like rosemary; I loved it.

Let's talk about my looks. When I was twelve, I complained to my older sister that all the Disney princesses and heroines were white and snub-nosed. I framed it in terms of racism. She replied "You mean don't have frizzy curly hair, brown eyes, and a big Jewish noses like we do?" She was all too right.

For a long time I thought I was single because I was ugly.

When I went to get a makeover (can you be made over when you've never been made up to begin with?), the only thing the makeup artist managed to say about me was that I had nice eyebrows. I do have nice eyebrows (completely unplucked), but still.

And then there are the cameras. I hate having my picture taken. I mean really really despise it. There's nothing about my face that a camera likes. Unruly hair, small lips, small eyes, big nose, inconvenient freckles. My face washes out and I look dead in photos. However, when I got married my partner (a budding photographer) said "there will be pictures. And you will smile."

Fuck smiling.

We had a photo shoot on the beach after the wedding rehearsal; we were all dressed up, but not in our wedding clothes. I spent about two seconds getting ready because we were so late. My hair was a mess. I wore no makeup (I never wear makeup). I felt lucky to have thrown on a necklace. I was cranky and stressed out. Mike and I had fought in the car on the way over and pretty much every word out of his mouth pissed me the fuck off. And the pictures looked awesome.

My photographer, a friend of mine, took us down the beach saying "look like you love each other. Look like you love each other." And although I wanted to kill Mike, I remembered that, in fact, I did love him and being on the beach and near him made me happy. I looked like nothing was wrong in the world.

At the wedding everyone told me I was "a beautiful bride." And you might laugh, but it made me mad. I was made up and the dress was pretty. Why weren't they saying "You look so happy" or "You make a great couple" which would have felt less false. Beauty is something we're born with or not. Being a happy couple is something we make.

There's a picture of Mike and me in front of the window overlooking a small New England harbor. Between us and the water is a parking lot. Behind us are some flags, which are far more patriotic than we felt. The hall was plain: not ugly, but plain. I can't imagine anyone noticed.


The Importance of Faking It

True to my word, I'm sharing the first in the series of Guest Posts, a good chunk of whom may choose to post anonymously. Happily, the first Guest Blogger is not!

I met Rogue Bride through Hindsight Bride when we all did a drunk podcast together. The rest is shall we say, blog history. I love this post on how to try to stay sane during your wedding planning. Rogue Bride is a few short weeks away, so probably knows a few things about crazy, right about now. So without further fanfare, please welcome Rogue Bride to The Thirty-Something Bride. Show her some comment love if you're feelin' it.

The Importance of Faking It

With six weeks to go until my June wedding, friends and family members have begun asking “So, are you
excited?! You must be excited.” I stare at them blankly, and it takes me a moment to remember what on
earth I should be excited about. Then I reply: “I’m too busy to be excited.”

If I were to tell you about all the things that have gone wrong with my wedding just this morning, it
would take me fifteen minutes and require a Grande Latte from Starbucks to calm my nerves. For the
last year, I’ve been stressing out over all the details. The baker who wouldn’t know real butter cream if I
choked him with it. The post office that has lost four packages and counting of wedding décor. Oh yeah,
and the favorite Aunt with whom I am no longer on speaking terms.

Before you get engaged, nobody tells you what your wedding will do to you. I’ve been snapping at
my fiancé, crying to post office workers, heart-broken at family misbehavior, and frustrated by the
limitations imposed upon me by my venue. I’ve been treating this wedding like it’s a chore. And so has
my fiancé.

With every eye roll, every groan, every “we’ve got to do THIS now, ugh” – my morale as a bride has
tanked. I felt like I was missing out on a seminal experience: Getting excited about my wedding!
Normally, I love planning parties. I adore dressy dresses. I relish diving into details and DIY projects. But
I haven’t found much joy in this wedding since the first month. It recently came to a head when I dove
under a pile of blankets in tears because I was missing out on all the happiness I was supposed to be
feeling right now.

And then it hit me – I needed to smile.

I needed to stop treating every wedding project like it’s an enormous pain in my ass. And, I needed my
Groom to get on board with me, because the moment his eyes start to roll, my enthusiasm deflates like
so many engagement party balloons.

With every project, every new Thing That Must Be Done, I plaster a smile on my face and announce
it in my most chipper tone of voice. “We get to buy your wedding band now! Yay!” “I get to call the
baker to talk about my cake!” “I get to track down RSVPs and have nice talks with my [flaky] friends and

I know some will argue that I shouldn’t feel obligated to be happy about my wedding. It’s a very
Feministy thing to be “genuine” even if that means showing annoyance at annoying things. Thing is, I
want to be happy and excited. I’d love to be the societally-approved Bride who is over the moon about
the whole thing (it is my conviction that those girls all have wedding planners and lots of money). For
me, part of the wedding experience I want is to enjoy the planning process. After all, you only get to do
this once (thank God).

Faking it is not easy, I won’t lie. But it has been scientifically proven, somewhere, that when you smile,
your mood lifts. When you fake being cheerful, cheer creeps in. I have to say, it has been working. No
more tears. And I think I’m finally starting to feel a little excited - sometimes - when I’m not so busy.

Smile ladies, smile.