The End

Well, I’m at work. I’m married, freshly married just five days ago, and I’m at work. Such is the life of a fall sports coach I guess. At least the awesome party memories should tide me over for the next couple weeks of getting up early and getting home late, dealing with homesick freshmen and kids who didn’t work out once over the summer, and the fact I am not on some exotic honeymoon. Sigh. At least I have an exotic honeymoon to plan for…and save for, oh dear.

Oh, if you want to know about the wedding, it was great. Just what we wanted. That’s about all I’ll divulge, but it is something I would do again in a heartbeat, although let’s hope I don’t have to…

Today's the Day

Yes, I am on the computer the morning of my wedding. How shameful. When you sleep three hours and get up before 7 and all your friends are [smartly] sleeping it off, there’s not really much else to do. I just sent a work email. Yikes. Last work email as a single woman, wow. Wow again. Last breakfast as a single woman, coming up. And hopefully staying down.

Almost there

Tomorrow’s it; I’ve got less than 24 hours to change my mind. Luckily, I haven’t actually once thought about changing my mind, but I sometimes enjoy reminding myself I can, just in case. What if I wake up tomorrow suddenly in love with someone else? Runaway Bride—which was unnervingly on tv the other day—(and Julia Roberts for that matter) is a good example of a last minute exit. I mean, I’m sure Julia feels better happy with some long haired ginger kids today than married to Keifer Sutherland however many years ago, right? Even if she probably felt like a pretty big jerk at the time and all.

So far I’m not panicking, but I am starting to get that overwhelming feeling of “oh man, how can I possibly deal with all these people wanting to talk to me?” And there’s the thing about standing in a church in front of 150 people, but I guess I’ll get over it. Tomorrow when it’s done, anyway.

Accumulating Junk

I have never been shopping so much in my life. Granted, I’m not much of a shopper. TJMaxx on a Tuesday morning is about all I can handle; I have the patience of a 3rd grade boy in ballet class when it comes to shopping, but still, I have put my record to extreme shame. Every morning we sit down, write a list of crap we need to do and buy, and then we spend the late morning and early afternoon tracking down such nonsensical items as “second back up, third type of bug spray-wipes only” and “gluten-free, sugar- free, vegan something or other for crazy, annoying cousin we only invited because she’s family” and fighting with the people at Staples to get the gosh darned copies right. It is pretty embarrassing when the Walmart greeter calls you by name and the supermarket check-out person asks you how your last purchase from yesterday turned out. Whatever. It’s my wedding and I don’t have a wedding planner so here I am.

Hint to future brides: expand your credit limit a couple months before your big day.

Last Minute Comparison Time

After arriving home late last night—or early this morning, if you look at it that way—from yet another wedding, I passed out dead asleep. I woke with no recollection of any dreams, but I would bet good money I had plenty of them. The myriad wedding thoughts, good and bad, comparing and even non-judgmental—believe it—, floating around in there must have tried to do something in my head while I slept. In fact, I would bet I had some night sweats and tremors about it all. Good thing I slept through them. This whole “biggest day of your life” thing is starting to get to me.

In any event, one of my old childhood friends tied the knot on an island near where we grew up. We had a special ferry for the guests, so I got to show Fiancé my old ocean stomping grounds, including the beauteous power plant perched on a prominent edge of a prominent island. I am fond of it only because I saw a humpback whale out there in 3rd grade when I skipped Sunday school and went out on the boat with my dad. Something about the unnaturally warm water spewing a few hundred yards off shore…Fiancé’s enormous fear of sharks didn’t seem to bother him, and when we got to the wedding we forgot about our own impending party and visited with old and new friends in the sunshine, having fun as is sometimes hard to do when you’re focused so much on planning fun for everybody else.

Attire, check

My final dressing fitting was today, and since all went well, I actually got to take the dress home with me. I think the seamstress saw the panic on my face when she asked if I wanted to take it because she immediately offered to keep it for another few days. There are so many things I could do to screw it up. I’m not exactly Diane von Furstenberg’s assistant or anything. I mean, what if I hang it wrong? What if my house burns down and I can’t sprint up the stairs through the rising flames to grab it? What if I spill something on it, because even though it’s in a special bag and behind closet doors in a room I never go in, you know that could happen?

Anyway, the dress is home. It feels fabulous and if you will indulge me, I say it looks pretty swell too. You really can’t go wrong in your wedding dress. Well, I’m sure someone in the history of weddings has been able to mess up the whole glowing bride bit but it probably doesn’t happen that often. Now, I really need to get enough sleep and avoid having panicked late-night, stress-induced binge sessions so I can fit into it and maybe not look like a vampire when the time comes. Oh, the pressure!

Here it comes...

T-minus two weeks. Man, it really sneaks up on you. I have definitely never been a part of planning such a huge event before, but I now know I could never become an event planner: I’m going to be so bummed when it’s over. Ten months of phone calls and emails, harassment and “helpful hints” from family and friends, silly details, paranoia over anything and everything, curiosity about the turnout and excitement about seeing all my favorite people—and yes, getting hitched—seem like nothing. With two weeks to go, I wonder how we will get everything done but I also wonder how I can prolong the moment. I mean, what’s the point of planning an enormous, awesome party that will be over as soon as it starts? Sigh.

Don’t get me wrong, I am very grateful to have this opportunity, to get to see everyone I love, have a raging dance party, be the boss for a day, and so on. There definitely is something sad about it though, knowing that the bajillion hours we put into this will be over before we know it. Maybe after the next two weeks I’ll be ready for the end though…I guess I’ll wait to see what happens before I get all weepy and emotional.

All the Single Ladies

Today is my birthday. My last birthday as a single lady. I don’t know if this should make me panic or not, but I feel good about it. I mean, I’m not psyched on getting older or anything, but it hasn’t turned into some milestone that made me second-guess my wedding etc., etc. I feel like that would happen in a romantic comedy: Ashton Kutcher or Hugh Grant or whomever has this big birthday party and, although he was previously googly eyed and drooling over his beautiful woman, he suddenly sprints out of the room, running from his fiancée and for the hills only later to turn up in another country with a pseudonym. As I said, that’s not me. But I did get a sweet birthday party. Have you ever had Chocolate Cake shots?

Commence Panic

After our second wedding in as many weekends, I am really starting to feel the pinch. So many details, potential problems, right timings…and comparisons! What if my raging dance party isn’t as fun as the raging dance party we just went to? What if random people jump up and start giving toasts (we heard eleven in the past 9 days)? I will just die. Literally die. Well, you know. There are myriad other worse things that could go wrong that I would actually die from, but you get my drift.

I feel confident we have the details under control—read: we know what the details are. Getting them to exist correctly, that’s another story. As we peered around the tents, secretly measured the dance floors, and mentally catalogued the awesomeness of music, I started to realize how soon our date is coming. I’m not just a lucky guest, I’m a lucky engaged guest. Yikes! Luckily I am uber-organized (and anal) so nothing (yet) surprised me out of nowhere. None of my ideas were shot to hell, yet. We’ll see how calm I am on Saturday morning when something dumb happens like the paper lanterns won’t hang straight. Bridezilla will not die until she falls asleep a married woman. Oy.

Time Spent Working: Good or Bad?

In between back-to-back weddings (more judging!!), I’m home for the week. This means my mum, who has summer vacation, and I are doing over 1,000 errands. At least. Let’s say that is a lot of driving. Anyway, we have about 17 lists going (Mum has more) and I am trying to check things off those lists as fast as I can. How many paper cocktail napkins vs how many cloth dinner napkins? Where do we get compost bins? How are we going to write out the seating list, I mean seriously, what kind of marker and where do we get it? What if we get the wrong kind? Oh dear, oh dear. I thought coming home for the week would help us get things done but I think we’re just adding to our lists and stress…

Sneak Preview

I just experienced my first wedding-while-engaged and it was fantastic. Have you ever just wanted to sit back and judge? Because that is what you can do at a wedding if you are in the midst of planning your own. I mean, you can’t tell anyone what you think, no-no Bridezilla, but you can observe and inner-monologue-comment and smirk to yourself all you want. Or cry, snivel, sigh with contentedness, and steal ideas—whatever you prefer. People think you are a greedy, needy, crazy-person anyway.
There were several details I desperately wanted to copy exactly for my upcoming nuptials/party, and there were several details I immediately placed on the do-not-ever-do list. Unfortunately, about half the guests will be at my own wedding so they probably would notice (and judge) if we copied everything. The stuff I didn’t like will stay secret with me.
Isn’t it funny how a very common ceremony (or, more importantly, party) can be so different from day to day, person to person? As long as I know mine will be the best…

Gimme, Gimme!

We went camping over this 4th of July weekend and I’ve got the raging blisters to prove it. I guess those hiking boots are a half size too small after all. Note to self: do NOT get blisters immediately preceding your wedding.
What was good about our hiking/camping adventure, besides making our dog wear his backpack—yes, it is awesome—is that we came up with about 700 more things to put on our registry. Selfish, you say? I say, so what? I’ve spent 26 years being unselfish (oldest child); besides, we just had the worst time trying to make up a good wedding present for someone who had an extreme dearth (read: 4 gifts, none of which we could afford) of gifts on their registry. So really I’m doing you a favor— if you’re my friend and you’re even invited, that is. On our own registries, there are, as suggested by the several wedding books our librarian and teacher mothers have sent us, a range of prices, a range of sizes, a range of styles, and a range of purposes. Everyone should be happy. Except for the spending money on us part. But still. Maybe I’ll ask for new hiking boots…

The Little Things

I just took a whole week off from thinking about the wedding. I coached a team in a European tournament, and when we got back I realized I hadn’t thought about the wedding since I left. Debate is on whether that is a good or bad thing. The trip was fabulous, thank you, and it was—looking back—the perfect way to think about something else for a while. It really does get tedious, worrying about RSVP numbers and table linens and all the little things somebody has to think about. Now that I’m home I can really start stressing. Yay. But that’s what makes the wedding mine (and Fiancé’s, I guess); I get to decide everything if I want to. In the end, when (if) it all falls into place, I will know I had a part in all the details and I can revel in the glory I have created. Or laugh at the disaster my silly ideas turned into…

Something I hadn't thought to worry about...

Coaching lacrosse camp this week, I found something I haven’t had in a long time: a farmer’s tan. Normally, I wouldn’t mind one bit, and would actually find it amusing. But for some reason today I panicked, suddenly thinking about how it would look if I got married tomorrow and had these abrasive lines cutting light and dark across my arms and neck—pale, dry winter epidermis adjacent to silky dark summer skin. Eww. All ruining the time and money spent on the dress too. I don’t want to offend anybody out there, but I think it behooves you to have an even skin tone on your wedding day. Tan lines look bad no matter what (spring break skanks, anyone?) so really, let’s keep them out of the biggest day of your life, thank you. Now let’s hope I can spend some time in a strapless bathing suit somewhere in the next couple months. If I can’t do that I might as well embrace it and just only wear t-shirts all summer to really build it up. Or wear t-shirts to the tanning salon-awesome!

So long Invitations...

Today’s the day. No, not that day: Invitations are going out. This is a big step because really, once those invitations are out, how many couples have the guts to cancel? Even if they really really need to? I would say none, so I’m back to my orginal statement about this being a big step and all. Fiancé did some major stamp application, and even did right by buying the stamps with the sparkly wedding rings on them. What a catch, right?
They look good, if I do say so my own biased self. And I am dumping them at the post office in t-minus half an hour to send them away forever, only the RSVPs to ever see again (and those are going to my mom so let’s hope I don’t see any of them ever again). I’m not sure what to do with my calligraphy pen and renewed skills, but I’m sure they’ll come in handy…and we have some extra invitations and stamps I’m not sure what to do with (except keep away from Fiancé’s mom)…but I feel quite accomplished and will enjoy checking this off the interminable list.

Penmanship 101

Now that the [overly large and somewhat full of people Fiancé and I don’t know] guest list is complete, it’s time to perfect my 6th grade calligraphy and get on with the show. Ideally I would have “midnight blue” ink to match the invitations’ ink but, alas, I cannot find any in the great state of Colorado. Unless I want to buy a legitimate calligraphy pen and set for the low-low price of hundreds of dollars. Which I don’t. So, black it is. A $2 black, medium point calligraphy pen from Michaels’. I love Michael’s. Where was I? 6th grade calligraphy skills. That’s right, I was in the “gifted and talented” class that got to leave math to go downstairs and do…calligraphy. Good thing too, because look what I’m using it for!
I only messed up half of the extras. Good times.

Final Guest list...only slightly larger than is possible

We were told 180 people could fit in the tent (and the church). I thought 180 was a rather large number and was glad to use some of the space for an enormous dance floor, but Fiancé’s mother wanted to invite the entire world so we compromised and said “Sorry, only 180 can fit in the tent.” That’s not a lie either. That’s a tightly packed, professionally set-up tent layout…and since we’re setting up on our own it’s safe to say 180 won’t exactly fit then. Now that you know this, guess how many are getting invitations? Let’s just say it’s more than 180. It’s going to be a bit awkward when it starts pouring rain and I have to ask those extra guests to “please go back outside in the exposed lawn with your soaked tablecloth and snubbed candles because you can’t fit in here.” I can only imagine. We’re really hoping the rule about people RSVPing “no” comes true. I hear it’s 10-20% of the invitations but really I’m hoping for more. No offense. Well, I don’t actually care if I offend you because I don’t even know you. Again, I’m not trying to be cranky but isn’t it partially my wedding? I say 180 is a lot and I’m right.

I’ve heard the guest list is a huge cause of in-law strain and I certainly believe it and am living it first hand. Yikes.

Bachelorette Party, check

I did not have a seizure, I did not go forever in debt, and thankfully I did not have to get on stage with the half-naked Australian strip-revue as my friend promised me I would, but I still found Vegas overwhelming. I’m guessing most people do. But some people man, some people love it. They friggin’ love it. They’re waiting in three-hour lines for the crappy buffet, inflating beer-pong tables to float in the pee-filled pool all afternoon, sitting at the same gambling table—without winning—for hours on end, dodging vomiting drunkards on the Strip, endlessly gyrating too- close to too-loud speakers and a bad DJ, and generally adoring the bacchanalia. These people are hilarious. People watching in Vegas was worth all the money I had to drop on bad food, weird shows, etc., etc. I want to go on more bachelorette weekends to Vegas. Imagine how fun it will be when I’m not the one wearing the dumb sash and embarrassing tiara!

Sin City is going to eat me alive

Yes, I am going to Las Vegas. Sin City, if you will. I did agree to this, but that doesn’t mean I’m not getting cold feet (and sweaty armpits) just thinking about what I’ve gotten myself into. I mean, my bridesmaid who organized all this has been here three times—with her friends, who are sorority sisters from college and continue to call themselves “the Dirty Dozen.” One of them may or may not have paid $150 for a tiny, cursive “DD” tattoo last time they were here and another may or may not have woken up in a strip club with her childhood blanky wrapped around her head. I kid you not. I definitely think we are in for it. Even though it’s the least of my worries, I hope I don’t have a seizure from the blinking lights.

Some second guessing...

Whoever said it was a bad idea to plan my New England wedding from the mountains of the West can remain silent. Things are going well, thank you very much. I found someone to alter my dress (let’s hope it fits in three months!), do our nails, help us with wildflowers for the centerpieces, and I even organized housing for our friends right next to the party. All from the comfort of my pajamas. Ahh, the Internet.
But really, what am I forgetting? I’m pretty laid-back, and I know there are plenty of things that will roll off my back that most brides might get upset about, but I do have the sneaking suspicion I’m going to show up at the wrong church maybe…or my Nana’s going to stand up and read a quote from Snoop-Dogg instead of Robert Frost…something along these lines. I guess I’ll worry about that later.

Westward, ho--teehee, ho

We’re off to Colorado for the summer! If you think it is silly of me to try to plan my New England wedding from the mountains of the West then you can keep your opinion to yourself. I mean, I should just be relaxing in the mountain air, back-country skiing with the dog, and reading mind-numbing chick-lit for hours on end before the most important day of my life, right?
Fiancé has a summer “clerkship” (lawyer-speak) in downtown Denver, so we found a nice old couple going to the Adirondacks and snagged their house for a few months. It may be on the wrong side of the tracks, a little, but it’s nice. And it’s not Massachusetts so it has a huge leg up.
The car is overloaded and the dog has about two square feet of space for the three day trip, but I am so excited I even forgot about those dang napkins for a second.

Making it official

We met the Reverand and boy oh boy was it fun. Am I being sarcastic? Maybe a smidge. It’s not that I don’t like the guy—he’s actually awesome and kind and funny and realistic. It’s more that I’m not even 1% religious, so the idea of a church is more an aesthetic plan than belief system support. It’s so New England-y, all small and old and white and cute…and we’re hoping it assuages some of mother-in-law’s good old Catholic guilt about her son not being married by a Catholic priest under the ever-judging eyes of God.

The Reverand, a Taiwanese transplant who joined the ministry to get the heck out of Chiang Kai-shek’s regime, is quite a trip. Life experiences and so-stereotypical-it’s-funny accent aside, he has a very unique outlook and is not afraid to have our guests sit through a nice long ceremony to share his ideas. The two-hour meeting was a little drawn out—Fiancé had to take an embarrassing bathroom break in the middle—but we came away even more excited about the wedding and with a couple great stories. If you are so lucky to be invited to the wedding then you will bear witness to said great, long-winded stories as we are wedded in Holy Matrimony and secretly wishing it was party time.

Vacation!

Three more days of work, three more days of wo-ork, three more days of wo-o-ork. That is my song today. My nine-month contract is looking quite good as the last days wind down; three glorious months of summer lie ahead, so close I can almost touch them. No sitting in the office, no waiting for a meeting to begin, no packing up smelly uniforms and cleaning up after the kids…it will be grand alright.
Of course, my mother has already begun bombarding me with “don’t forget to do this, this, and this” in the next week and minute and then “that, that, and these” before the wedding rolls around. Aw Mum, I’ll get to it…hopefully.
The thing about my three month vacation is I sort of know I’ll obsess over some things I would otherwise let slide if I was fully ensconced in workdays and weeks. Hanging paper lanterns: normally I would say hang ‘em wherever, but now that I have three months to think about it, I know I’ll Google images a million different set ups and then fret about which one we should do while really I know it doesn’t matter but what else am I doing? Tablecloth overlays: originally it was a question of whether we wanted just white or white with a splash of color. Now, will it look like a circus with too much going on or will it be a boring funeral reception with just plain white tablecloths? And what if the overlay doesn’t exactly match the bridesmaids’ dresses? Oh dear.

More expensive things!

All the good stuff is just rolling in: my dress arrived. I was secretly worried I wouldn’t love it as much as I first had but, showing it off to my dog in the cracked, stained mirror leaning against the wall in the crooked hallway, I still do. Luckily. Because I spent too much money on it. No, really, I’m the last person who ever thought she would set foot in a “bridal salon,” let alone then love and buy a dress from said bridal salon. Alas, I did. But I don’t regret it. And it’s fully paid for so there’s no turning back anyway.

So, Fiancé was a little nervous taking the big, flat box in from the delivery guy, but I assured him it wasn’t bad luck if he didn’t see the dress. Considering how many couples I know who see each other dressed on their wedding day before their vows, I think we’re safe either way. I don’t necessarily believe in—but oh how I do enjoy—superstitions, but we’re going to uphold this one, if simply for the selfish fact I want to see his relieved [and awed] face when he sees me for the first time in all my bridal glory. Let’s hope he still likes me.

and with this ring...

Bling bling! The wedding rings are here; another couple grand out the window; another sparkly dazzler for me and a big-ass chunk of metal for him. Fiancé told me today, as he slapped his credit card on the jeweler’s counter (see, he’s a keeper!), that it is now officially too late to change my mind about marrying him. While I disagree, picking up the rings sure did make it all seem a little closer and a little more real.

Fiancé wasn’t sure how to react to the big platinum band on his finger so he just shoved it in the box and told me to keep it safe. Which is a problem, because we still have ten weeks to not lose them. I’ll have to pass on that responsibility…

There’s something weird about Fiancé in a ring though. I mean, the closest to jewelry he’s ever been is a belt buckle. Which is fine, really, I dated my share of guys into wearing rings and getting ears pierced, etc. and we can see how that worked out, but it was sort of funny and endearing to see him squirming in his uncertainty of how to wear a ring. Does it fit right? Does it look right? Does it look cool? Can he quickly take it off when he goes out with the guys? Legitimate questions, all of them. And now that we have paid for the rings, it looks like this is really happening. Yikes.

Vegas Planning

When in Vegas, do as the Vegans do. Wait…that’s not it. I think it’s more like “When in Vegas…go BUCK WILD.” This is what we will do, anyway.

It is quite hard to entertain a group of 20-something girls and have everyone be happy; therefore I am taking it upon myself to buy tickets and organize rooms and just get it over with, dealing with the reactions and money later. Let us hope this does not come back and kick me in the ass. That’s what the drinking and gambling is for.

We are going to see a Cirque du Soleil show, and here is the extent of what I know of Cirque du Soleil: the scene from Knocked Up when the guys get mushrooms and go trip-out in the show and there are creepy giant heads and crazy masks all over the place and then they go home and are amazed at how many types of chairs are in their hotel room. I expect the actual show to be somewhat different, and I know I won’t be tripping on mushrooms or any other kind of drug, but I do think it would be kind of neat and funny if it turned out to be exactly like Knocked Up after all, eery and confusing and colorful, with Seth Rogen’s goofy laugh echoing down the row of seats and Paul Rudd sucking his thumb under his chair. Weird, right? But this is all I hope from Vegas.

You're Invited!

The invitations are here! They are fabulous and just right and I love them, but does that now mean I have to invite people? I mean, I guess I want a huge, fun party and all, but maybe can we skip the staring at me in a church, my dad crying as we walk down the aisle, the obligatory oohing and aahing over my [insert flattering adjective] dress even though you don’t care, the photos, the hellos, the mingling, etc. etc. and just have the party already?

What would you do if you got an invite that said something along the lines of: “Josephine and Fiancé are getting married! Forget the boring parts, just join us for the raging dance party at 8:30pm!”? You would cry tears of joy, that’s what you would do. And you would buy me the best present ever to show your neverending gratitude for my consideration of your time and feelings.

Sadly, the invites do include the whole ceremony thing and some mingling time, but I guess if I have to be there I might as well make everyone else join me. On to re-learning calligraphy…good thing I ordered extras.

Marathon Stress (for little reason)

Today is Marathon Monday in Boston. It is mayhem. Most people, and all schools, have a holiday. The Red Sox have an early game. The Celtics are in the playoffs at home, and I—little old me—have my potentially last game tonight do-or-die style to make the tournament or end my season. Oh, and I live on the marathon route so it is loud and congested and there are tons of people and police and National Guard everywhere. This all equals: stress (and I’m not even running the marathon). So, I will sit on my ass all morning and yell at the runners while eating a muffin and gabbing with my friends while pretending my heart rate is normal, and it will be glorious.

My recently engaged friend is coming, and I am dying to see her ring. This is definitely a girl thing, but is also most certainly an engaged-girl thing. Nobody appreciates a secret engagement ring more than someone who got one herself. I imagine a large sparkly rock- the kind that really sticks up off the finger and means you can’t wear gloves or play sports. We’ll see. Maybe it will distract me from my day of supreme stress; as long as it doesn’t blind me I’ll take it.

Jumbly Protection

Boobs. These cannot make an appearance—full, part, or any sort of outline jiggliness or points—on my wedding day. I don’t have what you would call “guns”, or “tots”, or even “bazamzams,” but I do, being a female, have boobs. Thusly, a bridally “booby-holster,” as the bridesmaids call it, must be purchased. It shall make me look svelte and tight and perfection in all my glory.

The dress—the dress—is empire waisted with a glittery band at the waist aka directly under the boobs. This makes for a pretty good automatic strapless bra, actually, seeing as it sections off a boob-sized piece and cinches tightly underneath. However, I have been told that no matter what size tatas, kind of dress, etc., I wear on my wedding day, some semblance of a bra is mandatory. I guess you just never know, and being the center of attention maybe ain’t so nice with a nipple peeking out. Plus, I know I’ll be somewhere between tipsy and drunk—and dancing my ass off—so I should really be strapped in regardless of my small stature-of-the-chest. To the bra store we go.

One thing Fiancé is good for: lingerie shopping.

Visiting Friends

Tomorrow’s Easter, and everything is closed. Everything. I’m going to visit some friends, bridesmaids even, and we are looking desperately for some shopping adventures. No such luck. On the bright side, I can give them their bridesmaids dresses (and check on their reaction). Here’s hoping they still like them and that they still fit. I don’t want anyone getting mad at me because she can’t get that zipper up.

Oh, and we are doing a trial wedding make-up run. I believe this is something many people hire a professional to do, but lucky for me one of my bridesmaids knows what’s up in the world of make-up and can do it for me. Let’s hope I don’t look like a) a clown, or b) a fake-tan Jersey girl. I have all the faith in the world in my make-up savvy buddy, but considering I find mascara a big deal, it just might not work out. We’ll see. When you can’t go shopping, play dress-up. Good idea, right?

Seriously, Go Away

Raining again. We have now played five games in the rain. And not even just a little misty rain, I’m talking umbrella-wielding, rain-boot wearing, coming-in-sideways kind of rain. Since it has yet to reach 50 degrees, it’s not warm rain either. I don’t mind a nice warm rain (like that ever happens here). A few times I have looked for hail, it’s that bad. I’m starting to really wonder about the capacity of our wedding tent and church; if it doesn’t stop raining we are seriously screwed.

Rain, Rain Go Away

Seventh day in a row with rain. I’ll take it now if it holds off in August though. If it rains on my wedding day, not everyone is going to fit under the tent. Or in the church. (See previous post about a certain in-law-to-be going over the previously decided and agreed upon invite number). Seriously. How do you phrase that invitation? Please join us for our wedding, but note you will not be able to come inside the church and your seat at the reception will be outside the tent. Enjoy!

New England spring is kicking my butt this year. Miserable.

That's One Way to Look at it

Add another friend to the “engaged” pile. His email was titled “Another One Bites the Dust” which I find hilarious and also scary. If we admit we are biting the dust, what does that make us? All the more excuse to go apesh^& with the party, I guess.

Mini-Adventures

Ikea! My friend and I drove down to Ikea to poke around for wedding decoration stuff. If you have ever been into an Ikea, you know that you need to plan about two extra hours for your visit because it is the most distracting place in the world. Everywhere you look, even if it is at a plain dining room table, there are seven hundred distractions. For some people—luckily I am one of them—this is the whole appeal of such a store. It just means you have to plan ahead because there are so many gadgets and do-hickeys to touch and hold and read about. This is maybe why we have three coat hooks shaped like a black lab’s rear end.

So I found some mirrors and candle holders I believe will do the trick for table centerpieces on my big day. Add some of those paper cranes and a small vase of wildflowers and BAM all done. Me likey.

And yes, I’m still workin’ on those paper cranes.

The First Delivery

The bridesmaid dresses are here! Yay, do they look fabulous. I can’t wait to see all my friends in them, looking like clones and exactly as I told them to look, standing like mannequins in the background. (If I liked smiley face “emoticons” I would insert a winking one here). Nah, they don’t look exactly all the same. I do sort of wish I had taken advantage of my power and made them wear something hideous- puffy and pastel maybe? Instead though, the colors are fantastically summery and each bridesmaid chose a different style that looks quite dashing on her if I do say so myself. I really hope they like what they got because I didn’t want to make them buy a $200 dress only to gag at themselves in the photos and run immediately home to burn it in an old oil barrel in a back alley somewhere. Obviously, being the great bridesmaids that they are, they would never own up to disliking my choices for them, but if you smell burning silk shantung on August 16th just keep it to yourself.

Bah Humbug

Work. Is. Killing. Me. It is so cold and dark and miserable and by the time those girls come over to get their sport on I am tired and crabby and want to go home and make dinner already even though that time is over three hours away. Thinking about a honeymoon is, again, a saving grace at these moments. I mean, once I get going, whistle in mouth, clipboard in hand (just kidding-this is only how coaches in the movies always look), it’s actually great. The girls have fun and are improving by the day, and I get to do something I love (aka boss them around). But waiting all day in the cold, dreary New England “spring” is sapping my will to do anything.

Recruiting is a horrible, horrible thing to have to spend time on. It’s like—no, it IS—sucking-up to one million high school coaches and athletes while blatantly and desperately pushing your school on them and everything but outright begging them to want to attend and play for you next season. I’m not great at brown-nosing. Did I mention my office has no windows? I may or may not take several breaks a day to browse cheesy wedding websites instead of “work.”

Pretty Things

I’m not a huge flower lover; did we already discuss this? I like a good yellow snapdragon, and I’m pretty pumped when the crocuses come up in Spring, but other than that I really don’t know squat. And I don’t care. Fiancé has been told that his money would be 100% wasted on flowers, and let’s just say he is not sad about that.

When I met with a florist (who my mom had to set up for me-thanks, Ma), I had no idea what to say. We were only getting bouquets and boutonnières, so it wasn’t a lengthy meeting about centerpiece flowers matching tablecloths (or napkins, again) etc., etc. Pretty much “I like yellow?” is what came out of my mouth. “And orange,” I added with a little more believability. So, zip-zap-zammo she named ten flowers I’d never heard of, showed me a couple pictures, and we were done. Luckily, whatever they end up looking like will be okay with me. I take this whole flower thing as a “calm” piece of the wedding planning. Let’s hope it’s not that so-called calm before the storm…

Dum Dum Da Dum

Do you know how many “wedding” songs there are out there? Jesus Lord in Heaven, it is an uncountable number. And it doesn’t help that I only know approximately 1% of them already, and therefore have to track them down on YouTube and other such sites, submitting myself to listening to them over and over and trying to distinguish one from another and then remember which ones I like the most, even though many of them sound extremely similar to my untrained ear. I would like to have some “nice” music while I walk the aisle, while people are waiting for that big moment, and etc. etc., but beyond that I have no requirements and absolutely no understanding of the selection process (not to mention no musical ability or selectivity). I think organ music is scary, but piano is nice (?).

Speaking of YouTube, you would not believe how many random people like to tape themselves playing piano and organ music and then post it online. Pick a song and just YouTube it. Do it. You will have so many choices, you won’t even believe it. If you want to listen to a second grader’s recital rendition, a professional performance, or a 75 year old’s living room hobby, complete with dying plants and hideous upholstery in the background, you can. This probably is not helping me decide which songs I like, considering the whole “video” part of it is so distracting. Good procrastination, though.

Not a Care in the World

So, Fiancé is being a very much stereotypical groom-to-be: he has no opinions. None. As long as we don’t serve shellfish (so he can make it through the night without an ambulance ride), he literally doesn’t care about making any decisions. And it’s not like he’s just saying that and will freak out later when he realizes what is going on, it’s like he really doesn’t mind whatever I choose. Is this an accident waiting to happen? Have I morphed into the scary bride who asks for help but puts out the vibe that says “don’t actually help me, this is my wedding $%^hole!”?

There are a million things to decide that, of course, in the long run really don’t matter. Should the invitation be ecru or eggshell? (I don’t even know what those are). If you think someone is going to get that invitation in the mail and scoff at your color choice, you have a long life of worry and woe ahead of you. Pick a damn color and send it away. Like I said, a free party will trump any faux-pas you could possibly make (and you don’t want the people who care about your invitation at your party anyway, jerks). In the end, I guess I don’t care if I make all the decisions, being The Bride and all. I guess I’ll call it success if he shows up at the church.