My High School Sweetheart is going paintballing with my Fiance this weekend.

Yesterday, I got a call from my cousin.
During a rare “So how is everything going?” conversation she told me that one of our kinda-distant-extended-family-members-who-i’ve-met-mabye-5-times-and-we-rarely-ever-see cancelled her 75th birthday bash that she was throwing for herself so she could make it to the wedding. Apparantly she’s rescheduled her limousine ride and postphoned “riding around the block in a limo for all the neighbors to see” so that she can be with us on our special day.

Anybody know where I can get a slice of “moist birthday cake with cream cheese frosting?” I’ll be down on one knee serving cake to her at the wedding.

Ok, so kids get orange-flavored Flintstone shaped vitamins, and men get 5-minute hair color. What do i get?

the annual PapSmear

and

the annual IUD
the quad-annual poke in the bum
the weekly “Patch”
the daily “Pill”
the hourly “Cold Shower” or
the omnipresent “Oh my Gosh, I think I’m pregant!”

Its a cruel and oppressive world that we live in.

From a recent I.M:

HighschoolBuddy: Man, we have almost every VeggieTale show there is. Didn’t I use to be cool?
Me: Yeah- that was before you started memorizing “Winnie the Pooh” trivia.
HighschoolBuddy: Sad.

ok sometimes i freak out.

and then sometimes i see stuff like this and it makes it all worth it.

if you haven’t already noticed. i’m a naturally over-wound individual. every day of my life i wake up one minute before the alarm goes off.

stop the buzzing! stop the infernal buzzing!

i’m the kind of nutjob that can have two songs stuck in my head simultaneously. nothing will convince you that you’re losing your grip like having the alto line of “Carol of the Bells” stuck in your head at the same time as the chorus to “I’m Gonna Be.”

But I would walk 500 miles
Ding Dong Ding Dong
And I would walk 500 more
Ding Dong Ding Dong
Just to be the man who walked 1000 miles
Ding Dong Ding Dong
To fall down at your door
Ding Dong Ding *Ding* Dong

chalk it up to my Type-A-ish-ness. i’m a perpetually self-propelled list-cheker-offer with a propensity for cramming too many words (and hyphens) into a thought.
im engaged to the most level-headed, long-fused, good-intentioned, adorable man on the planet. everybody in my life who hasn’t had a nice thing to say to me about me will – without fail – tell me just how wonderful they think he is. for all of his uber-wonderful qualities; my sweet and darling fiance occasionally steps into a Type-A landmine. Today he wrote:
“As of the time of this posting, I’ll be getting married in about 45 days and 80 minutes. ”

is he trying to kill me?

of course this sends me into a one-word tailspin of “youhavegottobekiddingmethatsnotright45daysreally?omgomgomgomgomgomgomgomgwaitwhereisthecalendar7-14-21-28-35-42-43-44-fourty-omgheisnotkiddingits45days!!!” which is of course followed by hyperventilating, then panicing, then list checking. then yelling, then I.M.ing, then ranting.
Tick Tock Tick *Tick* Tock

then kicking myself and saying “Duh, I’m man enough to handle this!”

Occasionally I see blurbs about the origin of wedding traditions such as wedding rings, bridal bouquets, and crossing the threshold. But why in blazes do we need a white pile of architecturally correct complex carbohydrates?
I’m a pretty decisive person. I wanted the pretty little gift-box cake with the perfect fondant corners and marzipan bows. I knew what colors, shape, size, and decorations were going on my cake within 10 minutes of looking at a Wilton magazine.
Over the course of the year, my cake has evolved into the cake. The cake that works for everyone.
Everyone in my life was opposed to the precious fondant creation I had picked out. The friends, the baker, the fiancé. We found out at an early summer wedding that fondant tastes awful. Ok, so scratch that.
I found the perfect baker. A no-nonsense grandmother who bakes cakes for fun on the weekends. The perfect baker who bakes what she feels like baking. She only bakes the cakes that she knows won’t fall or fall apart – and mine was not one of them. She bakes what she likes to bake, but she bakes it for one dollar per slice. I can work with that. For one dollar per person, we’ll do it her way! Butter cream and Duncan Hines it is.
We met for dinner and worked together to come up with a simple, functional, tasty cake that was within a number of parameters. Did you see that, I said “cake” and “parameters” in the same sentence. Maybe I’m getting just a little wedding on the brain.
I decided it was time to leave the cake, and the cake decorations in the hands of my very competent baker and florist. They’re good at what they do, and there’s no sense micromanaging a pile of frosting that will only exist in pictures when i’m 64.
This weekend, MiniMartha and I went down to decorate for her friend’s wedding. We jumped right in to the usual pre-wedding decorating, arranging and improvising. Ninety minutes before the wedding, the cake was delivered. The cake was leaning. “Oh, no its fine!” The baker said as she ran out the door.
So 30 minutes later, we’re busy swaging, foofing, and tying bows. And of course, it happens.
Right in front of my friend’s eyes it happens. The precarious three tier mass of pretty carbohydrates just faints like a southern belle.
As soon as we could charge some nephews with the responsibility for not letting the bride look in the direction of the pile of sugar that was once cake, I had to fly out of the building – I was laughing so hard.
“Oh, my heart is breaking for her!” the sister of the bride wailed. I understand her pain. A week before, my heart would have fallen from my chest if it was my sister’s cake. But this is this week; and it wasn’t my sister’s cake, so I was laughing like a drunk in the parking lot.
Maybe we ought to stage a cake-smashing at my reception! Any volunteers?

On second thought – how bout we just break the cake over my head?

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