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.