My very pregnant friend Kim married her beau Sean yesterday. I offered to take pictures because that’s what friends with dSLRs do, along with stepping in before you drunkenly resurrect the “raise the roof” arm pump on the dance floor.
I was jittery walking into the courtroom because 1) we were late thanks to someone who didn’t drive aggressively and whose name ends in “usband” and 2) HOLY HARRY POTTER THIS IS A WEDDING! CONTROL YOUR PARKINSON’S FOR ONE NIGHT WOULD YOU? I don’t think I could handle wedding photography until I had some mortal kombat shaolin photography training. I don’t deal with confrontation very well, especially when it’s from some mega-bride who will find out that I didn’t set the exposure correctly and will use her superupper cut to my torso along with some cheating moves she downloaded off the internet until her bridal party yells, “FINISH HER!”
Luckily, my friend Kim is a sweet woman who never played Mortal Kombat and appreciated the photos I did take.
Requisite maternity heart.
I never went to a prom, but I’ve heard they stand like this. Rumor has it, couples dance awkwardly to Journey ballads and get into crazy booze-filled shenanigans that inspire pop-culture lines like, “DONNA MARTIN GRADUATES!”
Nathan was there for the ice cream. He was confused because unlike his usual fare of sugar-free popsicles, ice cream has no structure.
He didn’t care. He pwned that sucka.
Then the sugar high pwned him.