Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Understand that I'm not generalizing on churches here. Oli can get married in any church she wants, just not THAT church. It's near the historic district and at first glance, looked nice enough. For a couple of seconds. Things quickly went awry when we noticed dozens of pews parked *outside* the church, next to a gazebo with a hole in the roof. The kind of hole made by a body falling through it, all kept nice and safe by a padlocked gate that looked as if it'd been rammed by a semi. This should have been enough warning for us to run, not walk, but Oli wanted to see the inside too.

Four words: Carrie White Lives Here. Think decrepit Methodist shambles for Ozzy Osbourne to perform a demonic bloodletting on goats, all crowned by a disco ball with half the mirror chips missing. Really, all it needed was the cult priest from "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" ripping hearts out of slaves and screaming "Kali MAAA!!!"

I did not like it there one bit. It made my skin crawl. This wasn't a place to get married, it was a place for covens and sacrifice. What I liked even less was the hacking, animalistic cough that someone or something was doing downstairs, which Oli took as a sign to start yelling "Hello!" and walk very loudly towards the source. I, however, careened for the door. It was a full moon outside, and obviously the werewolf was resuming his natural form. Why couldn't she see this? So I went back for my sister, dug my nails into her arm and hissed, "OLI WE HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW."

Oli thought this was just the funniest thing and even wanted to go upstairs to have a look. Wonderful. Give the werewolf a head start. And what was upstairs, you ask? Destruction. Carnage. Rats. Okay, no rats, but they wouldn't have been out of place. Maybe the werewolf had killed them all.

What I wanted to do was kill Oli because she would not stop yelling "Hello!" and clomping around ungratefully in those high-heeled boots. Here I was trying to save us and she was attracting the basement beast. At this point I had no problems running my ass out of there and abandoning my sister to the dark desires of the Church, and was going to tell her so, when I smelled something.

"Oli, do you smell burnt toast?"

She took a good sniff. "Yeah. That's weird. Did you ever get around to seeing that movie 'The Exorcism of Emily Rose'?"

Who was she kidding? You don't watch religious horror films after 11 years of Catholic schooling. "No, I was too chicken. Why?"

"Before bad things happened to Emily Rose, she would smell burnt toast."

This was where I snapped. I'm not pretty when I snap. I grabbed Oli by the ear and dragged her through the room, out the doors, down the stairs and threw her in the car. Amen, Praise the Lord, Hallelujah, there would be no ritual killings today.

Before experiencing the Church I thought Wedding Planners were in such high demand because of people, like me, who have the patience span of a gerbil. This is also why they get away with charging so much, for creatures such as myself who would rather be having spa day, then planning the perfect day. I may be a collossal failure as a woman, but let me ask you what sounds more appealing: digging through 263 china patterns with your mother, or a gorgeous Eurasian stud covering you in oil and triggering pressure points? Yeah, that's what I thought.

But now, ladies and gentleman, I know the truth. Wedding planners are in vogue and more costly than aged wine, because they know how to avoid the fatality and bloodbath that is the dark underbelly of matrimony.