As I grow nearer and nearer to completing the now daunting list of invitees for the Mister (most perfect man ever...he's calling churches!), I realize I'm in some need of addresses. Ever the resourceful one, I start to Google friends and family names first. This results in a barage of interesting facts, ages, and random Facebook quotes I'm sure I'm better off not seeing. (Dear Stalkernet....)
What would grandmother do? After all, a wedding is a traditional thing that has taken many modern twists and turns. I know if it weren't for one of my bridesmaids, a Southern belle at her finest, I wouldn't know a lot of about what does into planning a wedding. I thought Chantilly Lace was a stripper name until that first day in the gown shop. (Okay, that's a little extreme, but seriously, I was up a girdle without a net, specifically a French lace net.) Mom further educated me on the etiquitte of the rehearsal dinner. Needless to say, my bull-in-a-china-shop approach had been all wrong, though well intended.
Finally on the traditional track in terms of wedding planning, I hit an obstacle: addresses. And that's when I thought to myself...what would grandmother do? After all, this wedding stuff is a traditional affair. Grandma would have had all of her friends and family's addresses in a little book by the phone in a nook next to the kitchen. I had people's addresses via a Google search. Epic fail, modern times, epic fail.
So, okay, we're pretty resourceful, but we're ghastly tacky and flagrantly uninformed. I definitely don't know the crux of my closest friends' personal information (which would be tragic in an accident. Ex: What if I got a text from one of my besties that said: Amy, help, someone's breaking into my home...I don't have much time, and I don't want them to hear me...call 911. ... ... ... I'd be up a creek --and so would they, without a paddle. Trust me, Grandma will win this round). One heck of an aside later, I find myself wondering how to get this information so I can send lovely, printed cards on cardstock to friends and family inviting them to The Mister's and my blissful matrimonial union as opposed to e-cards.
As I shake off the invisible shudder that just rippled through my torso at the thought of sending an e-card, I am haunted by the knowledge I did something equally as tacky (okay, maybe a little less?): I asked everyone's address via Facebook e-mail. Oh, Lord. It feels like hot pink vinyl on the corner of Bourbon and Hospital to even write it. But what else was I supposed to do? Send a text? Continue Googling into people's personal lives trying to find something as simple as an address (that's right, friends, I can know what you did on a Saturday night and what you had to say about it, but I can't know your a-d-d-r-e-s-s. What the donkey?)? The point is, in this modern day and age, I was left with little recourse. Sure, I could have placed a phone call, but do you people really want me calling? Wasting your minutes? Catching you up on how wedding planning is going?
In writing the last few sarcastic sentences, I've hit a dilemma. Conversation and reading are both simultaneously becoming a lost art form for this country, and most likely, planet at large (did you know that while those in other nations talk differently from Americans, our textual language, like sign language, is essentially universal?). So, while discouraging physical conversation via the phone (which I'm sure in its hay-day was criticized for ruining the random stop next door or trot to the neighbors porch or hanging out in front of ol' Al's General Store...not sure which), my invitational style does hopefuly encourage reading? Okay, I know I'm biting there.
So, I'm a tacky by-product of my Internet-loving generation. We communicate with our fingers and our innermost thoughts. A scary thing. I can barely speak sometimes let alone write with a pen. So, I'm pretty sure we've lost something --conversation, class, the ability to answer a question without consulting Google, but at the same time, we've gained efficiency, right?
I don't think the trade was worth it, but I hope no one minds my surrender to convenience. At least just this once.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
My Team vs. Your Team
Team Eduard (sp?)(don't care) vs. Team Other Guy
Team Conservative vs. Team Liberal
Team Country Music vs. Team All Other Genres (kidding)
Team USA vs. Team England
Team Spain vs. Team Portugal (current teams played right this hot minute)
Team, Team, Team, Team! (There's no 'I' in 'team', only 'me.')
Can we give it a rest? Must we always choose teams? (By the way, Harry Potter wipes the floor with Twilight...sorry, but it does, smoldering hot English-born actor saving the world from evil vs. teen romance set in the middle of nowhere with heavy-lidded protagonist and hero made of glitter? Need I say more?)
Well, clearly, we must all choose teams because some lunatic told everyone that we all had a valid opinion, and now everyone is running around opining that what they like is better. Do they have a logical reason for this? Are some things indeed 'better' than others?
I just got back from lunch (explains a lot) and was (finally) finishing Julie Powells hilarious Julie and Julia memoir (personally, my favorite genre). Why French food, Julie? Why Julia Child? Why not some random Guglielmo Italian chef? Why not?
Who knows...a matter of taste? Personal preference? Opinion? Perhaps Julie P. thought Julia C. was the essence of all that is culinary, and maybe she is, I don't really know, but after hearing all that talk about skinning things off of bones and marrow, I think I'd rather have a different culture shock.
Specifically Italy. Shock me, mi amore. In all seriousness, I opine that Italy could whip France's butt in the kitchen (with the revolver). This is a tentative plan at best for two reasons: (1) I know I can't get a bestseller out of mastering a cooking style; Julie P. already did that and at the birth of the blog no less...way to have timing, J.P., and (2) I'm not sure I'm that motivated, although, it would make the question as to 'what's for dinner' a helluva lot easier to answer for the next 8-9 months. Just saying.
Plus, The Mister and I are going to Italia for our honeymoon, so it might be good to introduce his palette to traditional, real Italian food (yeah, I'm calling you out, Olive Garden). I made spaghetti bolognese for dinner last week, and while The Mister made his usual fuss over dinner --such a wonderful man, I could tell the dinner was, well, lacking in the delicious department. Maybe it was my cooking or my insistence on using 96/4 ground beef, but a version of the recipe I found on the internet called for some major flavor pumpers --garlic, dry white wine...the list went on, but I stuck to my guns and went with the recipe in the big white book (that dwarf's Julia Child's culinary instruction guide to life on my countertop).
So, should I wage imaginary war on Julie Powell's ever-so-successful and hilariously documented experience? Should I replicate what she did...but in Italian? Most importantly --should I?, can I prove the Italian experience is better?
Hmmm...
Team Conservative vs. Team Liberal
Team Country Music vs. Team All Other Genres (kidding)
Team USA vs. Team England
Team Spain vs. Team Portugal (current teams played right this hot minute)
Team, Team, Team, Team! (There's no 'I' in 'team', only 'me.')
Can we give it a rest? Must we always choose teams? (By the way, Harry Potter wipes the floor with Twilight...sorry, but it does, smoldering hot English-born actor saving the world from evil vs. teen romance set in the middle of nowhere with heavy-lidded protagonist and hero made of glitter? Need I say more?)
Well, clearly, we must all choose teams because some lunatic told everyone that we all had a valid opinion, and now everyone is running around opining that what they like is better. Do they have a logical reason for this? Are some things indeed 'better' than others?
I just got back from lunch (explains a lot) and was (finally) finishing Julie Powells hilarious Julie and Julia memoir (personally, my favorite genre). Why French food, Julie? Why Julia Child? Why not some random Guglielmo Italian chef? Why not?
Who knows...a matter of taste? Personal preference? Opinion? Perhaps Julie P. thought Julia C. was the essence of all that is culinary, and maybe she is, I don't really know, but after hearing all that talk about skinning things off of bones and marrow, I think I'd rather have a different culture shock.
Specifically Italy. Shock me, mi amore. In all seriousness, I opine that Italy could whip France's butt in the kitchen (with the revolver). This is a tentative plan at best for two reasons: (1) I know I can't get a bestseller out of mastering a cooking style; Julie P. already did that and at the birth of the blog no less...way to have timing, J.P., and (2) I'm not sure I'm that motivated, although, it would make the question as to 'what's for dinner' a helluva lot easier to answer for the next 8-9 months. Just saying.
Plus, The Mister and I are going to Italia for our honeymoon, so it might be good to introduce his palette to traditional, real Italian food (yeah, I'm calling you out, Olive Garden). I made spaghetti bolognese for dinner last week, and while The Mister made his usual fuss over dinner --such a wonderful man, I could tell the dinner was, well, lacking in the delicious department. Maybe it was my cooking or my insistence on using 96/4 ground beef, but a version of the recipe I found on the internet called for some major flavor pumpers --garlic, dry white wine...the list went on, but I stuck to my guns and went with the recipe in the big white book (that dwarf's Julia Child's culinary instruction guide to life on my countertop).
So, should I wage imaginary war on Julie Powell's ever-so-successful and hilariously documented experience? Should I replicate what she did...but in Italian? Most importantly --should I?, can I prove the Italian experience is better?
Hmmm...
Family Reunion --Have We Met?
You don't realize how big of a family your family has until you start making a list. The number of people The Mister and I had listed to attend the wedding was already overwhelming. I balked when we hit 100. I squeaked at 110 knowing 125 would probably be the list's final resting place. But, nope, wrongo, I was. I underestimated the vastness of my family on my dad's side. It's starting to look a lot more like 150. Palpitations don't count as stress, right?
Ever the novice wedding planner, I was not aware that family who comes in for the wedding and stays over night is invited to the rehearsal dinner. Numbness in my left arm aside, I realize this boosts our small rehearsal dinner of 33 to a potential 50 (luckily, that number includes children). Either way, it's still a lot of people (no drama).
I'm not throwing the baby out with the bathwater, but I'm not sure I can handle cooking enough for that many folks. New plan? .... ... ... .... Nothing concrete is coming to mind, yet. I have wedding planner's block. Instead of thinking about that tomorrow, my usual plan of action, I'm delineating responsibility to The Mister.
I'm diverting my attention to other matters. No, not work, don't be silly. I'm thinking about homes. We've seen enough homes to crush the Wicked Witch of the West into a cube (not entirely unlike Jimmy Hoffa), but we still haven't found "the one" (given that we're both so indecisive, it's miraculous we agreed to marry one another...kidding ;D). We're like property virgins (watch HGTV for reference) gone wrong. We've got three top runners in mind.
House #1 is an adorable 2/2 in our ideal location. It's got an updated kitchen, large formal dining space, modern fixtures in the bathrooms, a large deck that overlooks a sprawling well-landscaped yard. But with only 1200 square feet, the asking price of $154,000 seems a bit high. Our main concern is if we'll be able to get any return on the property (or more importantly, not lose anything on it!).
House #2 is a charming 2/2 not far from our ideal location. It's got nice wood floors throughout and a spacious kitchen, which needs a little updating. A large add-on family room in the back has the extra bathroom. The add-on leads to a nice wood deck that overlooks a well-shaded back yard. With 1,300 square feet, it's slightly larger than house #1 and is priced at $139,000. This street though, will most likely get the most through traffic of all the homes.
House #3 is an attractive 3/1 in a nice area of midtown. A well-sized sitting room leads into the formal dining space and then into the lemon-yellow kitchen. Off the kitchen is a large laundry room, which leads outside. Adjacent to the laundry room is a small bedroom --an add-on that would make a great office space. The shot-gun style home grants access from the small back room into another bedroom. The bathroom is located between the master and original second bedroom. The backyard could profit from landscaping and the addition of a deck, but the home does have a garage, which is right up The Mister's alley. This home is 1,439 square feet, the most spacious of all three and is priced at $149,900.
I've got to stop watching that show.
Ever the novice wedding planner, I was not aware that family who comes in for the wedding and stays over night is invited to the rehearsal dinner. Numbness in my left arm aside, I realize this boosts our small rehearsal dinner of 33 to a potential 50 (luckily, that number includes children). Either way, it's still a lot of people (no drama).
I'm not throwing the baby out with the bathwater, but I'm not sure I can handle cooking enough for that many folks. New plan? .... ... ... .... Nothing concrete is coming to mind, yet. I have wedding planner's block. Instead of thinking about that tomorrow, my usual plan of action, I'm delineating responsibility to The Mister.
I'm diverting my attention to other matters. No, not work, don't be silly. I'm thinking about homes. We've seen enough homes to crush the Wicked Witch of the West into a cube (not entirely unlike Jimmy Hoffa), but we still haven't found "the one" (given that we're both so indecisive, it's miraculous we agreed to marry one another...kidding ;D). We're like property virgins (watch HGTV for reference) gone wrong. We've got three top runners in mind.
House #1 is an adorable 2/2 in our ideal location. It's got an updated kitchen, large formal dining space, modern fixtures in the bathrooms, a large deck that overlooks a sprawling well-landscaped yard. But with only 1200 square feet, the asking price of $154,000 seems a bit high. Our main concern is if we'll be able to get any return on the property (or more importantly, not lose anything on it!).
House #2 is a charming 2/2 not far from our ideal location. It's got nice wood floors throughout and a spacious kitchen, which needs a little updating. A large add-on family room in the back has the extra bathroom. The add-on leads to a nice wood deck that overlooks a well-shaded back yard. With 1,300 square feet, it's slightly larger than house #1 and is priced at $139,000. This street though, will most likely get the most through traffic of all the homes.
House #3 is an attractive 3/1 in a nice area of midtown. A well-sized sitting room leads into the formal dining space and then into the lemon-yellow kitchen. Off the kitchen is a large laundry room, which leads outside. Adjacent to the laundry room is a small bedroom --an add-on that would make a great office space. The shot-gun style home grants access from the small back room into another bedroom. The bathroom is located between the master and original second bedroom. The backyard could profit from landscaping and the addition of a deck, but the home does have a garage, which is right up The Mister's alley. This home is 1,439 square feet, the most spacious of all three and is priced at $149,900.
I've got to stop watching that show.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Matrimonial Mayhem (Git 'er dun? Piece o' cake!)
Well, theknot.com (snob) doesn't think I've ticked a tremendous amount of 'to-do' off of my list, but I think I have. Today, I managed to contact a photographer who seems like a good bang for our buck (Houston, we have debt) and arrange a cake-meeting. (The Mister used approximately 54 exclamation points to express his delight over this new development.)
What's the first thing on everyone's mind when I call to make arrangments that makes me sound like brideious ineptious (Amy talk for: inept bride)? Where's the wedding? Where's the reception? Uh, Mobile?
Buzzer. Not the answer their looking for. Nooooo...they want a specific location for all of these things, so I ask The Mister to start looking it up. ... ... ... ... and he does! The Mister is valiantly phoning the Holy Men to see how much it will cost to unite us in marriage. (And here I thought all he was going to make an effort for was that cake meeting.) I've never been so impressed.
(Aside: The Mister loves cake. Possibly more than he loves me. I like cake, that is to say, I can devour a fourth of any decent sized cake in a day, paranoia about thigh mass not withstanding, but The Mister...The Mister loves cake so much, he'd throw a parade for it. Pause. I'm serious.)
So, my aside to the aside, where are we now? We have a cake appointment, and someone has been contacted to take all of our money and take beautiful pictures of him in a tux and me in a dress that I have yet to find in a church we have yet to book. After which time we will go on a honeymoon that I've penciled in meeting with AAA on Saturday to discuss. THERE. Progress, baby.
What's the first thing on everyone's mind when I call to make arrangments that makes me sound like brideious ineptious (Amy talk for: inept bride)? Where's the wedding? Where's the reception? Uh, Mobile?
Buzzer. Not the answer their looking for. Nooooo...they want a specific location for all of these things, so I ask The Mister to start looking it up. ... ... ... ... and he does! The Mister is valiantly phoning the Holy Men to see how much it will cost to unite us in marriage. (And here I thought all he was going to make an effort for was that cake meeting.) I've never been so impressed.
(Aside: The Mister loves cake. Possibly more than he loves me. I like cake, that is to say, I can devour a fourth of any decent sized cake in a day, paranoia about thigh mass not withstanding, but The Mister...The Mister loves cake so much, he'd throw a parade for it. Pause. I'm serious.)
So, my aside to the aside, where are we now? We have a cake appointment, and someone has been contacted to take all of our money and take beautiful pictures of him in a tux and me in a dress that I have yet to find in a church we have yet to book. After which time we will go on a honeymoon that I've penciled in meeting with AAA on Saturday to discuss. THERE. Progress, baby.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
(No Drama)...Just a Hot Mess
*Note: I plan to start using "no drama" the same way that rapper, whoever it is, Lil' Delinquent or whatever his name is, started doing with "no homo." For those of you who don't know --I just found this out about two weeks ago, when you say something that might be misinterpreted as a homosexual come-on, you tack 'no homo' on the end of it, and you're okay. Ex: "Dude, Molly's out of town. Wanna come stay at my place tonight (no homo)?" I think it's pretty gay, ironically. So, anyway, I've decided to start following all of my "Oh, my gah, you won't believe..." or "you would not buh-leeve what happened" announcements with 'no drama.' Because, I'm not dramatic. I'm just a hot mess. Literally. Read on to understand why. Thank you.
Real Blog beginning...
To tie this in to the whole theme of getting married, people must be compatible. The Mister doesn't like drama. There. Theme tied.
Lucky for him, I don't like drama either (well, unless it's someone else's drama that I can watch peripherally from the sidelines (Facebook) whilst eating popcorn and making off-handed comments to other spectators), so I try to keep it out of my life, but you know what stuff happens to me!
Those of you who know me know I have a bit of a history with losing the sideview mirror off my Scion. In 2008 in a span of three months, I wiped out my right sideview mirror twice and left mirror once. Okay, it was two months. By the time the third mirror on the car was replaced, the repair guys were taking bets on when I'd be back. Charming.
Well, through no fault of my own (for the first time ever), my car is in need of repair again. A close friend's husband accidently swiped it in their driveway, which, ironically, broke the side view mirror on the left side.
See? Not dramatic, just...well, kind of messy, but funny. That's what makes the difference. Friends get mad when you laugh at their 'drama.' But, messes are funny.
The same week (specifically Tuesday, which was two days ago), I decided to make fajitas for dinner complete with salsa. Those of you who don't know me, I hate hot food. My mouth has no comprehension of flavor for things like jalapenos...just painful burning. But, it was for the salsa. I was too busy crying over the untimely death of Michael Jackson (I was watching This Is It while I cooked dinner) to realize that I hadn't properly washed my hands after dicing the jalapenos.
That night, I took my contacts out. The next morning I put my contacts in. My eyeballs metaphorically burst into Mexican flames. Holy. Hot. Tamales. Clearly, the jalapeno juice that lingered on my fingers got on my contacts when I took them out. I rinsed. Tried a new pair. Nuh-uh. My left eyeball wasn't having it. I ended up wearing glasses. As my glasses fogged up when I walked out of the apartment I realized, I'm a mess. A hot mess. Because I burned myself with food. What kind of idiot does that? At least I didn't fall down the stairs.
So, how is that not drama? Well, first, I didn't text my friends with the preface, "You would not believe what happened," and then painted a picture that wasn't meant to be funny. (Okay, not gonna lie...I did totally love The Mister's sympathy, but I'm pretty sure he was giggling on the inside when I texted him and told them that I burned my eyes through means of my own stupidity.)
I'm extremely lucky that The Mister is okay with natural disasters. Based on this blog, hopefully you all can see the irony of me saying that I'm going to have a low-maintenance, stress-free wedding. Have I mentioned I plan to cook the rehearsal dinner and the stuff for the reception (not the cake...that's far too important). Yeah, that's right. I plan to take this ball into my own hands and spin it (no drama).
Real Blog beginning...
To tie this in to the whole theme of getting married, people must be compatible. The Mister doesn't like drama. There. Theme tied.
Lucky for him, I don't like drama either (well, unless it's someone else's drama that I can watch peripherally from the sidelines (Facebook) whilst eating popcorn and making off-handed comments to other spectators), so I try to keep it out of my life, but you know what stuff happens to me!
Those of you who know me know I have a bit of a history with losing the sideview mirror off my Scion. In 2008 in a span of three months, I wiped out my right sideview mirror twice and left mirror once. Okay, it was two months. By the time the third mirror on the car was replaced, the repair guys were taking bets on when I'd be back. Charming.
Well, through no fault of my own (for the first time ever), my car is in need of repair again. A close friend's husband accidently swiped it in their driveway, which, ironically, broke the side view mirror on the left side.
See? Not dramatic, just...well, kind of messy, but funny. That's what makes the difference. Friends get mad when you laugh at their 'drama.' But, messes are funny.
The same week (specifically Tuesday, which was two days ago), I decided to make fajitas for dinner complete with salsa. Those of you who don't know me, I hate hot food. My mouth has no comprehension of flavor for things like jalapenos...just painful burning. But, it was for the salsa. I was too busy crying over the untimely death of Michael Jackson (I was watching This Is It while I cooked dinner) to realize that I hadn't properly washed my hands after dicing the jalapenos.
That night, I took my contacts out. The next morning I put my contacts in. My eyeballs metaphorically burst into Mexican flames. Holy. Hot. Tamales. Clearly, the jalapeno juice that lingered on my fingers got on my contacts when I took them out. I rinsed. Tried a new pair. Nuh-uh. My left eyeball wasn't having it. I ended up wearing glasses. As my glasses fogged up when I walked out of the apartment I realized, I'm a mess. A hot mess. Because I burned myself with food. What kind of idiot does that? At least I didn't fall down the stairs.
So, how is that not drama? Well, first, I didn't text my friends with the preface, "You would not believe what happened," and then painted a picture that wasn't meant to be funny. (Okay, not gonna lie...I did totally love The Mister's sympathy, but I'm pretty sure he was giggling on the inside when I texted him and told them that I burned my eyes through means of my own stupidity.)
I'm extremely lucky that The Mister is okay with natural disasters. Based on this blog, hopefully you all can see the irony of me saying that I'm going to have a low-maintenance, stress-free wedding. Have I mentioned I plan to cook the rehearsal dinner and the stuff for the reception (not the cake...that's far too important). Yeah, that's right. I plan to take this ball into my own hands and spin it (no drama).
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Merging the Junk...a Marriage Tradition
Marriage is a beautiful and special thing that brings two loving souls together. Unfortunately, marriage is also something that brings the lifetime of crap acquired by two loving souls together.
Do you Mister, take me, my middle-school fanatic collection of Sailor Moon memorabilia, every doodle pad I've ever owned, my X-Men card collection, some Beanie Babies, those comic books from that job I had in college, 22 years worth of dance costumes, and all of the VHS tapes I plan to copy but never watch one day to have and to hold until death do us part?
Oh. Really? Yeah, I feel the same way about your car magazine collection that you've had --and insist on keeping, since 9th grade.
Just like the Mister (despite his good intentions) will never go back and re-read auto mags from circa 1999, I will never go back and watch episodes of Clarissa Explains It All or even cast a second glance at my stacks upon stacks of Sailor Moon card collections. It's just not going to happen. Does that mean I want to get rid of it? No.
Childhood junk is like the ultimate security blanket. If I'm going to hock my security blanket, I'd better be able to buy a Jeep with the profits. Unfortunately, my childhood junk is utterly worthless (but, it will make such a lovely addition to the attic, one day) to everyone else.
Here's why: everyone else already has it, no one's collecting what you have anymore, or the only people interested are a weird niche-market who are so hard-core about collecting that your lightly-used stuff isn't going to be worthy of their shrine.
For example, because everyone and their mother collected Beanie Babies in the mid 90s, it's hilarious to think that you'd get more than $1.00 for selling your entire collection (seriously, check E-bay. I did.) On E-bay, there are sellers with those things that say stuff like, "RARE Princess Diana Bear!", and they price it according to the collector's manual from 1996. Rare? Who are you kidding? I just saw that thing for .79 cents at Circle K. While I longingly wish I could recoup the $7 per beanie I spent in my youth, I console myself with the knowledge that I wasn't one of the lunatics who, in a deluded frenzy, squandered thousands of dollars on one tiny bean-filled doll nor is my collection of freakish proportions like my brother's.
So, why don't I just give them away? Because, I've held on to the stupid things for over 10 years now (oh dear Lord, I'm old). I'll probably have kids in the next 3-5 years, so, why not save these ridiculous things for my baby to drool on and my kitty cat to eat one day? My kids can play Farmville the LIVE version. Hah.
Now, the Sailor Moon stuff, according to E-bay, actually might be able to pull some swag, but naturally, I'm the most attached to my SM collection of stuff. And did someone say niche-market?
On the other hand, the random smattering of comic books I accrued might be worth something to someone. (What they're worth to me is apparently going to be $1.99 a pop.) Epic fail, Amy, epic fail....
The Mister's magazines? Surely we can build a shelf in the garage for them (he's most likely to read them if they're in sight).
Verdict? I'm going to at least try to hock the comics on E-bay. If I didn't run the risk of getting made fun of by comic book collectors, I'd throw the Beanie Babies in as a "bonus." (I recognize the irony of getting made fun of by comic book folks.)
So, at least until we have little tiny dependent people to care for, we take thee junk.
Do you Mister, take me, my middle-school fanatic collection of Sailor Moon memorabilia, every doodle pad I've ever owned, my X-Men card collection, some Beanie Babies, those comic books from that job I had in college, 22 years worth of dance costumes, and all of the VHS tapes I plan to copy but never watch one day to have and to hold until death do us part?
Oh. Really? Yeah, I feel the same way about your car magazine collection that you've had --and insist on keeping, since 9th grade.
Just like the Mister (despite his good intentions) will never go back and re-read auto mags from circa 1999, I will never go back and watch episodes of Clarissa Explains It All or even cast a second glance at my stacks upon stacks of Sailor Moon card collections. It's just not going to happen. Does that mean I want to get rid of it? No.
Childhood junk is like the ultimate security blanket. If I'm going to hock my security blanket, I'd better be able to buy a Jeep with the profits. Unfortunately, my childhood junk is utterly worthless (but, it will make such a lovely addition to the attic, one day) to everyone else.
Here's why: everyone else already has it, no one's collecting what you have anymore, or the only people interested are a weird niche-market who are so hard-core about collecting that your lightly-used stuff isn't going to be worthy of their shrine.
For example, because everyone and their mother collected Beanie Babies in the mid 90s, it's hilarious to think that you'd get more than $1.00 for selling your entire collection (seriously, check E-bay. I did.) On E-bay, there are sellers with those things that say stuff like, "RARE Princess Diana Bear!", and they price it according to the collector's manual from 1996. Rare? Who are you kidding? I just saw that thing for .79 cents at Circle K. While I longingly wish I could recoup the $7 per beanie I spent in my youth, I console myself with the knowledge that I wasn't one of the lunatics who, in a deluded frenzy, squandered thousands of dollars on one tiny bean-filled doll nor is my collection of freakish proportions like my brother's.
So, why don't I just give them away? Because, I've held on to the stupid things for over 10 years now (oh dear Lord, I'm old). I'll probably have kids in the next 3-5 years, so, why not save these ridiculous things for my baby to drool on and my kitty cat to eat one day? My kids can play Farmville the LIVE version. Hah.
Now, the Sailor Moon stuff, according to E-bay, actually might be able to pull some swag, but naturally, I'm the most attached to my SM collection of stuff. And did someone say niche-market?
On the other hand, the random smattering of comic books I accrued might be worth something to someone. (What they're worth to me is apparently going to be $1.99 a pop.) Epic fail, Amy, epic fail....
The Mister's magazines? Surely we can build a shelf in the garage for them (he's most likely to read them if they're in sight).
Verdict? I'm going to at least try to hock the comics on E-bay. If I didn't run the risk of getting made fun of by comic book collectors, I'd throw the Beanie Babies in as a "bonus." (I recognize the irony of getting made fun of by comic book folks.)
So, at least until we have little tiny dependent people to care for, we take thee junk.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Knot Has Me Fit to Be Tied
Well, ever since one of my bride's maids turned me onto the knot.com, I've been addicted. It's like a brand new Facebook but without other people or Farmville. The Knot's goal is to help me organize and to make sure I don't forget anything that is absolutely necessary (this ranges from magnetic save-the-date cards to the little napkins with our future initials 'SAD' printed on them in curvacious font).
The Knot tells me how long until the wedding (nine months and five days). Can I turn that off, please? That's a little TMI for one who has yet to act on one single decision pertaining to this wedding. And why is that? Because my dress has to match my friends' dresses in terms of style. I have to make sure I can get the right color in the dress for my friends, not to mention it has to be affordable.
Speaking of affordable, we're still price-checking for a church...The Mister is supposed to be on top of that. (Insert nervous pause here) The Knot feels we should spend a grand total of $130 on the ceremony location, fee, and accessories. The Knot is clearly more delusional than I am. On the other hand, the Knot allotted $2,425.00 of my $5,000 budget on food, booze, and other reception-related consumables. Clearly, the Knot likes to get down.
Also, the Knot feels $50.00 is an appropriate amount to spend on The Mister's wedding band. Sorry, Knot, the Mister and I are going to last, so I would like it if his jewelry symbolizing our committment didn't come out of a coin operated machine at the bowling alley.
The Knot has also budgeted a grand total of $600 for photographer, videographer, and additional prints/videos of the wedding. I know The Knot.com isn't from 1950, so why does it expect me budget like it's 1950? A guy I used to work with at the Vanguard at USA also does wedding photography. Naturally, my first thought was score. I was thinking $500 would be a reasonable price for some snazzy, arty shots of The Mister's and my big day. So, needless to say, I nearly choked on my hookah when my former co-worker/pal announced that the going rate for wedding snaps (no prints included) is $1,000. (Mentally kick self for never developing skill of becoming professional photographer...I could be scamming sooooo many brides right now.) (Not that it's a scam; I think that $1,000 a pretty standard price, but balls. That's a fifth of my wedding budget. It's pretty much all I have in my personal savings account to make a downpayment on house numero uno with The Mister.)
So, who do I listen to? Society? What if they're all over-paying for wedding photos? I mean, for a thousand bucks, I'd rather buy my own super-awesome Nikon and hire a college student who's in graphic design and photography for an additional $250 to take the photos with it (I get great pictures, and a nifty camera to take on my honeymoon). After all, The Mister and I are doing a home-cooked rehearsal dinner (no need to pull out the big guns for that), and as of right now, we're not doing engagement photos because (1) they cost money, and (2) I have no idea what they are for. Maybe the Knot is right. Let's hope so because a grand and no prints seems like an awful lot of swag.
ADVERTISEMENT
YAEC (Young Attractive Engaged Couple) actively seeks talented photographer who won't charge us a lot due to lack of experience and/or confidence. Prints preferred. Initial offer $300. Will pay $50 extra for prints.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit here and enjoy the rest of 1950. So, I says to Mayble, I says....
The Knot tells me how long until the wedding (nine months and five days). Can I turn that off, please? That's a little TMI for one who has yet to act on one single decision pertaining to this wedding. And why is that? Because my dress has to match my friends' dresses in terms of style. I have to make sure I can get the right color in the dress for my friends, not to mention it has to be affordable.
Speaking of affordable, we're still price-checking for a church...The Mister is supposed to be on top of that. (Insert nervous pause here) The Knot feels we should spend a grand total of $130 on the ceremony location, fee, and accessories. The Knot is clearly more delusional than I am. On the other hand, the Knot allotted $2,425.00 of my $5,000 budget on food, booze, and other reception-related consumables. Clearly, the Knot likes to get down.
Also, the Knot feels $50.00 is an appropriate amount to spend on The Mister's wedding band. Sorry, Knot, the Mister and I are going to last, so I would like it if his jewelry symbolizing our committment didn't come out of a coin operated machine at the bowling alley.
The Knot has also budgeted a grand total of $600 for photographer, videographer, and additional prints/videos of the wedding. I know The Knot.com isn't from 1950, so why does it expect me budget like it's 1950? A guy I used to work with at the Vanguard at USA also does wedding photography. Naturally, my first thought was score. I was thinking $500 would be a reasonable price for some snazzy, arty shots of The Mister's and my big day. So, needless to say, I nearly choked on my hookah when my former co-worker/pal announced that the going rate for wedding snaps (no prints included) is $1,000. (Mentally kick self for never developing skill of becoming professional photographer...I could be scamming sooooo many brides right now.) (Not that it's a scam; I think that $1,000 a pretty standard price, but balls. That's a fifth of my wedding budget. It's pretty much all I have in my personal savings account to make a downpayment on house numero uno with The Mister.)
So, who do I listen to? Society? What if they're all over-paying for wedding photos? I mean, for a thousand bucks, I'd rather buy my own super-awesome Nikon and hire a college student who's in graphic design and photography for an additional $250 to take the photos with it (I get great pictures, and a nifty camera to take on my honeymoon). After all, The Mister and I are doing a home-cooked rehearsal dinner (no need to pull out the big guns for that), and as of right now, we're not doing engagement photos because (1) they cost money, and (2) I have no idea what they are for. Maybe the Knot is right. Let's hope so because a grand and no prints seems like an awful lot of swag.
ADVERTISEMENT
YAEC (Young Attractive Engaged Couple) actively seeks talented photographer who won't charge us a lot due to lack of experience and/or confidence. Prints preferred. Initial offer $300. Will pay $50 extra for prints.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to sit here and enjoy the rest of 1950. So, I says to Mayble, I says....
Saturday, June 19, 2010
I Can't Wait to Be SAD (I AM Every Woman)
So, thanks to one of my (fabulous) bride's maids, I was introduced to the Knot.com. The knot...all things wedding. This website covers everything from budget to dress to color scheme to 'thank you for the ergonomic toaster'-card pattern. Yowza.
Once I finished my profile --and hyperventilating into a paper baggie, I was informed that my wedding (March 26, 2011) was 280 days away. Another trip to the bag later, I also learned that I had exactly 373 things left to do and specifically 61 items overdue. Considering we just met, this website knows me awfully well. Although, it's more critical than I would like. The Mister at least acts enthralled with my daily accomplishments/the fact that I've drafted something resembling a guest list. "Wow, baby, that's amazing; you're do so much." (I love it when he lies to my face.) Needless to say, I'm probably in over my head.
So, to get by, I'm channeling inspiration from my childhood...inspiration that shaped me as a person and gave me the same naive optimism that got me through dancing school.
I'm a product of my Ninja Turtles-loving youth (Raphael was my favorite), I genuinely believe the words of every song I listened to falling asleep at night. Since those songs consisted of The Bodyguard soundtrack for more years than anyone would like to remember, I truly believe I'm Every Woman, and it really is all in me. I can have it all, Jack, I can! This is my year. (You know when someone says that, it's automatically necessary they get a pie in the face.) In all seriousness and no more quotes from 30 Rock, I genuinely interpreted Whitney Houston's music to be about the notion that women could be family/career/stylish beauties all in one fell swoop rather than that song actually being about Whitney's personality disorder.
So, with only 280 days to go to SAD day (The Mister's and my combined initials), can I do it? Can I be every woman? Will the Knot.com help me get there or will it be my undoing? Is it ironic that my SAD day will be the happiest of my life? And what will happen to Whitney?
Once I finished my profile --and hyperventilating into a paper baggie, I was informed that my wedding (March 26, 2011) was 280 days away. Another trip to the bag later, I also learned that I had exactly 373 things left to do and specifically 61 items overdue. Considering we just met, this website knows me awfully well. Although, it's more critical than I would like. The Mister at least acts enthralled with my daily accomplishments/the fact that I've drafted something resembling a guest list. "Wow, baby, that's amazing; you're do so much." (I love it when he lies to my face.) Needless to say, I'm probably in over my head.
So, to get by, I'm channeling inspiration from my childhood...inspiration that shaped me as a person and gave me the same naive optimism that got me through dancing school.
I'm a product of my Ninja Turtles-loving youth (Raphael was my favorite), I genuinely believe the words of every song I listened to falling asleep at night. Since those songs consisted of The Bodyguard soundtrack for more years than anyone would like to remember, I truly believe I'm Every Woman, and it really is all in me. I can have it all, Jack, I can! This is my year. (You know when someone says that, it's automatically necessary they get a pie in the face.) In all seriousness and no more quotes from 30 Rock, I genuinely interpreted Whitney Houston's music to be about the notion that women could be family/career/stylish beauties all in one fell swoop rather than that song actually being about Whitney's personality disorder.
So, with only 280 days to go to SAD day (The Mister's and my combined initials), can I do it? Can I be every woman? Will the Knot.com help me get there or will it be my undoing? Is it ironic that my SAD day will be the happiest of my life? And what will happen to Whitney?
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Not Just a One Trick Pony ... the plot thickens.
So, in addition to planning my first and only wedding, I'm also shopping for my first house. I'm thinking of starting a betting pool with myself to see what will be harder to find --the house or the dress. It's a tough bet to make, and I'm the one making all of the decisions. It's like in Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman's Good Omens where life as we know it is compared to a card game played in the dark with faceless cards and the a dealer is the only one who knows the rules and "grins all of the time." The only difference is that even though I'm the dealer, I'm still in the dark. And I'm definitely not grinning.
What makes buying the dress hard
It's my freaking wedding dress. I only get one shot at this thing...like that lucky fan seating in section AA row 14 seat 4 who gets the once-in-a-lifetime chance to throw the football through the mascot's mouth. What happens? Will I make it? Who knows...especially since I plan to punt.
What makes buying the house hard
Well, I'm not the only one making that fun decision. It's me and my financeme who will henceforth be referred to as "The Mister." The Mister and I have decided on the following:
1-location and resale (which I preached from the hilltops until the message sunk in...we're thinking of getting matching tattoos that say 'resale, baby, resale.')
2-Kitchen and garage, our respective hidey holes
3-safety/potential to become unsafe. The Mister and I were mugged last September. Despite being lawful gun-toting/owning citizens, I'd really rather not have to kill some half-witted intruder in my first home (honestly, it would spoil the memories!)
Recently The Mister and I were approved for a higher-than-originally thought home loan amount. I smiled for approximately seven hours straight.
So, now we're expanding our options and looking at spending more money (the American Dream live on, Baby) on our first house. Oh, did I forget to mention that we have to consider what if we have a baby in our house as something to think about? Yeah, that's on the menu, too. If we had a little drooler, where would we put him/her? (Come on, twins!)
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that we have all of our priorities in a basket, so what am I whining about, why can't we find a house? Right? Well, here's the diddy. We're torn between Midtown Mobile and West Mobile, MiMo and WeMo, respectively.
As with anything, there are pros and cons to each...MiMo is lousy with charm, old houses, oak trees, and fun, young married 20 something couples for miles. On the other hand, the houses are older and have less insulation or stability (quick, call Orkin), the streets are arranged --classy, ghetto, classy, ghetto, and the homes are smaller than in WeMo. On the other hand,
WeMo is well, it's West Mobile...it's where people move to die, I mean raise a family. The highlight is Super Target, oh and that Chilis I mentioned earlier. Are you following me? On the other hand, the homes are made of brick, they're much larger, and I could finally play out my fantasy to live like Desperate Housewives but with out the whoring and the occasional murder.
On the plus, The Mister and I do agree on the homes that we've seen (all 50 of them). We can both say with confidence that the number one thing not selling a lot of nice houses is that people do their own contracting work. The Mister calls these homes Willy Wonka Houses because there is usually a tiny stair case leading to a poorly carpeted "upstairs" (former attic) with 12 closets, two or three rooms, and massively un-even walls.
So, tough decisions to make. On the plus, I have until March to find a dress (although, waiting that long might result in stress, and I have three months to find a home). (Hello, Mom?)
Hmmm...well, at least we know what's at stake: my sanity. I bet I can get a house in the nick of time and a dress before November. Any takers?
What makes buying the dress hard
It's my freaking wedding dress. I only get one shot at this thing...like that lucky fan seating in section AA row 14 seat 4 who gets the once-in-a-lifetime chance to throw the football through the mascot's mouth. What happens? Will I make it? Who knows...especially since I plan to punt.
What makes buying the house hard
Well, I'm not the only one making that fun decision. It's me and my financeme who will henceforth be referred to as "The Mister." The Mister and I have decided on the following:
1-location and resale (which I preached from the hilltops until the message sunk in...we're thinking of getting matching tattoos that say 'resale, baby, resale.')
2-Kitchen and garage, our respective hidey holes
3-safety/potential to become unsafe. The Mister and I were mugged last September. Despite being lawful gun-toting/owning citizens, I'd really rather not have to kill some half-witted intruder in my first home (honestly, it would spoil the memories!)
Recently The Mister and I were approved for a higher-than-originally thought home loan amount. I smiled for approximately seven hours straight.
So, now we're expanding our options and looking at spending more money (the American Dream live on, Baby) on our first house. Oh, did I forget to mention that we have to consider what if we have a baby in our house as something to think about? Yeah, that's on the menu, too. If we had a little drooler, where would we put him/her? (Come on, twins!)
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that we have all of our priorities in a basket, so what am I whining about, why can't we find a house? Right? Well, here's the diddy. We're torn between Midtown Mobile and West Mobile, MiMo and WeMo, respectively.
As with anything, there are pros and cons to each...MiMo is lousy with charm, old houses, oak trees, and fun, young married 20 something couples for miles. On the other hand, the houses are older and have less insulation or stability (quick, call Orkin), the streets are arranged --classy, ghetto, classy, ghetto, and the homes are smaller than in WeMo. On the other hand,
WeMo is well, it's West Mobile...it's where people move to die, I mean raise a family. The highlight is Super Target, oh and that Chilis I mentioned earlier. Are you following me? On the other hand, the homes are made of brick, they're much larger, and I could finally play out my fantasy to live like Desperate Housewives but with out the whoring and the occasional murder.
On the plus, The Mister and I do agree on the homes that we've seen (all 50 of them). We can both say with confidence that the number one thing not selling a lot of nice houses is that people do their own contracting work. The Mister calls these homes Willy Wonka Houses because there is usually a tiny stair case leading to a poorly carpeted "upstairs" (former attic) with 12 closets, two or three rooms, and massively un-even walls.
So, tough decisions to make. On the plus, I have until March to find a dress (although, waiting that long might result in stress, and I have three months to find a home). (Hello, Mom?)
Hmmm...well, at least we know what's at stake: my sanity. I bet I can get a house in the nick of time and a dress before November. Any takers?
Good Intentions Gone Wrong...it was all yellow.
"No, no, I'm serious. I want to pick something you can wear over and over again," I said to my friend with the utmost sincerity.
Having been in more weddings than I'd like to attend in my life, my friend smiled with her warm, brown eyes and said, "Thank you." She then proceeded to tell me about the overpriced heavy-satin numbers that she's purchased for countless weddings that --despite the bride's good intentions, she would never wear again.
All of the sudden I started to worry. Had I promised to much? Was my promise, the promise to deliver a bride's maid dress that was rewearable (and not just on Halloween), the bridal equivalent of pole-vaulting over Mt. Everest? Had I just done a no-no?
I would really like to have a color for my wedding, specifically a soft, buttery yellow that would be appropriate for an early spring hitching. Would my friends look good in yellow? (Pause) Yes, they would all look attractive dressed as underripe bananas.
Dilemma number two was, how could I rationalize a yellow semi-formal into being rewearable. On Earth. On a random Tuesday. A semi-formal brunch? A nice spring dinner? A Sunday visit to the botanical gardens...as a first date. You know, whatever, people can figure out their own reasons for getting dressed in the mornings.
My other promise was to keep the dress reasonably priced. If my own dress was going to be in the ball-park of $100, then it would be utterly selfish for me to have my fabulous friends spend more than that for their respective frocks.
My third promise was to have different styles of dress so each girl could flatter her figure. That promise may end up being a lie because I don't want to have five different shades of almost-matching yellow. (I could be the most untraditional bride ever and just have them all wear white, too, but I'm fairly certain there's some kind of Mafia to stop that sort of lunacy.)
So, how do I keep my promises...rewearable dresses all for under/~$100 that flatter each girls' individual figure? Hmmm....
Hmm...
Hmm...
You know, I can't think about that right now, or I'll go crazy. I'll just think about that tomorrow.
Stressful situation = averted. For now.
Having been in more weddings than I'd like to attend in my life, my friend smiled with her warm, brown eyes and said, "Thank you." She then proceeded to tell me about the overpriced heavy-satin numbers that she's purchased for countless weddings that --despite the bride's good intentions, she would never wear again.
All of the sudden I started to worry. Had I promised to much? Was my promise, the promise to deliver a bride's maid dress that was rewearable (and not just on Halloween), the bridal equivalent of pole-vaulting over Mt. Everest? Had I just done a no-no?
I would really like to have a color for my wedding, specifically a soft, buttery yellow that would be appropriate for an early spring hitching. Would my friends look good in yellow? (Pause) Yes, they would all look attractive dressed as underripe bananas.
Dilemma number two was, how could I rationalize a yellow semi-formal into being rewearable. On Earth. On a random Tuesday. A semi-formal brunch? A nice spring dinner? A Sunday visit to the botanical gardens...as a first date. You know, whatever, people can figure out their own reasons for getting dressed in the mornings.
My other promise was to keep the dress reasonably priced. If my own dress was going to be in the ball-park of $100, then it would be utterly selfish for me to have my fabulous friends spend more than that for their respective frocks.
My third promise was to have different styles of dress so each girl could flatter her figure. That promise may end up being a lie because I don't want to have five different shades of almost-matching yellow. (I could be the most untraditional bride ever and just have them all wear white, too, but I'm fairly certain there's some kind of Mafia to stop that sort of lunacy.)
So, how do I keep my promises...rewearable dresses all for under/~$100 that flatter each girls' individual figure? Hmmm....
Hmm...
Hmm...
You know, I can't think about that right now, or I'll go crazy. I'll just think about that tomorrow.
Stressful situation = averted. For now.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
All right, a quick note, because I'm kind of irked that my desired site address is already snagged. Moving on...
My bridal priorities are:
Honeymoon
Cake
Dress
...in that order. Sure, the photography, location, and groom are all matters of some significance, too, but let's face it...a bad cake can ruin (seriously, just spelled 'ruin' with two 'oo's'...committing grammatical suicide as we speak) a fabulous wedding.
During a recent boring air flight layover, I tasked myself with making a list of guests (my fiance has a HUGE family, so our "small wedding" will have over 100 guests), expenses, and who's who among the wedding party.
As one who decided (possibly during a brief bout of personality disorder) that I would have a low-maintenance, stress-free wedding, I recognize that having a guest list that tops 100 could be a problem. Albeit, at least seven of those people are potential dates and 16 are children. This is good because children eat less and potential dates may never come into existence. God bless them, every one.
So, with the only affirmative decisions being that I'm going to cook the rehearsal dinner (three different kinds of gourmet lasagna with tiramisu for dessert) and that I'll print the wedding invitations myself (I know, Earth, decisions that will only result in a stress-induced, stroke/disaster), I began my quest for a wedding dress.
With the Internet being far too unwieldy and confusing (I wound up convinced I was looking at a bunch of anorexic, pseudo-virgin white cupcakes and gave up), I opted to shop around town.
Now, for those of you who don't know, Mobile, AL is relatively nice city. We have a Chilis, for example, which was featured on The Office when they presented the Dundee awards, so we're pretty high up there when it comes to having places to see and be seen.
Well, to cut a long story short, we have bridal shops, too (do they have another name?). So, today, during lunch, I rode over to one that had a 10-50% off sign. Super. So, I walk in. There's a woman sitting at a desk who I'll call Mathalda. Mathalda didn't give a rat's ass who I was. I went in bracing myself for the inevitable overly pushy shop-keeper who wanted to immediately strip me naked, measure me, and put me in something made of sequined taffeta. Didn't happen. Was I relieved? You bet your silk shantung butt I was (note to self...Stairmaster).
So, with Mathalda dutifully ignoring my existence, I perused the store. For a bride who wants to find a dress in the $100 price range, I was out of my league with these $800 bejeweled numbers. I'm a painter...how many shades of white are there? (Spoiler alert: There can be well over 1,000 in only 150 square feet of space!)
As I'm shopping, a kind woman who I'll call Guiseppe asked why I was there. The words 'getting married' felt foreign coming out of my mouth, but in a higher-pitched voice that Lord knows wasn't my own said them. (Thanks, Valley-Girl self.) Luckily, before Guiseppe could hock her wares my way, a much more determined-bride-to-be walked in (armed with her (s)mother).
"We're looking for chantilly lace," announced the mousy-brown-haired bride du jour.
"Well," Guiseppe leads Mouse and her thin-lipped pocket-book to a selection of white frocks, "this one has lace on the bodice."
"No," insists Mouse, "It has to be all over lace."
I have no idea what chantilly lace is, and I'm glad. I always want to associate the word 'chantilly' with that hilarious dance club on Airport Blvd for the older people that I went to that one time. .... sorry, memories. Long story short, I realized in that moment, I have no desire to know who these wedding dress people are. Why?
Top reasons why I don't want to be a high maintenance bride:
1-It's one day out of my life. I can never wear my dress again except maybe to a Mardi Gras ball, but then I'll be that chick who everyone's like, "Oh my Lawd, is she wearing ah' wedding dress?" And believe me, they will...Southerners talk. Behind their hands, no less.
2-Based on the weddings I went to, people will remember the following: (a) how short the wedding was --the shorter, the better, (b) how good the cake was, and (c) how much fun they had dancing.
3-The less money spent on a wedding (is that a knot behind my ear...huh), the more money left to spend on a honeymoon. Sorry, Guests and Family, but the idea of the trip is definitely the part I'm having a Pavlovian reaction to.
So, all that said, I'm going to be a low-maintenance, stress free, piece of cake kind of bride on a budget.
Here's the goal of this whole shebang (1) to spend as little money as possible, we'll say, $5,000...that's for the dress, the shoes, the invites, the cake, the food, his ring, the tux, and all that hot jazz. So, are you with me people, $5,000. Boom. For no good reason at all (magic number of the day), I'm announcing that as my max budget...that's with family help and no help. The only thing it doesn't count is the honeymoon. (2) I can't have a heart attack or the game is over...no stress. Yeah, no money, no problems. ...right?
My bridal priorities are:
Honeymoon
Cake
Dress
...in that order. Sure, the photography, location, and groom are all matters of some significance, too, but let's face it...a bad cake can ruin (seriously, just spelled 'ruin' with two 'oo's'...committing grammatical suicide as we speak) a fabulous wedding.
During a recent boring air flight layover, I tasked myself with making a list of guests (my fiance has a HUGE family, so our "small wedding" will have over 100 guests), expenses, and who's who among the wedding party.
As one who decided (possibly during a brief bout of personality disorder) that I would have a low-maintenance, stress-free wedding, I recognize that having a guest list that tops 100 could be a problem. Albeit, at least seven of those people are potential dates and 16 are children. This is good because children eat less and potential dates may never come into existence. God bless them, every one.
So, with the only affirmative decisions being that I'm going to cook the rehearsal dinner (three different kinds of gourmet lasagna with tiramisu for dessert) and that I'll print the wedding invitations myself (I know, Earth, decisions that will only result in a stress-induced, stroke/disaster), I began my quest for a wedding dress.
With the Internet being far too unwieldy and confusing (I wound up convinced I was looking at a bunch of anorexic, pseudo-virgin white cupcakes and gave up), I opted to shop around town.
Now, for those of you who don't know, Mobile, AL is relatively nice city. We have a Chilis, for example, which was featured on The Office when they presented the Dundee awards, so we're pretty high up there when it comes to having places to see and be seen.
Well, to cut a long story short, we have bridal shops, too (do they have another name?). So, today, during lunch, I rode over to one that had a 10-50% off sign. Super. So, I walk in. There's a woman sitting at a desk who I'll call Mathalda. Mathalda didn't give a rat's ass who I was. I went in bracing myself for the inevitable overly pushy shop-keeper who wanted to immediately strip me naked, measure me, and put me in something made of sequined taffeta. Didn't happen. Was I relieved? You bet your silk shantung butt I was (note to self...Stairmaster).
So, with Mathalda dutifully ignoring my existence, I perused the store. For a bride who wants to find a dress in the $100 price range, I was out of my league with these $800 bejeweled numbers. I'm a painter...how many shades of white are there? (Spoiler alert: There can be well over 1,000 in only 150 square feet of space!)
As I'm shopping, a kind woman who I'll call Guiseppe asked why I was there. The words 'getting married' felt foreign coming out of my mouth, but in a higher-pitched voice that Lord knows wasn't my own said them. (Thanks, Valley-Girl self.) Luckily, before Guiseppe could hock her wares my way, a much more determined-bride-to-be walked in (armed with her (s)mother).
"We're looking for chantilly lace," announced the mousy-brown-haired bride du jour.
"Well," Guiseppe leads Mouse and her thin-lipped pocket-book to a selection of white frocks, "this one has lace on the bodice."
"No," insists Mouse, "It has to be all over lace."
I have no idea what chantilly lace is, and I'm glad. I always want to associate the word 'chantilly' with that hilarious dance club on Airport Blvd for the older people that I went to that one time. .... sorry, memories. Long story short, I realized in that moment, I have no desire to know who these wedding dress people are. Why?
Top reasons why I don't want to be a high maintenance bride:
1-It's one day out of my life. I can never wear my dress again except maybe to a Mardi Gras ball, but then I'll be that chick who everyone's like, "Oh my Lawd, is she wearing ah' wedding dress?" And believe me, they will...Southerners talk. Behind their hands, no less.
2-Based on the weddings I went to, people will remember the following: (a) how short the wedding was --the shorter, the better, (b) how good the cake was, and (c) how much fun they had dancing.
3-The less money spent on a wedding (is that a knot behind my ear...huh), the more money left to spend on a honeymoon. Sorry, Guests and Family, but the idea of the trip is definitely the part I'm having a Pavlovian reaction to.
So, all that said, I'm going to be a low-maintenance, stress free, piece of cake kind of bride on a budget.
Here's the goal of this whole shebang (1) to spend as little money as possible, we'll say, $5,000...that's for the dress, the shoes, the invites, the cake, the food, his ring, the tux, and all that hot jazz. So, are you with me people, $5,000. Boom. For no good reason at all (magic number of the day), I'm announcing that as my max budget...that's with family help and no help. The only thing it doesn't count is the honeymoon. (2) I can't have a heart attack or the game is over...no stress. Yeah, no money, no problems. ...right?
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