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.