My Wedding Party is Driving Me Crazy

Well, one member in particular. I've tried to be as patient as possible, but sometimes patience fails me. And when things go awry, it's easy to feel like she's trying to sabotage this whole thing...

Oh, but Brooke, you're so damn cute! This past week our precious little ringbearer (ringdoger? She's certainly not a bear...) got the idea to pee on the living room floor while we were asleep and we didn't catch it until later in the morning. This has resulted in some unfortunate buckling of our high-quality parquet flooring. That we do not own. That we're sure the apartment complex people will be none too happy is damaged. And this buckling is not minor, feel-it-give-a-little-under-your-feet buckling, it's full-fledged trip-you-and-cause-you-to-take-a-header-into-the-coffee-table buckling. It feels lethal. And expensive. Not a great combination.

So Brooke, I'm not trying to be all Bridezilla or anything, but seeing as you are our ringbearer, do you think you could stop trying to kill us with the floor, mmmkay? So that this whole shindig actually happens in 10 days? Kthanksbye.

Special thanks to elise for her help with this one!

Wedding Meat

Many brides vent about their RSVP situation. They have to chase down half or more of the guests by phone, email, or Facebook. In contrast, ours was really pretty tame. Sure, we had a few late responders, but almost everyone was good about getting us an answer once they realized they had blown the RSVP deadline. I did, however, have the funniest conversation with my 91-year-old grandfather about a relative of mine. This relative was a little late in responding, and my grandpa offered to check in with him, which was much appreciated. I received the following call from my grandfather as I am sitting in the pedicure chair, I'm sure sounding like the requisite bridezilla to the rest of the nail salon.

Grandpa: Uncle So-and-so is coming
Me: Great! Is he bringing a date?
Grandpa: Huh?
Me: A date? Is he bringing a date?
Grandpa: A what?
Me: A date.
Grandpa: A what??
Me: A date. A girlfriend. A female. A lady friend. A fiance. An escort…
Grandpa: Why do you need to know? Do you need to have a meal or something for her?

At this point, I am half laughing, half incredulous, and another half frustrated.

Me: Yes, I need to have a meal for her, a place for her at the table, and a placecard. This is a formal sit-down dinner, not a BBQ.
Grandpa: Well, I'll eat a hot dog.

/dead. I nearly fell out of my pampered princess pedicure chair laughing. I mean, what do you say to that? And what a cute reminder that the minutia, while it does matter in a practical sense, is just fluff to those who will be at this shindig to support you, and for no other reason. They will, indeed, eat a hot dog, if that's what you're serving!

To borrow another blogger's timeline-oriented signoff: I'm 12 days away from the wedding and remembering how lucky I am to have people who make my life so rich.

Something old, something new…

For some reason, whenever I hear the phrase "something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue", I think of the scene in 90210 when Brenda is about to elope with Stuart Carson, but her friends get wind of it, show up and help her get ready. At the last minute, they realize she's missing her important old, new, borrowed, and blue items and outfit her accordingly. Everyone seems, of course, to be armed with the perfect accroutrements, as it may be, but this is television, so I expect nothing less.



I couldn't find the actual scene, so this will have to do. I do like a daily dose of BH-9-er.

I realized recently that while I'd secured something blue (a blue topaz right-hand ring Groomy scored from Overstock), I was missing new, borrowed, and old items…what to do?

Well, I guess my dress is new. My undies certainly are. But what about old and borrowed? All my jewelry has already been picked out and is not old (it's not even real, heehee…keepin' it classy!). I toyed with the idea of wearing really old underwear, but that seemed a little odd (and, again, oh so classy). Even more odd is the idea of wearing borrowed underwear…

By no means do I think my marriage is doomed without these items, but I'd like very much to participate in this tradition, if possible. Any ideas?

PWD

PWD? WTF, is that like NWA? Sadly, it's not an old-school rap group. That would be fun, though.

If you've ever seen this:



and laughed yourself silly, you've heard of the big PWD: Post-Wedding Depression. While I sincerely feel for its sufferers, I just don't think that'll be me in 4 weeks. Dude, I'll be so glad when this is over! I want my free time back.

Sure, I'll miss having a project (although it's easy to remedy that!), but I won't miss worrying about whether two shades of purple match or coordinate, or whether I've got the right font. I won't miss spending the hours of 10-11 pm and 7-8 am tying ribbons in a desperate effort to get these wedding projects done around my jam-packed work schedule. I won't miss figuring out how to best make 140 people feel happy and comfortable even though there are only 5 prime tables in the space. I won't miss the detail work. I won't miss the extreme pressure to make this wedding and engagement the "best time of our lives" even though it's really only a small part of the many years we'll spend as a couple. I won't miss feeling let down by people and wondering if my memories of them will be what taints this "best time" in my life. I won't miss the ever-present theme of family that permeates a wedding, a constant reminder that members of mine are conspicuously absent.

Don't get me wrong. I love our wedding. I love Groomy and I love that we're going to be married in just over two weeks. I have loved a lot of the planning and there are a ton of things that I will miss. I will miss watching Groomy diligently mold 200 chocolate lobster favors, staying up late 3 weeknights in a row and sacrificing the better part of a Sunday. Have you ever heard of such groomal dedication? I will miss doing fun girly wedding things with my friends, like dress shopping and fittings. I will miss sitting down to a Lifetime movie marathon with a craft project in front of me, knowing that Tori Spelling and I will get things done, one way or another. I will miss the feeling of elation you get when you see a project come together after countless hours of thought and hard work. And I will never forget the amazing feeling that is the outpouring of love we've received from so many people.

Getting married teaches you many lessons. I know that our lives will change and Groomy and I become husband and wife. Separate and apart from that, planning the party that is a wedding teaches you many distinct lessons as well. You learn about priorities, both yours and others', relationships, both family and friends, financial management skills, both yours and your fiancé's…I could go on and on. I've learned a lot in the past year, but I'm anxious to move on with our lives and see what the next chapter holds. So, no PWD for this bride. It's full speed ahead to the rest of our amazing lives.

What I learned from the meanest sorority on the internets

In the wedding-planning world, it's pretty popular to bash knotties . Search "knotties" or "theknot" on other popular wedding websites and you'll see what I mean. The ladies over at other community sites think we're awful. The offshoots of the knot - thenest and thebump, have similar reputations. And, while I've had my share of unflattering things to say about the knotties, it occurred to me that I should give them their due credit as well.

As you readers know, I was engaged once before. For my entire year-long engagement, I was a very active knot community member, so much so that it was probably a bad idea, but I thought my internet friends were just grand! We participate in G2Gs (get-togethers, for the uninitiated), became Facebook friends, and even attended each others' weddings whenever a knottie came in under her inflated North Jersey reception hall minimum, so they weren't just the people in the computer who talked to me - they were real. Having a group of girls all planning their weddings together gives you an endless number of resources, referrals, and ideas that you can't get from bridal magazines and would otherwise have to pay for from wedding planners. It was super! Except, like any big group of girls, we had our moments. We were cliquey, mean, withering, condesending know-it-alls who stuck together. Which was great, until you wound up on the other side. Then, it totally sucked.

You know where this is going, don't you? I started to doubt my relationship and wanted to call off my wedding. I shared my feelings (WAY too much of them) with my internet friends and they revolted. They couldn't understand why I'd want to leave a man who loved me or why I'd share my personal business on the web. On that second one, they really had a good point, but we're talking about people who regularly listed their sexual preferences on a public message board as well as the link to half-nakes photos of themselves, so I wasn't really "getting it" at that point. To make a long story short, I wound up on the wrong end of the knottie mob mentality. Not a fun place, to say the least. Insults were hurled, accusations were made, and the whole thing just kind of fell apart in my hands. I was crushed that all my internet friends seemed not only to have turned against me, but to delight in my misfortune.

This was over two years ago. I swore off the knot and moved on with my life, but did retain some of my knottie Facebook friends. Not every knottie is evil, I promise you. Despite the mob mentality, there were a few knotties who were real friends to me, and didn't participate in the bashing. And I'm glad I held on to them. They've gotten me job interviews, met me for after-work drinks, gone out to see bands with me, offered me their advice and the benefit of their experience both in wedding-planning (the second time around) and life. I feel fortunate that I've been able to return many of those favors, as well. Two of those fake internet friends were even in attendance at my bridal shower and will be at my wedding next month. Ironically, it was my knottie friend who won the "How well do you know the bride" contest. I'm not sure whether to be tickled or ashamed by that!

The takeaway from all this is not only that you can't judge an entire group of people by the bad behavior of a few, but that sometimes there's something to be learned from even the unkind behavior of others. Truth is, two years ago, I needed to get off the damn computer and live out my life, for better or for worse. Even though the knotties were a little evil in their methods, I got the message. And now, after the dust has settled, I would up with friends who've stood the test of time. Well, 3 years is pretty long in the land of the knot, anyway!
　

Envelope Emergency

As I wrote these words as the subject line of an email early on a Sunday morning, I couldn't resist noting their ridiculousness in the text of my email just below. Who has an "envelope emergency"? Hallmark? It just sounds ludicrous.

We had, at this point, spent something like 4 and a half months on our invitation suite, going back and forth with our designer to strike the right balance between "formal" and "vintage-y", trying to make sure our invite looked modern but still fancy. While I love wedding blogs, I'm not really a visual person, so it took a lot of time to get there. Add in the fact that certain pocketfolds only come in these 14 colors (that are not "our" color), and certain inserts only go into certain pocketfolds, and you can't print on certain envelopes, and...omg, I thought my head was going to explode. Oh, and lawyers + proofreading = absolute madness. I think Groomy was the first one of our invitation designer's customers to ever look up the correct French wording for R.S.V.P.

So, we get the invitations (gorgeous!), spend inordinate amounts of time assembling them, numbering the RSVP cards in invisible ink (in case someone forgets to write their name, we won't have to spend hours playing CSI: Home Edition to figure out who they are), folding 115 belly bands and tying 115 ribbons. Awesome. We send our envelopes off to the calligrapher complete with ridiculously organized excel guest list and custom-made envelope liner paper and wait.

We wait and wait until we're a few days past the "deadline" for mailing (1 month before the RSVP date). I don't freak out, because, hey, what's a few days? I'm Laid-Back Cool Bride.

Finally, I start to get a little antsy and, when the calligrapher tells me the envelopes are ready to ship, I ask her to overnight them, so we can get everything stuffed and stamped.

We get them on that glorious Sunday morning, as we're rushing out to meet with our day-of coordinator, and open the box excitedly. They're....pink...ish? Ok, weird, but not terrible. I guess brown meant something different to me than to her. I flip the envelope over to see gorgeous chocolate brown for the return address. Cool! 'Cept they don't match...oh well! Let's look at the lining I debated over for a week! Yay.

Oh...it looks...kind of like crap. It's crooked and there's glue spilling out of the side. It's not the same shape as the envelope. Oh. Hmmm. I'm kind of pissed at this point. I look at Groomy and flatly announce "I don't like them." this quickly escalates into "I am not sending our gorgeous invitations in thesecrappyenvelopesandifIwantedthemtolookcrappyIwould'vedonethemmyself...."

You see, gentle readers, this calligrapher charges a significant amount of money for these services. So when I got back work that looked like I could've done it at home for free while watching a Criminal Minds marathon on A&E, it made me a little cranky.

So, what to do? Calligrapher used all our envelopes, so we've got to get more, at least as a first step. This is when I sat down and typed the hurried "Envelope Emergency" email to my invitation designer, all the while laughing at myself just a little. In the end, everything turned out fine. Groomy and I scoured the city for similar envelopes, lined them ourselves, and found a new calligrapher. And, unlike the original plan for our envelopes, where I made most of the decisions and arrangements, we did it together. We had to change the style of the envelopes and the liners last minute, but I like ours better. And we will always have the memory of Groomy with my pink paper cutter showing me the right way to cut the liners and knowing that, no, I am not the queen of all things crafty and wedding and how glad I am that my fiance is here alongside me, working things out.

This is Your Life

So, I blogged about all the boring stuff you do 8 months out, and then I dropped out just when things got interesting. I suck, eh?

Now, we're about two months out and things are finally happening! Invitations are assembled and on their way out the door (not without a tiny bit of drama, natch), dresses are in (some fit, some don't), and this is all beginning to feel real. Somewhere along the line, it occurred to me that this is it. For better or worse, this is our engagement and our wedding. Whatever happens, these are the memories we are going to have for the rest of our lives.

This is why I hung my head in shame after I yelled at Groomy about envelopes. Was I yelling AT him? Not really. But when we got our envelopes back from the calligrapher and they looked kind of like they were prepared by a visually-impaired retirement home resident with decreased motor skills, and Groomy dared to imply that no one would notice, I kind of...lost it. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO ONE WILL NOTICE? I WILL NOTICE!!!!", I bellowed. Smooth move, there, Bridezilla. Luckily, Groomy knows enough not to take my Incredible Hulk persona seriously. And I apologized profusely.

Not that we all haven't had our share of moments. When I inquired as to the status of some wedding task Groomy should've completed a while back, he icily informed me he was "working" in a condescending tone. My reply, that I had never held a job and certainly couldn't imagine what it's like to be a lawyer, had us giggling afterwards. While I can't say it's a great thing that we let the wedding stress get to us every now and then, I am glad that we are going through it together. I feel like it's a testament to our relationship that we can make it though the tough moments and let them roll off our collective back. It makes the moment we've spent all this time preparing for, that moment we become husband and wife, that much sweeter.

Lots of Turtles You Can Swim With

When I left off, we were going nowhere fast for our honeymoon. I hate to fly and didn't feel like taking a road trip to the nearest Waffle House or Cracker Barrel (although I'm not above that, no sir) and calling it a day. We were in a stalemate, me all panicky and height-fearing, and Groomy, all rational and wanting-to-go-on-a-nice-honeymooning (I mean, really, who does he think he is??). All the close destinations were either hurricane hazards at that time of year or just didn't thrill one or both of us. That was, until I stumbled upon this little beauty on TripAdvisor:

Captioned "Lots of turtles you can swim with"

Ignoring the obvious preposition issue, I knew this was where we had to go. I mean, look at those turtles. There are lots, and apparently you can swim with them! Right there, I'm a happy camper. Also, these turtles happen to be in an amazing destination - Bora Bora. Not too shabby, eh? (yes, now I'm Canadian. Just go with it, ok?)

I know, I know, it's a pretty long flight. Almost 14 hours, split between 2 planes, and none of it will be first class. Airlines are apparently pretty stingy with their upgrades and they wanted something like the cost of our entire vacation to stick us with the beautiful people up front. However, we'll be flying a red eye out of LAX and, from what I've read, Air Tahiti does a bang-up job in coach class. Also, I think Groomy is planning to drug me with Ambien and red wine. I'll pretend I don't know for now and con him into buying me a Kindle for the plane ride.

We'll actually be splitting our trip between two islands, Moorea and Bora Bora. We'll be staying at the Hilton in Moorea in one of those spiffy overwater bungalows:

Hopefully watching sunsets that look like this:In Bora Bora, we're at the Four Seasons:Umm, wow.

Our room will look something like this:

Apparently the bathtub looks out onto the water. Sweet!

Needless to say, we are so excited about what looks like the vacation of a lifetime. Assuming I get through the flight without any emotional or physical scars, it should be just that.

Mine, mine, mine!!

As you may have gathered from my previous posts, I love wedding dresses. So I couldn't resist one more entry about my search. Because Groomy reads this blog, I can't reveal the dress I finally chose, but let's just say I think he'll like it.

When we left off, I had spent approximately a month living and breathing wedding dresses. Designers' websites, blogs, pre-owned sites, Google image search - you name it, I was looking at it. I wanted to know everything that was out there, where I could try it on, and how it looked on real brides. My top contenders were all over the map including a mermaid, a trumpet, several with dropped waists, and a couple of ballgowns thrown in for good measure. How was I ever going to pick just one?

Lots of brides today wear more than one gown - perhaps a big, traditional dress for the ceremony and a sexy one for the reception. I didn't want to go that route. It seems excessive and many brides have told me that they didn't want to take off their gown that night, not even to put another fabulous dress on (or to go to bed, even!). So, I knew if I could only have one, it had to be "the one" that I'd never want to take off.

Many brides say that finding their dress is a magical experience. There are tears and smiles and puppies and unicorns shitting out rainbows. It's a powerful experience. Well, not for this bride. I'm not ooey-gooey, mushy, or sentimental. I hate romantic comedies and crack jokes over characters' poor clothing choices during touching scenes on TV. Having come in to this process with a notebook filled with dresses I wanted to try and very specific guidelines, I figured choosing one would be a fairly analytical process. I even toyed with a scoring system.

That went down the tubes when the saleslady zipped me into MY dress, and my stupid ass burst into tears. I stood on that insipid little platform they put munchkins like me on to simulate the normal height we'll never achieve (and where they put tall chicks so they can feel ever more superior) with actual tears running down my cheeks, completely ashamed of myself, repeating "Who the hell cries over a dress?" My bridesmaids, surprised and more than a little amused, came to the rescue with tissues and eye-makeup remover (Bridesmaiderson J is like a beauty-counter MacGyver, apparently).

And so, just like that, she was mine. It was all kind of perfect, actually. This was a dress I had specifically set out to try from the get-go, and met all of my qualifications, including budget, so I was not too surprised that it wound up being my dress. This wasn't even the first time I'd tried it on, and it had been dancing around in my head since our first encounter. What did surprise me was the jackass crying and the possessive feeling I developed for the dress. It's supposed to come in to the shop this month and I'm jiggling around like a toddler after a large fountain soda waiting for the call.

I guess when you find the one, you know it. Even if you're a cynical old curmudgeon like me!

Get Me To The Church On Time

I'll use any excuse for some Bowie, huh? *

Here's the thing: I am always late. Case in point: I've been meaning to write this particular blog post for about a week. See?

Also, in the past two years, I have moved twice. The first time, I cut my commute down from 1.5 hours to 45 minutes. the second time, it went down to 20 minutes. Wouldn't you know, I still get to work at about the same (not early) time?

Groomy and I, as a unit, are even later than either of us on our own. Ask our friends. We're been known to be an hour late for things. (An hour is a much more reasonable period of time than our usual lateness, so let's just pretend an hour is as late as we get. Because it's been ridiculous at times.) This is one reason why I'm glad we'll be separated until the ceremony on the wedding day. In theory, it'll cut down on the lateness factor.

It's an understatement to say I'm worried about being late for my own wedding - I know that it's one event that can't start without me! While some people may think this makes it ok to be late, I think it makes it even more unacceptably rude. So, I've already started on timelines for the big day in an effort to ensure everyone's where they need to be on time and that we have a significant time cushion for the inevitable mishap.

Thankfully for me, the wedding industry has made a cute little must-have template. Because a word document is just daft, my dear:


I have no idea how to actually make something like this happen (I think it involves Power Point), but I'm going to shop for some cardstock anyway!

*For the record, there's no church involved in our wedding. What can I say? We're heathens. It fits our bad-ass lawyerly image.