I was at Sundance watching a film with the man I love’s brother, who is at school nearby. We talked a little about the wedding during dinner–he’s a groomsman–and the film we saw was, funnily enough, about a wedding as well. He leaned over to me during one scene featuring the bridal party in attractive, rather expensive grey tailoring, and said, Nice suits.
February, 2010
On what to wear to a wedding
So my ladies are worried. I told them that the man I love is probably wearing a tux and tie and his merry men are probably wearing black suits. And then they got concerned that the perfectly lovely dresses they were looking at weren’t formal enough. I said they were—and then I got worried about it. Maybe it was bad to have ladies in pretty dress with men in suits? Maybe they should be more formal?
On my new obsession
So I have a new fixation: dresses for my bridesmaids. Here’s what they will not be wearing: bridesmaid dresses. You know the ones: they are satin, possibly to the floor, and feel very much like a bad prom, just less fun. No thanks. Didn’t enjoy wearing them myself, certainly not going to make anyone spend $300 to look awful.
The funny thing is, we all got sort of confused by being off the grid on this one. At first I didn’t want to impose any bridesmaid dress guidelines because…I don’t know why. I wanted them to read my mind and get all Zen master about my color sense?
So in an effort to get clear on myself, I found myself trolling fashion sites and putting together a list of about 50+ links to dresses. It’s like crazy cakes in my head. I like fashion to begin with—and then I “have to” look at all those beautiful dresses. Once again, there may have to be an intervention.
On being affirmed by strangers
While buying a bridal magazine today, a woman asked me if I was getting married. I said I was, and got a stupid grin on my face. By the time I answered her questions, and she got to the, Oh so you’ll be a June bride, I was in an embarrassing daze of happiness. It is unbelievable how excited I am to marry this man—when even talking to a stranger about makes me so happy.
On the flowers outside
I have fought a long war with my mother over boundary issues. When I had my apartment in LA, sometime I’d come home and find different curtains on the windows. It took years to make my mother understand that this was not cool: my apartment, not her apartment. And here in my new space, I also struggled to make her understand that she wasn’t allowed to bring her gardener by to chop stuff in the front yard when she felt like it: if I wanted something trimmed, I would do it myself. So when I got in late Saturday night, I was surprised to see flowers in the previously empty flowerpots outside. The man I love’s mom explained that she hadn’t brought a gift, so she planted flowers in my flowerpots. I thanked her, and I’m just going to let it go.
On his mother’s unexpected visit
We came up with a game plan: dinner with her and my mom Saturday when I got home, look at hotels on Sunday. But my plane got delayed and I was so exhausted from the trip, I knew I would never make dinner. So on Sunday we all had breakfast—and it was fun! And then we all looked at some hotels—and we agreed about them! And then it turns out his mom found this excellent hotel in the middle of Burbank that is priced like a motel and looks like a boutique! Done. And we’re scouting for rehearsal dinner locations in the next few weeks before she comes back. So I guess that went pretty well.
And then his mother called, part 2
I’m out of town on work-related business and the man I love calls. He’s freaked. He just heard from his mother and she is on the road driving down to LA for the weekend to book the wedding hotel and rehearsal dinner. !! I don’t usually break out the abbreviations, but WTF!! First of all, you call and ask, you don’t just show up. Second of all, these are not entirely her decisions. And third of all, I’m not even Fing home!!!! WTF!
On only being called Mrs.
After this whole garter toss situation, I had a bit of a panic. If he is pro-ring pillow AND pro-garter toss, who knows that other “traditional” wedding stuff he thinks is important? Eeeeek! So I asked him, if we did get married, he doesn’t want me to change my name, does he? He does not. Wheww. I totally understand sharing the same last name, but right now I feel like I came in to the world with this one and I’m going out with it, too.
On the bouquet toss
Oh my. If you are a wedding guest like me, you have dreaded the bouquet toss. Being identified as single—singled out a single—is embarrassing and not pleasurable. Cute idea, but no. Perhaps if I had understood the whole bouquet=bridal luck, I would have gone for it more. Or if I had realized how much those poor bouquets cost and I had been able to trade it in for its weight in groceries, I definitely would have whole-heartedly dove for the thing. I love the final scene in Clueless where all the guys have money on whose girl gets the bouquet. They are so enthusiastic! They look like they are having fun! I have never had that kind of fun at the bouquet toss.
On the garter toss, part 5
As you know, my attempt to imagine a positive garter toss experience has been pretty much a fail. Until I saw this song suggestion: “You Can Leave Your Hat On.” I love “You Can Leave Your Hat On.” It is a ridiculous cliché—and I love it. Who doesn’t love this song? Is this a way to redeem the garter toss?
Alright. Here’s my attempt to re-imagine the garter toss. First of all, how about if the bride doesn’t just sit there? If it is all about the heat, why shouldn’t the bride do a little garter dance? ! Now I feel like I am asking myself to perform a striptease at my wedding; I am not doing this in front of the grandmothers. Maybe at the imaginary after-party? Still don’t want to imagine his friends –or brothers!!!—catching my garter. Lord.
Or how about this: Perhaps it’s a capture the flag situation. Make a dash for it! We’ll see if he can get that damn garter. Or maybe don’t even wear the garter! It’s all about the laugh? He can be fishing around for it, and I can pull it out of my cleavage. Ha ha. You tell me: is this any better? I think no.
Oh, the garter toss.