Something blue.

Weddings are emotional for me. They're emotional for many as evidenced by the sniffling and weeping that took place during the ceremony I was at over the weekend, but those folks get emotional because they're warm-hearted decent people. People who are different from me.

I get emotional at weddings because I'm a jealous, bitter, resentful bitch. Owning up to being a bitter and resentful bitch is not new, but realizing my jealousy over my friend being so very happy is a totally new achievement in bad behaviour.

It's also frightening, because it means I actually want to get married. I was with somebody for four years and he called me his wife. I felt no joy in the designation. His mother called me her daughter-in-law and that made me happier because I loved his mom, but I hedged when she talked about when we would make it official. The thought of the rest of my life being like the four years previous made me cry.

As I have yet to see a bridal magazine featuring a woman weeping in the fetal position on the cover I assumed my attitude wasn't going to make for a fairy tale wedding. It didn't occur to me until very recently that perhaps I wasn't against marriage in general; just marriage to the wrong person.

I'm actually more pro-wedding than marriage. Above all, I really want to have a wedding. I haven't thought through the actual marriage to follow but I want the party and the surrounding hoopla.

I want all of my friends and family in one room and I want to know we've all come together to celebrate the far-fetched yet joyous occasion of me finding a guy I like, who presumably liked me enough to call me back at some point for a second date. This would be the best I could really hope for, so we'd likely have an annulment the next day but at least I will have had a wedding.

The wedding that took place this weekend was for the daughter of very close family friends. She's younger than I am which of course inspired all kinds of talk about when "my turn" would come. Sadly, this phrase wasn't used in reference to when my table would get to approach the buffet line.

Because this girl is so close to my family, this wedding hurt my heart a little for other reasons. I got to see what my parents would be like at my wedding or my sister's wedding because we think of this girl as one of ours.

My Dad can shake his booty like you wouldn't believe (especially if it's Elvis) and a circle actually formed around him and the mother of the bride on the dance floor. My Mom fussed over the arrangements and decor like the resulting pictures would be hanging in her living room and for all I know they will be - for lack of any other forthcoming wedding photos.

After several hours of eating, drinking and dancing including the humiliating tradition known as the Chicken Dance, it was time for that other exercise in wedding humiliation known as the Bouquet Toss.

About ten lovely young women and assorted spinsters gathered in a tight knot behind the bride, actually jostling one another for position. Naturally I stood three feet taller in my heels than the other girls so I stood in the back of the crowd with my arms folded.

I couldn't be a poor sport and sit out the Toss but I couldn't bring myself to push and shove and get into position like a starter pistol was about to go off either. I went with more of a martyred approach to participation.

The bride faked-out the crowd several times, inspiring anguished cries from the jostling single white females. Just before she tossed it for real, she looked at me over her shoulder and grinned. And I knew.

The bouquet was coming straight for my head.

Sure enough, she purposely threw it high. I had a split second to contemplate ducking to avoid having a tulip embedded in my eyeball but I reflexively curled my fingers tight around the flower petals and snatched the bouquet out of the air.

The other women gathered on that dance floor whipped around and glared at me like I had done something wrong. I felt they looked at me as if they knew this hallowed tradition/superstition had gone to terrible waste -- like the bouquet should have been tossed to somebody with a chance at fulfilling the prophecy.

The crowd dispersed and I went to the bride. I knew I should at least thank her for her optimism. While she doesn't know my current dating situation, or profound lack of situation she must have made at least one revealing observation.

As we hugged she whispered, "That was for your parents."

Do not tell me to keep my chin up.

Out of all the parts of my body that bother me on a daily basis - the nose my ex declared too big for my face, my back which continues to cause me pain, the mysterious female problems that have my doctor so baffled he's in danger of becoming a workplace shooting statistic should he tell me it must all be in my head one more time, my peasant legs too thick to fit into boots, my cowlick right in the middle of my forehead preventing me from ever having trendy bangs, my small boobs so out of proportion with my broad back my bras look like two eye patches attached to a ziptreck line, my cankles, my childbearing hips, my thighs - a fire hazard in corduroy pants and my inability to tan...none of these 'flaws' is going to cost me $10,000.

My chin - the least offensive part of my entire body - will.

Chin may actually be a misnomer. I have a small area underneath my bottom lip, but I wouldn't go so far as to call it a chin. Therein lies the problem. I've always had a very pronounced overbite, and for the most part I've accepted this. I have a hell of a time not looking double-chinned in photographs but if my eyes are open and I don't look plus-size a picture of me with a double-chin is really a minor inconvenience.

My overbite has meant I sometimes have to chew food differently than other people and think very carefully about putting my hair back for fear my face looks a little unbalanced but other than that I was fine with it. I've even grown to like the way it makes my lips appear just a little more pouty.

Over the years though, I've had to pay more attention to my jaw in general. It pops and cracks. Sometimes when I'm chewing it feels like pop-rocks candy in my cheeks. Chewing a stick of gum makes my face ache and every so often my jaw gets stuck out of place, causing me a moment of hand-flapping panic for fear this will be the time it won't go back.

A few years ago I saw an orthodontist in Calgary. He cupped his hand under my chin-like area, tilted my head back and forth and declared my problems didn't look obvious.

If he was to treat me, it wouldn't solve any of my complaints but it would fix my 'minor deformity.' The treatment would be cosmetic at best. I paid the man $80 for this in-depth assessment and put it out of my head until a couple of weeks ago.

My newly acquired BC dentist referred me to an orthodontist after looking at my x-rays. I figured I'd been around this block and while I appreciated my dentist's concern I thought I knew what was coming. Unlike the guy in Calgary though, this orthodontist put my slightly malformed head through the paces.

I chewed for him, I bit, I yawned, I stretched my mouth, I ground my teeth, I wiggled my jaw all with his gloved fingers buried somewhere in my cheekbones. The official diagnosis - big trouble.

Apparently I'm losing bone. I don't know where it's going, but it's being ground out of my cheeks. This bone isn't surplus as I had hoped, so if I continue to lose it I'll have to have it replaced. I offered part of the bone in my nose in hopes that I could perhaps solve two problems in one shot but it seems the bone they would put back into my peanut head would be from cadavers.

Bone from dead people in my face aside, continued bone loss may lead to excruciating pain and replacing the bone is no guaranteed fix. Since my back and pelvis have cornered the market on excruciating pain lately, this just won't do.

It seems as if my jaw problems are also causing my gums to disappear. For many years, dentists and hygienists have told me I'm brushing too hard and eroding my gums. I struggled with brushing any lighter without giving up and simply waving the toothbrush in front of my face in elaborate pantomime, and still hygienists threatened me with thoughts of skin-grafts and nerve damage should I continue brushing my teeth so obviously with steel wool.

The orthodontist chuckled to himself and asked me how many times I've been told I need to change how I brush my teeth. Gums are disappearing aren't they? He said this like he was letting me in on a very good joke. The joke is, my jaw is so misaligned it's causing my gums to pack up and go home to wherever they came from in the first place.

It was time to talk solutions, but there weren't many options to talk about. There's only one option - braces followed by surgery to break my jaw and move it to where it's supposed to be.

At first, the surgery part didn't phase me. I sat there considering how successful my dating life currently is and how much it can only improve with solid metal braces catching the sunlight. I asked if it was possible I could have clear braces and he said it may be possible, but this could affect the cost.

The cost. I didn't even get to worrying over the cost until a couple of days later. I know my benefits will pay for half of the braces, bringing the expense down to a mere partial down payment on a condo but I was rather confused about the surgery, so I phoned the orthodontist's office.

It would seem the surgery will cost me an entire down payment on a condo, as it's considered cosmetic. It doesn't matter that bone is falling out of my head and my gums are sinking like Atlantis, jaw surgery is not covered unless I have a cleft-palate or something that sounded like inter-facial disorder.

I seized upon this thought. Inter-facial disorder - I was pretty sure they could put me down for that...couldn't they? The receptionist assured me I did not have this disorder. Was she sure? Yes she was sure. If I had it I would be seriously deformed. How deformed is seriously deformed? We would be unable to have this conversation. I see.

All told, I'll be paying out approximately $10,000 for a facial flaw I was pretty sure I could live with. Everything else that causes me pain or anxiety will still be there, with the exception of my doctor who may not make it through my next appointment. I won't have an MBA or a condo, but by God...I'll have a chin.

List.

In no particular order...

• My car (known as Roxy Roller or Foxy from the Roxy) came down ill and I took the bus to and from work every day for a week. This sucked donkey balls.
• I've lost 12 pounds so far on my Weightwatchers diet. This would be awesome if I didn't start out at 12 pounds over the heaviest I had ever previously been, but I'm still happy to report I'm down to the second heaviest I've ever been.
• I came down ill and took a Monday off, part of which I spent contemplating whether I was feverish or undergoing total menopause during Judge Judy. I've since concluded: feverish.
• While I was away from work sweating and shaking that Monday, Darcy unexpectedly came to see me -- at work. He left me a cute little note, and I haven't heard from him since. I actually haven't seen him at all since Valentine's Day. Our receptionist described him as an extremely good-looking young man, but isn't he a little young for me? Darcy is actually older than I am. Our receptionist is a passive-aggressive bitch.
• I learned that girls in grade eight are having anal sex from discussions overheard while I was taking the bus. Apparently, "your ass can't make a baby." Tell that to somebody who's perpetually constipated.
• Two different friends are getting married in shot-gun style weddings in March. One just before the baby arrives, and one some time after the baby dropped. I'm not sure what kind of happy I feel.
• Darcy has invited me in online conversations past to drop by and visit him at one of his nearby construction sites. The last sunny day a friend and I attempted to do that under the guise of just happening to be going for a walk in the neighborhood. I was too chickenshit to ask any of the guys standing around if Darcy was nearby and so my friend and I ended up walking by just clutching each other and laughing. It was just like being in grade eight all over again...minus all the anal action.
• I promise you this will be the only post of mine featuring the words, "anal action." Ever.

That is all.