You ever have that dream? The one where you’re screaming and nobody can hear you? The one where you’re eloquent thoughts are in English - but the only words coming out of your mouth are in Bork? The one where *the* wedding checklist grabs the back end of a pencil and starts erasing itself?

I had my first offficial (public) Bridezilla Meltdown today. My Darling Fiance graciously completed the items on his honeydew list - and then went looking for a few more items to check off *the* list.

He called to confirm that the dinnerware was ordered - and was told that it wasn’t- only a quote was given. So he ordered, forked over some plastic, and then called to tell me that the price had been raised.

(blink, dumb stare) Um. OK. DF sounded like the extra 40 bucks ($.05 per item) wasn’t really that bad.

A few hours later, it occured to me that every book in the Budget Bride section of Barnes and Noble talks about “The Wedding Industry” like hippies talk about “The Man.” Author after author was bent on the idea that “TWI” doesn’t deal with repeat customers. Most people get married (or at least throw a big wedding) only once in their life. So, according to these authors, TWI can gouge brides and get away with it.

I heard all sorts of helpful tips like “ask for quotes for ‘parties,’ not for ‘weddings,’ because florists, bakers, photographers, and site coordinators are in the habbit of charging a Sucker Tax as soon as they hear the ‘w’ word.”

I began to wonder if maybe my DF let the ‘w’ word slip, and that perhaps the $.05 was a Sucker Tax. I distinctly remember spending 20 minutes on the phone with a pad and paper writing out all of the items that I was renting as I CONFIRMED them, scheduling a pick-up date, and double checking the final price.

I was annoyed enough to summon the gusto required to play hardball if I had to. The same lovely man who CONFIRMED my order for teapots, plates, glasses, and sliverware asssured me that he only gave me a quote back in April before the prices were raised and that since DF had just CONFIRMED the order yesterday - that yesterday’s prices were applicable.

I informed him that I very well DID CONFIRM the order in April
I informed him that I had to RECONFIRM in late April - because the staff at his company kept losing my file and had to create a new file every time I called
I informed him that my fiance was merely investigating because the company had lost my file more than once and had failed to send us a contract or invoice
I informed him that to date - the company website lists the old price that I was originally quoted

And then he began to argue with me.

He tried to tell me that I didn’t confirm anything, that it was only a quote, so he had to reissue my DF a new quote yesterday (yesterday, he told DF that he couldn’t honor the old price because the difference would come out of his pocket), that it didnt matter if the advertised price on the company website (today) was lower - that the price was what it was and if I didn’t like it I could go somewhere else.

You know what celery sounds like when you bend it in half? - Yeah.

Unfortunately - I could not go somewhere else, because this is the only party rental supply in the area that stocks teapots. I knew I was right, I had CONFIRMED the order, and this would not be the second (or the third) time that this company had lost my file. You know, the file that had MY CONFIRMATION IN IT.

There are 4 life events that are considered to be most stressful in a persons life. Thank the LORD i am not pregnant, or dying right now. If i was, i’d definately be wearing a nice white coat on my wedding day.

For ten minutes he argued with me, I accused him of baiting and switching, he put me on hold, he argued with me, he put me on hold, he argued with me, I threatened to call the Better Business Bureau, he put me on hold.

And then I got to talk to (we’ll call him Boris - since i don’t know anyone who I would offend by using the alias Boris) Boris. Boris asked me to explain what was going on.

Poor Boris.
I told him about the changed price. Boris told me that honoring the original price was up to the owner. The broken celery stalk in my head took control of my mouth. I told him about the plethera of repeated conversations and sitting on hold while his staff searched for missing files. Boris looked in the computer, and magically, my original CONFIRMED order appeared! All 1,112 pieces of china and silverware appeared with my name, address, and credit card information, pick up and drop off dates.

Boris immediately stated that he would honor the original price as quoted in the confirmed contract that was in the computer at his fingertips.

“‘He’ would? I thought the owner had to do that?”
“Yes, I am the owner. We just don’t like to tell people that over the phone.” Boris told me with a smile in his voice.

Hmmmmmmm. I wonder why?

Ideal mini-vacation: Take the car to the “car-spa,” sit on my rear in a cafe and read a magazine while someone else scrubs the lurp larva off of my car. $14 well spent.

In the magazine i found this: some marketing genius (or acid-tripping grandmother) has created an international tupperware art contest.

Too bad i’ve always been a knock-off shopper. Those Tupperwares would have come in handy!

Its that time. the invitations are out - the United States Postal Service is now burdoned with the task of bringing us wedding gifts. so far, we’ve received some impressively packed servingware. MiniMartha keeps telling me how lovely it will be to have all of those things when i “entertain” because that’s what married women do - they entertain. now, i’m looking at this and should be thinking about all the parties and the breakfasts and the kitchen conversations that will happen every time i pull out these gifts. i’m supposed to be anticipating the memories and the christmases, making “tea wafers”, eating cookie dough out of the bowl after i tell my daughter not to do it, and looking my husband on our umpteenth anniversary and saying “Dang, you’re old!”

All i can think - in my “7 weeks and counting” frame of mind is: “this means i’m going to have a kitchen, and kitchen cupboards, and shelfpaper and lemon Pledge to dust the cupoards.”

- do i really wanna be that girl?

Girl? Woman? Let me try that on: the wo-man with the lemon Pledge. and 3 sets of silverware and the linen closet full of outdated pillowcases. and a cupboard stocked with 18 jars of BestFoods mayo because that’s the stuff my husband likes. O dear LORD in heaven -help me!

I’m turning into my mother!

Quick! someone shoot me before i become a subscriber to TVGuide and PEOPLE magazine!

1. Print 5 drafts of a shower invitation - to make sure I like my choices.
2. Take up finger painting to cure boredom while assembling the ceremony programs for my wedding.
3. Wash two weeks of my really really smelly laundry - just to be nice.
4. Call a babysitter for your 1-year-old just because I need you on my wedding day.
5. Send back that cute little RSVP card the same week you receive it.
6. Teach me a cool come-back for not letting people bug me for our honeymoon location.

“Its in the vault.”

7. Reschedule your 75th birthday limo-ride so that you can come to my wedding.

get out of bed.
find extra boxes, sort laundry, make a list, fill water bottle, pack the car, race to weekly meeting, slow down so i don’t get another speeding ticket on this hill, hit the gym - walk, jog, cross-country-ski, shower, stop at Target, check voicemail, return calls, change appointments around, make 3 more phone calls, race to friend’s house to drop off paper projects, get directions to craftstore, race to craftstore for more adhesive, drive back to friend’s house, drop off adhesive (and the munchkin adheared to my leg), race to dad’s house, start laundry, look through boxes and sort, pack, bag, toss, scratch my head and wonder “Why on earth do I still have Windows 95?, shuffle, reorganize, take trash out, check laundry: “Why are the pants that have been in the dryer for 45 minutes still half wet and soapy?”, bag wet laundry, eat dinner, race to mom’s, drop off wet soapy laundry and instruct her not to wash it for me, drop boxes of U.P.S. off at The Goodwill, race to church for “Ladies Night,” gag at the sound of “Oh Yes, Its Ladie’s Night… ” - you know the song, the one you don’t want stuck in your head while you’re pushing through a sea of 3,000 women- this is not my idea of a fun Friday night, look for car keys, look again for car keys, rip purse open and shake it violently, push through mob, stare at ground looking for car keys, retrace steps, look for car keys, WHERE ARE MY CAR KEYS?, call the Auto Club, wait for tow truck, call fiance, tell him that NO, my keys are NOT in my purse, tell nice man with speech impediment that NO, my keys are not in my purse, get into car, search the floorboards, search between the seats, cut finger open while searching under the seat, begin violently shaking purse so that the nice Au -Au -Auto Club representative doesn’t know I’m about to have a meltdown, turn purse upside down, continue shaking, hear the car keys that were “not in my purse” fall to the ground, groan, realize i’m bleeding, look at car keys and consider driving home with bloody finger, look at dirty windshield and realize that realistically, it’ll be another 6 months before i’ll wash my car, don’t wanna get blood on the upholstery cuz dried blood doesn’t cooperate after six months, sigh as i realize that i’m gonna have to dive back into the sea of women “Oh Yes, Its Ladies Night…” to get a Bandaid, ask 3 people who really should know where a Bandaid is, find someone who knows where a Bandaid is, realize that i just came from a biblestudy with this woman and i look like a turkey because i have NO idea what her name is, get Bandaid, laugh at the irony of an inocuous little wrapper that reveals a Tazmanian Devil bandage on the inside, put Bandaid on finger, the Bandaid is not gonna stick to this part of my finger, take off Bandaid, make a mental note to stop laughing at MiniMartha for stocking a box of every shape of bandage ever invented, hold my breath and dive back into the sea of women “Oh Yes, Its Ladies Night, and the feeling’s right…”, run to car, race home, read, pack gym bag, take pill, look for short sleeve pijamas because its 90 degrees upstairs, get in bed in the buff because its 90 degrees upstairs, remember that the fiance just blogged about being bored , wonder what his friday has been like, get out of bed (still in the buff) and write out a “Honey Dew” list.

pass out on the bed.

In the course of finishing my thesis and looking for full-time work, I was unemployed for a few months and had time to do things like shop for a fabulous wedding dress and go to the gym. Every day.

Did you hear the part about being unemployed and having the time to go to the gym every day?

Found a job. Hallelujah! Joined the working stiffs of the world. The world of commuting over two hours each day, and getting up before dawn. The world of caffeine addictions and frozen dinners. When do you think I have time to eat a real dinner, let alone exercise?

So, at the advice of my fabulous hair stylist, I joined Weight Watchers.

For one hour every week I am imparted with mantras like: “You bite it, you write it.”
8 weeks later, I (don’t) have three pounds to show for it. Is it *really* worth all of this obsessing over all these FLEX POINTS and Activity POINTS and Insanity POINTS to lose three whopping pounds? I’m really starting to wonder. Its nice to hear that we’re all in this (very large) Weight Watchers boat together, but do I really have to spend the next twenty minutes listening to the leader sing the praises of tasteless, nutrition-less, 1-POINT white WonderBread?

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