My Precious

Guest list blip #1: verbal invitations. Someone who is not on the “official” guest list has just expressed to us how excited he is to come to the wedding. Oh joy! How many more people are feeling this way? As I mentioned, we literally can’t fit any more people at the venue so this is not really okay. At all. An interrogation of fiancé’s parents ensued. The culprit was weeded out, illicit invitation acknowledged, and some thorough explaining was done. I kind of figured the guest list would shrink after it was completed, but I am learning fast.

Here’s what else I am learning about: some people stare at engagement rings. I mean really, it’s great and all, but can you be a little more discreet? It’s not even big or particularly unique; there’s really no reason to stare. Like I said, I think it’s fabulous but there’s something about someone staring at my finger instead of looking me in the eye that’s unnerving. Call me crazy, but I kind of get protective like they’re going to reach out, snatch it off my finger, and run in the other direction. Then I think of Gollum from Lord of the Rings (“my precious…”) so I guess you can see why I think it’s creepy.

Vegas!

For Christmas I made everyone commit to a Las Vegas bachelorette party. Bridezilla who? My crazy bridesmaid started it. And by gosh, I’ll finish it if it kills me. The thought of staying up until 6am and having flashing lights in my face everywhere I look isn’t too appealing, but I do enjoy lying poolside, free drinks, and my friends. And getting to say I’m going to Vegas for my bachelorette party isn’t too shabby.

I’ve never been to Vegas, and I am 100% sure I will never go again. This is my one chance, and boy is it a good one. The big decision is now whether to go to Chippendale’s or “The Thundah from Down Undah” and I am not even kidding you that is what it is called. Translation: do you want to see naked Americans or Australians? If they have any speaking parts I want the accent, but otherwise you betchya I don’t care.
If you have any tips on how a small-town New England girl can survive in Las Vegas let me know.

Maize and Mist

It has been hard for me to decide on colors. I like colors, I like ‘em all. Do I really care what other people wear or look like? No. But somebody once upon a time said that the bride had to pick dresses for her friends and that the color palette for the entire wedding would thusly be decided. No pressure, right?

Wrong, because have you ever seen an ugly bridesmaid’s dress? Have you almost laughed out loud at a beige and hot pink concoction matching the cake, tablecloths, napkins, flowers and cummerbunds? I have, and I will have no one feeling the same way about my bridesmaids and my napkins. Poor napkins, they have it hard enough as it is. Oh, and poor bridesmaids too.

So, thinking about the summer, it is safe to say beige is out of the question. So are most dark colors. And red, or anything that looks best in a) a company cocktail party or b) a formal. Or c) a prom. Nothing prom-y please. We’re going with a yellow and a blue-green, “maize” and “mist” if you want to get technical. And if you are going to vomit at my color choice just do it now and save us from seeing your lunch come up on MY big day.

Trying to be Crafty

Martha Stewart is the bomb. If I could make half the stuff she comes up with I would be amazing. How does she know so much random stuff about so many random things? I mean baking and flower arranging are in no way similar; throw in sewing skills and making stuff with sea-shells and she sounds fictional. I can see Roald Dahl having some secret craft-lady in a cabin in the woods helping the inevitable poor little kid out of destitution. That might actually make a good children’s book…

My mum and I saw this cool tissue-paper flower decoration thing in the latest Martha Stewart Weddings, so we thought we would give it a whirl. Martha would have died, it was so ugly. I won’t even show you a picture. Like I said, how does she do it?

Decorations Take II

Another decoration idea came from my mom: paper lanterns. Now I am in no way Japanese, or related to anyone Japanese, but in my head the reception tent is starting to get a certain Japanese flair to it, no? How much is too much? My cousin studied abroad in Japan in college and that is as close as I come to being linked to Japan (until my Japanese-themed wedding that is). But I like the lanterns. You can get them in one million sizes and colors, not to mention weird shapes in addition to your standard sphere. Don’t even get me started on how long I surfed the internet looking at paper lanterns.

The best part I think is that someone will have to rig up said paper lanterns. My mom is convinced the neighbor, a kid my age who owns a tree-cutting business, will perform spider monkey-like acrobatics for us. (How tree-cutting and wiring paper lanterns in a tent are related I don’t know). Regardless of who helps and how it gets done I think it will be a fun event to watch.

Decorations Galore

So I had this idea that it would be cute to have paper cranes as decorations at the reception. I looked around and did some research, and it turns out you can’t have paper cranes unless you make one thousand of them because that’s how many it takes to get good luck.
My fingers hurt.

What's in a Name?

So I’m looking through some book and it has TWO chapters on name-changing, and I start to panic. I’ve grown up and lived my whole life with two names. No middle name, no nickname, no hyphens, nothing tricky or fancy or deceptive. It’s rather boring, but they’re my names and I like ‘em. Why haven’t I thought about changing my name yet? Does this mean I want to or don’t want to? What does my fiancé think? What will other people think? Do I care? Like I said, panic.

While I don’t particularly want to be “Mrs. ________” (this image is—no offense—not what I want to be in the future. Ever.), I do think it’s confusing when kids have different last names floating around their family. I’ve taught several kids with hyphenated last names and it is basically guaranteed I will use the wrong last name when greeting their parents. Even worse is when mom kept her own last name and I never knew it so I call her Mrs. Whatever and she has to correct me. Dammit!

I think it will make life easier for everyone else (not that I really care) if I just take this new name and deal with it. But there is a debate in my head so I’ll keep you posted.

Mangia, Mangia

Food, glorious food! Today we met with the caterer and joy of all joys is he a jolly man with a great love of food. While I don’t particularly care if people forget the food at our wedding (it’s a free party!), I do care if they remember it for the wrong reasons. We are only getting two porta-potties after all.

So we’re going with some standard faves (bread and cheese anyone? Turkey?) and we’re going with some new faves that will make my grandfather raise his eyebrows and shake his head at us (wasabi and raw tuna? Edamame and tofu asian noodles!). With a celiac-diabetic best man and tons of hippie vegetarian-types (myself included) we kind of have to get creative. Just writing about it kind of makes me want to sit down to this meal already. Too bad all I keep hearing is how the bride and groom never get two seconds to scarf down anything. This is unacceptable to me and I defy it.

The caterer is awesome, and we shared a cappuccino (I mean we all had our own together) while we told him what we’re looking for and he told us how it’s done. Marty-you’re the man and I can’t wait to stuff my face with your food all weekend long. Did I mention he’ll do a rehearsal dinner and Sunday brunch too? Mm, mmm, mm.

STDs

So apparently Save-The-Date cards (conveniently and cutely called STDs in some bridal magazines) only became popular about ten years ago. It could have been a scheme by the US Postal Service, but maybe it can be attributed to the rise in destination weddings.

While my wedding is neither a scheme nor a destination wedding, we decided to send out STDs (remember, that’s Save-The-Dates). I always make the Christmas cards, so I figured I could do something crafty and fun like that and wouldn’t it just be a great project? Well, it turns out making 110 of something crafty and fun can turn out not so crafty looking and the opposite of fun. The stamp I created and carved and printed turned into the prototype of a small outline that got scanned onto the computer; I mean, it looks better now, but it’s not exactly my original vision, being a copy off PhotoShop and all.

It’s not so hard though: throw a cute coupley photograph in the middle, hit up Staples for a million copies, and you’re good to go. Like I said, this is a backyard wedding. The STDs can’t be too fancy. How many jokes can you come up with right now?

Napkins 101

Back to the guest list. It is, supposedly, complete. My list was easy, being as I have less than thirty friends and half of them I share with my fiancé anyway. Done and done. The moms’ lists, oh boy. But they’re complete, they’re the right size (give or take one, just to be nice), and there aren’t too many names I haven’t heard before. While I would enjoy a more intimate 50 person dance rager (more room on the dance floor), the reality is we are pushing the tent limits at 180. As I look out on the lawn I cannot imagine that many people out there but I guess we’ll see. What can you do if your fiancé has a huge family that’s extremely close-knit? What can you do his dad’s parents were married to his aunt and uncle and therefore his cousins were more like his siblings (yes, this happens in real life)? You can just hope they don’t take over the wedding.

But at least now I can pick the dang napkin color.

Cha-Ching!

My cousin and bridesmaid helped me spend way too much money today.

Of course, wouldn’t it be my luck that a “trunk show” is happening on this very day? A trunk show, you may wonder, is a day when the shop has a one day special on a certain designer who ships in all his upcoming season’s gear and woos unsuspecting young brides-to-be with his one-day discount and promise that the dresses won’t even be in stores until next spring. I’m not going to say that’s the only reason I bought the dress, but the guy sketched me in the gown for Lord’s sake. And it has some sparkly bits. I at least give myself some credit for leaving the store and walking around for three hours before going back and trying it again; it’s not as if I started bawling with delight and forked over my credit card immediately.

Here’s a tip for people who want to work in a bridal boutique: you have to deal with assholes all day long, so get ready. The lady next to us had her mom with her, and the mom actually said this: “Well that won’t work because it totally clashes with Grandma’s dress.” What? What clashes with white and why does your nana have a dress picked out before you do? My cousin almost Kung-Fu Panda’d that fat lady but she kept her cool. (We were being polite to work the discounts).

Bringing girlfriends to help with dress shopping is essential. Their faces are better than the mirror. Ugly dress? Friend’s lips quiver so she can suppress a honking laugh and avoid embarrassing the saleslady, even though you already told her you really aren’t into the whole “mermaid” style. Friend’s eyes go moist and you have a keeper. Simple.

Now the question remains: How can I afford this dress? Cursed charming saleslady, overly kind designer-on-site, and frivolous dress-choosing-helpers!

Fishing for the Dress

I’m off to Washington DC to play with my bridesmaid friend. None of them has even seen the ring yet, and don’t you just know that’s all people really care about for now? This particular bridesmaid will either understand my guest list woes or set me straight on undue complaining: she is no-nonsense and couldn’t we all just need a kick in the pants sometimes?

Said no-nonsense bridesmaid has already made an appointment at a bridal gown shop as well as a bridesmaidy dress place. Like I said, no-nonsense. Time shall not be wasted here. The idea of trying on a dress makes me kind of sweaty; I do see a possible panic attack on the horizon. Not like Carrie from Sex and the City when she starts to fret about marrying Aidan (stupidest mistake ever) and Miranda has to literally rip her out of the dress, but more like sweaty palms and nausea and a racing heart about a) what I look like as a bride, b) what I will have to pay to look like that and c) having one more decision to make months in advance that I better damn like come The Big Day.

But DC is fun, and we are going to the farmer’s market and watching fun movies and reading gossip magazines I will buy at the airport, so it’s won’t be all freak-out inducing.

To Invite or not to Invite?

If you have ever planned a wedding, you will understand how I feel toward the guest list: complete and utter hatred. Firstly, you can’t do anything else until you know how many people are coming. You can’t even pick the napkin color without someone saying, “Well, how many will you need?” As if the color changes with more or fewer napkins!

And don’t even get me started on how painful it is to see seventeen people my fiancé has never met on his parents’ portion of the guest list. Call me new-aged, but shouldn’t he at least be able to introduce me to everyone his family brings in? I’m being pretty pushy on this one because, as we have established, I’m not outgoing or particularly socially adventurous. Luckily the venue (my front lawn) can only hold a certain number of people and NO, we cannot invite even one more person than that number thank you very much.

If I sound surly, it’s because I am. Now, I love my family and friends, and I love my fiancé’s family and friends—honestly—but I really want this day to be shared with people I love (and therefore know). I don’t particularly want to shell out (or have parents shell out, as the case may mostly be) for people who I don’t know and will never see again. Because they invited my mom to their kids’ wedding eight years ago isn’t a very good reason to me.

I do hope the major bitching will stop at the guest list, geez. At least we can celebrate a new president today! Let’s not forget the real world now, Josephine.

Support System

Bridesmaid. Whatever does this mean? I was a bridesmaid once. I never felt forced to do anything, except wear a dress in which I had no input and then buy some wedding gifts, but I buy gifts for tons of weddings so that wasn’t new. I went to a shower and a bachelorette party, got my nails done, got dressed with the bride, ate free food, danced like an idiot—the usual wedding shenanigans. So, based on my own, lone experience and pretty laid-back outlook (we’re having the reception in my backyard—not exactly the Plaza), I’m not expecting a lot. Yes, I get to play dress up, and yes, I expect my bridesmaids to show up on the wedding day, but other than that it shouldn’t be too hard a job. So whom to ask?

The answer is: a range of old buddies, ladies I played sports with, taught bratty little Greenwich kids with, had sleepovers with…ladies I want to go to Vegas with and go on “Girlfriend Getaways” with and the select few I see myself being friends with forever. Wow, that sounds corny. But, corny and all, my selection criteria whittled the selection down to, oh, five people. Which is good, I think, in the grand scheme of having to choose someone who will volunteer to watch me vomit out the back door of the church as the piano starts playing Here Comes the Bride. (As if I would choose that song to walk in to. I’m more of a U2, Tom Petty kind of girl).

Five invites, five acceptances. On to the ugly dress!

Relax!

What else could the moms possibly want to know ten days into our engagement?

Surprise!

One week ago, I had no clue. With an empty ring finger and zero visions of a nervous boyfriend on the horizon, I was blissfully unaware. My friend—my two years younger friend—had just got engaged, making me somewhat jealous but also curious and excited. Surely I would someday maybe possibly perhaps be proposed to as well? Had you said I would be engaged within ten days, I would have laughed at you, rolled my eyes, and probably tripped you on the way out for good measure. I am positive if I had been one of those movie characters who finds the secret velvety ring box in a secret underwear drawer I would have immediately expected a proposal and developed a nervous tic if it didn’t come within, oh, eight hours. Oh, and I would have been guiltily miserable if I didn’t like the surprise jewelry choice. So it’s a pretty good thing I had no idea.

My fiancé—haha, I can call someone my fiancé!—is not the most suave of guys. Sure, he’s kind and well-intentioned, always doing the right thing, like being responsible and only drinking two beers on a Tuesday night, but Romeo he is not. It’s not the more-than-average sweating, or shaky hands, that make me say this. It’s that he is a terrible secret keeper, liar, and deceiver. These deficiencies are good in a romantic partner, surely, but in a top-secret proposal and spontaneous romance creator, well, more Maxwell Smart than James Bond. Needless to say, I was confident I would see it was coming. “Not so fast, Smarty-Pants,” you should have said.

Here’s how I reacted when he finagled me out onto the front deck of my family home in 40 degree weather, asked a couple trick questions, and then the real one: “are you serious?” Then, looking at the beautiful—so beautiful it looked fake—ring: “is that real?” Girls should be slapped when they ask if engagement rings are real, I don’t care if you think girls should never be slapped. Its like, “No, Josephine, he’s slightly shaking and sweating out here on the windy, cold porch, practically dragging you out to join him, opening a velvet ring box in your face, and hiding champagne in a mixing bowl of ice around the corner because he is just that good a prank-player.”

PS. After my initial, inane responses, I said yes.

Shouting from the Rooftops (not)

While I previously mentioned I am “anal” and “a little bit bossy,” I did not mention that I am somewhat introverted and shy. These traits might not seem to go together, but, here I am. The reason I am divulging oh so much about myself is that now that I am engaged I have had to tell everyone in the world—well, my world anyway—the news. Sharing news is not my strongest point. Along with brushing my hair and shopping for long periods of time, it is something I do only when absolutely essential.

My first mistake was scratching my face with my left hand in front of my boss. Since I have been working here for less than two months, let’s just say my work relationships are not that friendly yet. But no one can resist staring at and commenting on a shiny new diamond ring. It is particularly shiny, of course, but that’s not the point. The point is that I turned into Awkward McUncomfortable when I realized I would have to tell everyone I worked with very soon. Talking with people I barely know makes me cringe, and start to sweat under the arms, and there is just no way to avoid it. It’s like when a stranger on the subway tries to strike up a conversation, I panic and think evil thoughts about her, swearing inwardly about how annoying friendly people are. Mass emailing my friends, that’s more my style. And it is exactly what I did, naturally. Emily Post may not have that on a list of ways to communicate one’s engagement, but…

It's On!

Have you ever thought about getting married? I mean besides daydreaming about what your kids would look like if you had them with Jake Gyllenhaal or sweating itchily through an hour and a half Catholic mass ceremony, praising the Lord that it wasn’t you up there in front of everyone and could they please have an open bar as soon as we get to the party? Well, since I got engaged about six hours ago, getting married is all I can think about, and I am surely hoping this is a normal reaction that will soon subside and we don’t have a major case of Bridezilla-itis on our hands. Needless to say, calling me “anal” and “a little bit bossy” would be a gross understatement, and the equation “me + Bridezilla-itis” wouldn’t make anyone feel good.

Not that I’m complaining, but this ring feels so tight on my finger. And if I take it off I’m sure I will instantly lose it, wouldn’t that be great? But I guess I can’t complain, somebody likes me enough to ask me to marry him!