Miss Manners Stood Up For Me!

You can find an awesome Bridezilla voodoo doll here.

Okay, this totally happened to me. In real life. Twice.

Woe Pt. I: You're So Not My Reader - I had this friend who I was really close to in high school. She was a year younger than me, so it was going to be hard to stay in touch. BUT, she ended up getting engaged to a boy who had lived down the street from me from age 2 to age 14. He was a great guy. She asked me to be the reader at her wedding, which was going to be two years after I graduated high school. We talked occasionally, and I saw her when I came home for holiday breaks. Eventually, she stopped calling/writing me (this was 1994-1995... no one really had email in my Podunk town. It's true! It's not just a story parents tell their kids to scare them!). Suddenly, it was like 2 months before the wedding and I got mono. And was so sick. And thought I was dying. I never heard from her again. Somehow, I got demoted from being a reader to not even receiving an invitation.

Woe Pt. II: Bridesmaid, Schmidesmaid - I had really hit it off with this girl I'd met at college. We were "twin sisters" in my sorority (it was a dark time in my life...) and were on the college flag/rifle team together. We were both dating drummers. It was like kismet!! One of my BFFs and I were supposed to be bridesmaids in her wedding. Well, she graduated a year early and was only sporadically in touch with us. We both left her messages asking her what we needed to do (especially after my previous experience), but to no avail. She just stopped calling. This time, I was sure it wasn't me! I mean really... Could it be me? I guess it was a beautiful wedding. I wouldn't know, because again, I was somehow left off the guest list. WTH?

Miss Manners? Right. Here's what led me to tell you my tale of woe...

Dear Miss Manners,
What's the politest way to kick someone out of your wedding party who has repeatedly not held up her end of the "deal'?

Gentle Reader,
What was the deal?

If it was that your friend must accept the honor of waiting on you hand and foot while surrendering control over her own time and money and wardrobe, it was an illegitimate deal. Those terms exist only in the minds of brides who have worked themselves into a state of self-inflation that has rendered them thoughtless toward their own closest friends. Miss Manners is not going to help you fire a friend for refusing to turn into an indentured servant.

However, if your bridesmaid has been telling you that you can do better than marrying the gentleman in question and that she hopes to make it to the wedding but can't promise, it is she who has broken the deal. In that case, you could say, "I don't think you realized what you were getting into when you kindly took this on, and I can see it's becoming a burden to you. You know how dear you are to me, and I'd be just as happy to have you at the wedding without your having to go through all the business of being a bridesmaid."

We didn't have a wedding/bridal party; so wow, this was informative. In fact, I think we've all learned something today. I just didn't realize that some brides thought being a bridesmaid is supposed to be all about being a doormat. When you're not, you're so cast-off, replaced, and forgotten. I thought I had had a couple unique experiences. If this happens to you, hopefully it will be before you invest in taffeta.

Wedding post .. Or, a jumbled mess

On Thursday, November 30th, I married the love of my life. It was a long time coming, longer than it should have been. Thank God it did come. Our parents were with us. Both The Targo and I come from married families. That's likely pretty rare for people our age. The Targo's brother and sister-in-law were there as well. (The tiniest of families.)

The Targo was waiting for me under the chuppah on the beach. The Caribbean Sea was right there.


I was barefooted; he was supposed to be. The civil ceremony was performed entirely in Spanish. I think I understood a word or two, but cried the whole time. I was thankful I didn't have to remember any words: I just had to say "I do."


It was 101 degrees that day. You couldn't tell, but for the sweatiness of The Targo's palms. I like to think they would have been sweating anyway. Truth be told, I don't remember much anyway.


Neither of us had cold feet or jitters. I think we both felt it was time. It was time to make a decision. It was time to firmly and formally commit to being a couple. It was time to complete each other.


As we said I do and signed the marriage license, the sun was setting and some clouds rolled in. It made pictures difficult, but helped with the heat. I do remember hearing some applause from the other people at the resort. For some reason, it completely charmed me.


After the ceremony, the Targo's 5 year old cousin ran up to me. He had caught one of the flowers that had escaped my bouquet. It was so cute and spontaneous. We then gathered together for champagne toasts of best wishes, congratulations and mazel tov. The reception was a quiet, family affair. We ate (too much), laughed, danced, and imbibed some more.


In the middle of dinner, those seemingly innocuous clouds opened up. The shower was brief, refreshing, and supposedly good luck.


I was hoping to have something poetic to say about this day, but I'm just not a poet. It was a beautiful ceremony with an amazing man and our parents. We're happy to have been able to share this with them!

Who Knew?

Sometimes, Montezuma takes his revenge after you've left Mexico.

Back with a splash... well, maybe a little bit of a tan

Mexico was WONDERFUL. It's amazing that I, the biggest weather whiner since my father, can say that considering it rained everyday and it was 101 degrees on my wedding day. Yes. One hundred one! Considering Chicago got a foot of snow that day, I should shut the hell up.

Once again, I'm having problems with photos. They'll be uploaded on a later date.

The Most Notable Things (before an actual report):

• The Targo and I cried our eyes out. We're total saps.
• The Targo called Cancun "Vegas meets Miami Beach." It monsooned the whole time (about 20 hours) we were there, so I called it "The Suck."
• Mayan ruins are cool.
• The poverty in Mayan villages is so not cool. Industrial nation poverty has nothing on developing nation poverty. HEART-WRENCHING.
• Cenotes are cold, but amazing.
• An ocean-view suite makes my molehole apartment even more dark and depressing... and molehole-ish... but it's still better than a Mayan village.

ONE WEEK and Happy Turkey Day

Omigod...OMIGOD...OMIGOD...OMFG!!!

Ok, I am starting to panic a little. The list of things to do seems to be growing. How is that possible? Or perhaps, the Targo and I have put everything off until the last minute. Yeah, that's pretty likely.

Well, my kick ass shoes still haven't come in. I don't have any jewelry. I don't have a clue about "something borrowed." And dammit... I'm just not ready to go!

All of that aside, I think Thanksgiving is positively the most BORING holiday, EVER. I'm all about the food. Yay, carbs! Yay, pie! But, honestly, there's nothing to do. We rolled out of bed around 8:00, watched/fell asleep to Tivo, gathered the kitties up and headed to the in-laws. Dinner was good and we watched "Thank You For Smoking." We'd rented it before, but I fell asleep in the middle. I wonder if it had anything to do with the presence of Katie Holmes still showing that Dawson's Creek acting prowess. (Aside: What the hell was up with that era of television? Did everyone go to the Party of Five acting school?) Damn fine movie, if you get a chance to see. Satire - how I heart thee.

Ack... That's about it from here. I have a list of 10,000 things to do tomorrow, including going to work for a few hours.

But, here's a Happy Thanksgiving wish from a cat - who is quite the turkey!

Is it all about the flowers?

I'll be the first to admit that I know nothing about flowers. I've asked my friend, Colleen, about a dozen times over the past month "what are those funeral flowers that keep popping up at weddings?" If it's not a rose, I probably couldn't pick it out of a line up. But, I do know what pleases my eye and my nose. Having said that, there are too many choice, omigod. At some point they all start to look alike. Despite that, I've picked our flowers (The Targo's even more flower-challenged than I am).

I like this bouquet. I told Amy that it reminds me of my hair (internet rolls eyes at YET ANOTHER mention of alleged "awesome" hair): Meaning it's all unkempt and could easily abscond innocent children and old ladies in its unkemptness.

I had no frickin' clue what to pick out for The Targo. He didn't really care anyway. I'm pretty sure I asked one of the cats to pick it out. I was so ambivalent about the selection that I can't remember which one it was.

Just so this entry isn't entirely snooze-worthy, I have a question: Does anyone have a clue what "exotic meat" might mean in Mexico? I'm really hoping it's chicken. Either way, I'm so not eating that empanada!

New Hair!

Ok ... It's likely going to look the same as it does now, which is the same as it's looked for the past four years. But whatever. I'm finally getting around to going to the salon for my pre-wedding trim and highlight. I told The Targo that I'm going to get it cut to my chin. He said "How about after the wedding." Then I went on an early morning diatribe about how I'm not going to get that middle-aged fat woman's haircut as soon as we get married. And I will not - repeat - WILL NOT wear sweats around. I'm not going to give up simply because I'm married. I did that in college! (Remember our "dress sweats" Nogs? Heh.)

I know it's stupid, but I've ridiculous hair vanity. When you're the plumpy sister who gets continuously (read, mercilessly) teased by naturally thin brothers, you find something - anything - you like about yourself. I've always liked my hair - and my smile, but that's from thousands of dollars in orthodontics!

I'm really just getting a trim and highlights. I do think, after the wedding of course, that I might go dark blonde so I don't have to fuck with my damned hair again. I mean, it's fun and all, but it's almost as expensive as a crack habit.

Picture to come ... after the wedding.

Two *(&*^@ Weeks

Oh holy hell... I'm not nervous, really. I just can't believe it's almost here. I have a ton of things to do too. Of course I do... It's a wedding!

The Targo and I finally got around to figuring out our reception site. We've actually put it off a month. It's going to be sometime in February now. I hope that means more people will be able to make it to Chicago. It sucks that we're so spread out from our friends. AMY - I MISS YOU!! But, yeah, hopefully it will be a rawkin' shindig.

I got my dress altered and bustled (whatever that means) and will be picking it up on Saturday... I wonder how much that will cost?

I decided to trust the stylist and make-up artists at the resort with my hair and all that. Also, dear Colleen is practicing her Spanish and promised to be outraged en Espanol if anything freaky is happening. I just need to get a haircut and a bit of highlights before we go.

I feel like a weird and ungrateful person because I haven't built this day up to be more than it is. In fact, I've been criticized because I'm "not taking this seriously enough" or "not excited enough." But to me - it's just one day. It's a beginning, yes, but not the defining moment of my relationship with the Targo. He gave his heart to me long before November 30th, 2006 and I did the same. I guess I cannot stop thinking of what it means for our future. Now, we can begin planning our "real lives" together. To me that's so different than our dating lives. We can talk and think about where we want to live, if/when we want to raise a family, how and where we want to grow old together. To me, that's so much more important than what my dress looks like, what color the flowers are, and if the reception food is good (and it better be!!). But, it's so not more important than how my hair looks. Not at all.

Six Years

Six years ago today, the Targo and I went on our first date. It was a full five days since he had broken up with his girlfriend of two years. I feel a little bad about that sometimes, but not as bad as if I had something to do with it - WHICH I DIDN'T!

Six years ago today, the Targo sat across from me, drinking some Pinot Grigio and said "Yes, I know how to cook and I love to dance!" I agreed with his enthusiastic response, as only a lying liar could.

Six years ago today, I started falling in love with a guy whose friendship was meaning more and more to me everyday.

Six years ago today, I made this wonderful young man watch Final Destination just hours before he flew to San Francisco.

It's been a long road, Targo. But, I believe fully in my heart that it has been and will be worth it.

Love you.

Three weeks...

OK, sorry to the two of you who read my blog that I haven't been posting lately. It's mostly to do with my damned laptop. I don't know what website I went to *shady look* but now I have horrible porno pop-ups bombarding me. Unfortunately, I've been too broke to update my spy sweeper. But, the Targo fixed it all! Bless him. :) Now I can be a ridiculous "incoherent, internal monologue, um, in type" person again. Yay!

Not much of a point here, but sweet Baby Jesus in the manger, it's only three weeks until THE BIG DAY. I'm excited, nervous, mad at myself (good lord, my butt!), and tired. My mom arrives in Chicago this afternoon. We're "dress" shopping for her. It will be nice to spend some time with her and hopefully calm her before the trip.

Am I a lame-o because I don't have 1) shoes, 2) jewelry, and 3) any clue about what I'm doing with my hair? Again with the patheticness: I am way more concerned about my hair turning green (only happened like 10 times - BEFORE I started coloring it!) while I'm in Mexico than my hair for the wedding. I did tell my friend Colleen that she has to figure out how to say "Her hair and make-up make her look like a hoochie!" en espanol. I can't think of a sentence that will come more in handy.

Anyway, three weeks... that means I could probably gain another five-ten pounds, if I really try.

Edit: Does anyone else find in ironic (in an Alanis Morisette way) that "blog" is not recognized by Blogger's spell check?

Falling into place

THANK GAWD! Ok, it's been months (MONTHS!) since I first contacted the wedding coordinator (to recap - The Targo and I are getting married in Mexico in November). She hasn't exactly been responsive. Because I'm not a spazzy person, I've been sending polite semi-weekly emails. "Hi! I'm still out here, waiting for a confirmation..." Finally I called Mexico (for the fourth time) and got our ceremony and reception time. DEAR LORD.

It's been a lot harder than I thought planning a destination wedding. But, the cost-savings will be worth it. Not to mention, while promising to love the Polish kid for the rest of my life, I'll be looking at this.

Dress Drama

I'm sure most people have a hard time finding their dresses. I'm sure I'm not alone - being a woman of substantial girth, yet small pocketbook - trying to find something that I'll feel comfortable in without sending me into years of debt.

I started out just looking around, both online and at stores, trying to find a style. My most interesting journey was into a downtown Chicago bridal salon. (What was I thinking?) I rode up the three floors in a painfully slow gilded elevator. When it opened, the decor was antique, sophisticated and undoubtedly expensive. I was greeted by a petite woman, who unfortunately resembled Skeletor. To my left were three size 00 models, sipping champagne. Harp music was coming from above. The previously slow-as-molasses elevator decided to be VERY fast at that moment. And claw as I might, I couldn't get back in. Skeletor came over to greet me and told me that her posh salon (I'm pretty sure she said it with a French accent) was available by appointment only, but I should feel free to look at their inventory. I smiled at the lovely women to my left and made my way to the dresses. They were elaborate, Barbie-fantasy-wedding gowns. The Targo is pretty close to Ken, but drat! that pocketbook of mine. Needless to say, the dresses were thousands of dollars out of my price range. I'm fairly certain I fainted from sticker-shock, but coolly (so coolly) regained my composure and continued to browse. What about the barrettes and headpieces? OMG! That does not say $500! I decided to make my escape and Skeletor cut me off at the elevator. Being fairly socially capable, I requested her card and told her thank you. She offered me some free goodies and sent me on my way.

A friend of mine and I decided to do some reconnaissance work before I went dress shopping with my mom and future MIL. I wanted to know what size I wore and what styles I liked. Fortunately, that was uneventful. Well, except I didn't realize how much work it was to get into those damned dresses and my poor buddy would have to see me in my skivvies.

In June, my mom, Targo's mom and I made appointments at two places. The first was a small salon recommended to me by a woman whose advice I should have NEVER taken. It was horrible. The assistant couldn't be less interested in assisting me. She told me to find styles, not sizes. So, I tried on five dresses that were either three sizes too small or a size too big. I had no idea what any of them would actually look like on me. My patience was exhausted and we left. We went to my last ditch effort (if this didn't work, I wasn't shopping for a while!). The woman assisting me was frank, but nice. She helped me pick out styles I liked but also suggested things that would look better. As I was about to give up, she brought me this gorgeous dress. It was a size too big, but close enough to get the idea. I think I saw my mom get misty - and she's so not like that.

I found my dress! Fortunately, it was both affordable and made me feel good. Sometimes, it just takes ridiculously surreal experiences to make you grateful for David's Bridal.