In case you haven’t been paying attention the 4,302 times I mentioned it before, I love baseball. I LURVE IT. If it was a woman, I would take it to a nice hotel and make sweet love to it all night long, or at least until something better came on TV. LIKE BASEBALL. HOW IRONIC. I can talk about the game for hours. I can spend hours looking up stats and getting into internal debates over which players I’d rather have on my team. And sometimes, the Toronto Blue Jays even win a game, further adding to my baseball boner, which is probably the worst boner ever.

Although I love the game, I realize that certain people in my life do not share my love for the game. And although I enjoy torturing these people with random “interesting” baseball factoids from time to time, I try and make an effort to not constantly talk about the game that I have wet dreams over. This may surprise all of you, but I’m not an asshole 100% of the time. I know, stop the presses. Wait, a blog doesn’t have a press. OR DOES IT?

(No, it most certainly does not. Dumbass.)

Anyway, let’s more the subject onto you, because you’re clearly the most important person here. And as the most important person, I will not bore you with stories about baseball for this entire post. But in exchange, I’d like to ask an itsy, bitsy, teenie, weenie, yellow polka dot bikini of a favor? (That song was released in 1960, and finally made its way to Drumheller last summer) Could you kindly shut your damn mouth about your wedding?

OH SNAP, MOTHER F’ERS!

Yes, I know you’re more excited than that time I caught a glimpse of side boob. Yes, I know it’s your magical day, or some other crap that every potential princess bride tells herself. And yes, I know that your wedding is going to be different, because you’re going to throw a kick-ass party on a budget, unlike apparently every other budget-conscious bride in the history of the world. All those things are great, except for one thing, and that’s NOBODY GIVES A RAT’S ASS.

Sure, it may look like other gals care (It’s always the gals. Never the fellas). But it’s not because they really care. It’s because your 8,394 wedding posts take them back to a time where, for one fleeting day, they were the most important person in their social circle. The rest of their lives are dedicated to recreating that special high. It’s like the worst meth addiction ever. WEDDINGS ARE WORSE THAN METH. NAILED IT.

Do you know why most engagements last a year to 18 months? It’s so the bride-to-be can milk the living crap out of being the center of attention. Oh, your mom cried over your dress? NOBODY CARES BUT YOU AND MOM. Your dad is in the corner crying too, but only because the cash you dropped on a dress that’ll be used for all of 8 hours could finally pay off his mortgage. Your fiancé will be ready to stick his head inside the garbage disposal after you mention table settings for the 19th time. These people actually care about you, and they’re ready to bash their collective heads against the wall by about week two. IMAGINE HOW THE REST OF US FEEL?

But of course, nobody can say this publicly, because apparently we’re all BFFs FOREVER YOU GO SISTA YEAH F THE HATERZ! Except me. I can say it publicly. I’m nobody’s BFF, unless we count baseball, but we’re not talking about baseball anymore because we already established that talking about it makes me a bigger douche than the cast of Jersey Shore. So screw it.

Gals, please. Stop. Stop with the wedding posts, stop with the 6,666 engagement pictures, stop with the stupid debates about stuff like venue sizes, and flower arrangements, and how your bridesmaids are being total pills, and whether you should go with the steak or the chicken, and whether your readers should shoot themselves now, or three months from now when you’re STILL TALKING ABOUT YOUR G.D. WEDDING PHOTOGRAPHER BUDGET.

But wait, you’ll say, people are learning things from my wedding posts. They’re learning from my mistakes. They’re learning what’s a reasonable budget for cake that for some reason married couples insist on smushing on each other’s faces. That’s perfectly good cake that’s just getting wasted, but whateves. You crazy kids do whatever you want. So yeah, you think you’re “teaching” people things, when all it boils down to is how it’s a not so subtle way to transfer even more attention to your little corner of the internet. But hey, keep on thinking you’re helping people by talking about your petty problems.

Let’s just call a spade a spade, and admit what your wedding posts really are, a thinly-veiled call for attention. We’ve already established most of the PF blog-o-net doesn’t know a damn thing about finance, So they’re left to write about the only thing they do know about, and that’s their boring ass lives. It’s the same reason personal finance bloggers tweet the living crap out of the conferences and vacations they attend – because their entire existence needs to be documented, to apparently bore their grandkids. Oh, Grandma went to #FINCON12? BIG DEAL, WE WENT BACK IN TIME, BITCHES.

Congratulations, you “saved” $5k on a $20k wedding. You’ll forgive me if I don’t have a marching band on standby to properly celebrate your achievement. Now kindly go ahead and never talk about it again.

Tell everyone, yo!