I had a ton of stuff that I was planning on doing “in October,” “after the wedding,” but that list might take through December at this point. All of these married we social events really take a lot of time! We are going to visit my mother, we have dinner plans this weekend, we are going to his office party next Saturday night, we need to _________ this weekend!
eesh!

I miss the singularity of “I went to Stater Bros. while he went to practice.” Its efficient, and and and, its efficient!

But then he comes home from work every night and we cook dinner, wash dishes, do laundry, pray, and tuck eachother in. Its wonderful, and and and, its wonderful!

Wed·ding·y adj An item associated with stereotypical Weddings. “You have to use toole to make it look more weddingy.”

Wed·din·gy adj A state of mind brought on by prenuputual preparation. Characterized by lapse in memory, excessive rambling, inablity to concentrate on simple tasks, and frequent outbursts such as “I forgot to wear underwear today!”

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.

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?

More blog and comments after the jump:

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?

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!

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?

More blog and comments after the jump: