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!