Nadal Nuptial Nadir

First I heard about this little coxcomb's wedding plans via my Columbia University friend Dewey. Dewey is a total spaz-bot and any "wild" or "outrageous" thing he hears sets him all a twitter. Kevin Nadal is marrying himself tomorrow in a lavish $6000 wedding in Samantha's old loft on "Sex in the City". He also got the idea from "Sex in the City".

Bllllleeeeccchhhhh!! Tap. Tap. Tap.
Lo, the sound of partially digested strawberry yogurt as I frantically hen peck this entry on my suddenly Pepto pink keyboard.

Kevin Nadal is marrying himself. He has a bridal registry. He has vows. He has an open bar, but only appetizers. I was going to ignore addressing it until he appeared in Salon in the Life section. It's a disgusting, yet thoroughly entertaining, example of a rich kid/performance artist who has too much money to spend. I'm all pissy. I wish I'd come up with the idea first, or rather stole it from "Sex and the City" first. If you think his self-love ends at his wedding, you're wrong. He's also performing his one man performance art at the wedding for his guests. GAH! This turd makes me appear downright unassuming. I hate him even more!

Eye rolling subdued, I do (cringingly) admire Mr. Nadal's gall. I do not admire his hat. Congratulations to the lucky bride, err groom, err broom.

He's lucky he can afford a wedding to himself. For the rest of us dandies who can't afford such extravagances (appetizers only? gah!), I find that a $35 pinot, a bucket of chicken, friends and a sunny afternoon in Prospect Park make for a much merrier marriage to oneself. Although I would, granted, fake my own kidnapping, ride a bus to Albuquerque, shave my head, create a national media sensation and offer a meek apology for the whole affair, but alas, such is the way in love and self-marriage.