Wedding Tips for the Chill Bride

There are women out there who have no cherished dream weddings, who like the idea of the ceremony because of the food follows that after, but are averse to the work that goes into the whole event. I was one such. And, per Nature's Law of Compensation, I ended up with a meng who had a vision for his wedding. Humans with vision are wonderful because they are driven and do stuff. Long story short: I got to chill and have the wedding happen to me.

Even if you're lucky enough to be a Chill Bride, you still need to pitch in. Like marriage, wedding planning is a two-person effort.

Here's a list the things you should do, in recommended order. Note that this presumes a timeline of at least six months from the actual wedding date.

1) Draw up your own guest list.

And remember: this is your wedding, so feel free to skip right over the peeps you barely hang out with or talk to. If all you want at your special day is your parents, the family dog, and that woman you met on the train one day who shares your obsession with Rainbow Brite, go for it. Save a fortune on the reception!

Sub-tip: If you encounter plaintive questions about the lack of invitation and you're comfortable with lying, say "Oh, we're keeping it to family-only as much as possible," or some other variation. Does not work with actual family members.

2) Select a venue.

This is when you choose the wedding date based on availability at your desired location. Most places will also quote prices based on guest numbers, so do this after you've finalized your respective lists. Remember: quality trumps quantity, especially if you're footing the bill.

3) Choose your wedding party.

Your maid of honor and bridesmaid(s) will throw your bachelorette and will be crucial for step 4.

4) Buy your wedding gown.

This sucker will take months to be ready. After the purchase, the bridal shop will usually recommend a tailor, who needs at least two fittings to make sure you look perrrr-fect, daaaah-ling, as you walk down the aisle. And if she's good, she'll have a ton of other clients who are much more high-strung than you, so be patient. Finally, some tailors forbid the menfolk from entering their premises, so you need your lady friends with you for zippers and such.

5) Book the photographer.

Good wedding photographers get booked insanely fast. As an example, we cluelessly started our search in March for our May ceremony, and the person we talked to was already booked to 2014. Fortunately, she was free on our particular weekend, because, like that obscure Buddhist sect that teaches us not to seek enlightenment to find enlightenment, you will be prepared for your wedding by not being prepared. Such deep.

6) Get a DJ.

We got a friend to be our DJ. If going this route, make sure the event staff know he's a guest, not a vendor, because otherwise they will give him/her a hard time for drinking.

7) Choose seasonal flowers.

Seasonal = cheaper. Just, y'know, avoid colors and sizes reminiscent of Shub-Niggurath or some other Lovecraftian monstrosity.

8) Prep your family for pre-ceremony pictures.

Applies if some of your family members like to nap at every opportunity and need to be awoken because we're ready to take the pictures, the groom's entire family is here, where are your father and brother?

9) Profit!

Chill Bride, you have somehow hit the jackpot! Live it up! Your dress turns back into a pumpkin after midnight!

10) Send thank-you cards

This is the denouement. Give yourselves three months max to write thank-you notes to the gift-givers.

Once all this is done...

...it begins...

DUN-DUN-DUNNNNNN

Wedding!!!

I got myself a Mr. Fragrant Elephant last Saturday!

Preparations went smoothly. The rehearsal dinner saw my friends mingling, my family hiding in a corner, and one drunken speech. Everyone was on time for the ceremony rehearsal the next morning. My mom-in-law and sisters-in-law shuttled me to a salon for a relaxing massage before my mani-pedi. Afterwards, my maid of honor and two bridesmaids got me made up, got my hair did, and stuffed me in my dress in time for the pre-ceremony photographs on the beach, where only one tree attacked me.

The wedding itself was a nerd bonanza. The flower girl, having been rigorously trained for a month leading to the wedding, made it all the way to the front, lured by her mom's dragon hand puppet. I walked down the aisle to The Legend of Zelda theme, arranged for orchestra, of course. One cousin commented that she felt her hands involuntarily grasp for a controller when she heard the music.

Our officiant, Dave, started out with, "Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us together here today." Then he described the Fragrant Elephants' love story using Neil Gaiman's words. He quoted from Babylon 5. He chose a reading from Lord of the Rings. He talked about the Wheel of Time when we went to put on our rings.

Right before our kiss, he surprised us by reading again from The Princess Bride: "There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C. ... (before then couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy... But I know the Fragrant Elephants will leave them all behind."

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

Oh, and I inserted the word "ninja" into my wedding vows. Because that's how I roll.

A lot of people said that what they would remember most about the wedding was how much I laughed my ass off.

The reception went by quickly. I took to the center of the dance floor when "Asereje" by Las Ketchup came on, but ran away after. I lost, and recovered, an earring over the course of the evening. I couldn't walk two feet without people launching themselves at me, so I implemented a policy of hugging anyone within arm's length and then gliding away like a swan. The analogy works because like a swan's, my feet were kicking frantically under my voluminous dress.

We ended the night with a beach bonfire. It was perfect.

I discovered the next day that our florist had placed the boutonnières in an unmarked brown baggie, so neither set of parents got to wear theirs. The groomsmen had no flowers for their lapel. I was pissed, but calmed down by making everyone put them on anyway. At least we used 'em! We had to stop by the florist to return their basket, so Mr. Fragrant Elephant walked in and gave constructive criticism -- something along the lines of, "When people are getting ready for a wedding and it's a madhouse, it might be helpful to label things so we know what they are."

So, in conclusion: weddings are fun! Now invite me to yours.

Let me close with this poster...

Pictures courtesy of my cousin MiscellaneousJill.

...and this exchange between Mr. Fragrant Elephant and Fragrant Mother.

"What's the return policy for your daughter again?"

"You must return within twenty-four hours."

"NOOOOO!!!" 

Bride Power, Make Up!!!

Now that the danger appears to be over, we return to our regularly scheduled fluffy programming. Today's post: turning beast into bride!

Last weekend, Special K and I ventured into Sephora for my beauty appointment. Makeup Lady, or ML, was professional, knowledgeable, and had me looking like a magic fairy within the allotted forty-five minutes.

In between applying all forms of chemicals to my face, ML answered Special K's beauty interrogations. Special K loves makeup and trains herself via YouTube, but her homegrown knowledge proved no match for one of Sephora' s operatives. ML told her, in no uncertain terms: SPF is okay, liquid foundation is superior to powder, these are the brushes you must have, et cetera.

At the end of the session, everything that touched my face went into a little box, and we jaunted off to the cashier. We used Special K's Beauty Insider card for the Super Sikrot 15% discount. Our purchase entitled her to a VIB card. That's like being able to stay at the MGM Grand for free because you gamble so much.

Special K, conscientious grad student, tried to return some items so my credit card would stop screaming, but I assured her it was okay. After all, I'm going to win the lottery any day now. Yup... anyyy... dayyy...

We went back to my place and she replicated what ML did in thirty minutes. Truly, Special K is an artist. See, this is why I opted for a friend instead of a salon -- I trust Special K with my face, and she'll be around all evening for touchups! Whoop whoop!

We agreed that the price I paid for all my bridal makeup was worth it, because they would last me a long time. Before we went to Sephora, I only owned crappy eyeliner and mascara. This was my first major makeup purchase, and it's probably comparable to what a normal female human buys in a year. I had to look at it as a long term investment.

To look at least 12% prettier on my wedding day (one month away! eeeek!), I bought:

• Three shades of eye makeup
• Three brushes for eye makeup
• Concealer
• Brush for concealer
• Primer
• Foundation
• Brush for primer and foundation
• Rouge
• Lipstick
• Brush for lipstick
• Lip gloss

Total: $443.43

---

"You still wake up sometimes, don't you? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of your bank account."

"Yes."

(The Silence of the Funds, 2013)

Bachelorette

The crew: the Bride, Crispy, Special K, Vitamin E, Big J, and Shaffles. I earned the nickname "The Mean One" at one point.

The place: Foxwoods Resort Casino in Mashantucket, CT.

The reason: To celebrate my final days as a singleton.

We started out with two bottles of wine in the hotel room. Then we lined up for our resident makeup artist, Special K, who had brought an entire suitcase full of beauty products. Once prettification was complete for all, we headed for High Rollers, the fancy bowling alley. We had signed up for the Bachelorette VIP Package, which included appetizers, champagne, and a scorpion bowl the size of my head. Thus fortified, we bowled our little hearts out. After two bottles of champagne and healthy sips of the scorpion bowl, this is what I looked like:

"These balls are yellowwwwwww!"

Towards the middle of our two-hour session, I hit just the right level of drunk, and got strikes all the time. Then I lost my powers and everything became gutter balls. Weird.

And the night had just begun! We scurried off to the casino, where Shaffles and I each lost twenty bucks in two minutes at the slot machines. We debated going for some blackjack, but then wandered off to the Scorpion Bar.

Ah, the Scorpion Bar. The sticky dance floor, the athletic professional dancers, the sketchy men. We had a round of margarita shots and then switched to another scorpion bowl. Special K and Vitamin E kept going to the dance floor, and whenever I checked on them, they would follow me like ducklings for some reason. Ducklings doing a conga line, that is.

We partied hard, chatted with strangers, and eventually returned to our hotel room. I sailed past everyone and into the bathroom, smiling serenely. I locked the door behind me and barfed everything I drank. We all did our ablutions and passed out.

The next morning I wanted to die. I had a blinding headache, and when I chugged water, my stomach immediately hurled it back out. Shaffles kindly bought me a breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, which I picked at miserably before giving it to Special K, who had to feed her tapeworm, Fred. Then I barfed what little I ate.

I perked up a bit when we went to MGM Spa for massages. It was glorious. We had access to all spa facilities, so we spent some time in the hot tub after our much-needed whole-body rubs. We could have all the water, juice, fruits, and bath products we needed. I softened my stance against first world overconsumption. Being pampered feels good.

We all went for a quick lunch at Al Dente. This was when my friends realized they'd forgotten to get me a tiara. Vitamin E quickly went all arts and crafts on our paper place mats, and made me this headpiece:

I wore my tiara/horns with pride.

In any case, I had recovered from my hangover by then and was ready for Night Two: No More Drunkenness. The second evening was indeed different from the first, in that the dance floor was jam-packed, not sticky, and the douchebag levels went up by 2,000%. This is because we went to Shrine, which fancied itself a classy joint, but really wasn't. I mean, girls were taking pictures of themselves in the bathroom. WTF? Plus, later in the night, the bar charged five bucks for bottled water, because they stopped giving out tap water. WTF¹⁰⁰⁰⁰??? Our bartender had no idea what an Orgasm was (so sad), and when I asked her for something that tasted like a Buttery Nipple, she made me a Slippery Nipple...with Sambuca and Amaretto. Wrong! So wrong! It's supposed to be Sambuca and BAILEY'S!!!

The best (worst) part of the night came after we finally settled down at an awesome spot: in front of the fireplace out on the covered patio. Other people mingled at a distance, so we had a semi-private lounge, almost. That all changed when an admittedly good-looking Stepford Smiler plopped himself down right beside me on the bed-sized bench. He tried to engage me in conversation, but I could barely hear him, so I just stared at him blankly.

He changed tact. "I'm not here for you," he smiled, "I'm here for the heat. You can't hog the heat." I shrugged and gestured that the fireplace was for everyone. Meanwhile, Big J was trying to send mind signals to the bouncers to get rid of this guy. I was saved when Special K made me go to the bar with her to help carry back drinks.

Stepford Smiler sidled up to Big J. "Are you married?" he asked her. She nodded, but he didn't get the go-away hint. "I'm divorced and in a relationship," he overshared.

Big J tried to be nice. "How is she? Or he?" We had just watched the Amy Schumer show and there was talk of gays, so she was being open-minded. Also, he was dressed metro.

Stepford Smiler went on a rant about "How could you think I'm gay?" and blah blah blah. He looked around and asked, "Where's the mean one?" and then went on about how he wasn't a homo. The rest of our group arrived, squeezed onto the bench, and had our own conversations as he yammered on, still smiling breezily. Eventually, he wore himself out and left. We were all, "W. T. F."

I tried to go on the dance floor, but there were too many people, and I was creeped out by how some guys' eyes would brighten when they saw our group. I found out later that by that point, Special K had been subject to a surprise Frenching, and Vitamin E had had to smack the offending dude. They also told me that they went back to check out the Scorpion Bar (I was exhausted and went home before 2 AM, because I am old), where some guy went, "ASIANS!!!" when he saw them, and some other guy (maybe the same guy, IDK) said to Vitamin E, "Fellow black person! I feel we must dance!"

So yeah...that was our second night. I think we toasted to love over dinner, and to fwendship the night before. Huh. It was like the toasts came true or something, but not in ways we expected.

The comedy of the next morning was the buffet breakfast, when our very nice waitress kept printing out our check, only to find that another person from the group had joined and was getting buffet, so she had to print another check. She did this like three times. We left a big tip.

Then off we went into the glorious springtime sunshine, each with our own and our shared memories, and with one-liners from the comedy show to sustain us. I'd offer my favorites, but I'm feeling family-friendly today, so I leave you with this photo of a food item and an ergonomic appliance:

It's better not to ask.

I'm out. (drops mic)

Adventures in Brideland, Part II

Welcome back to the exciting, once-in-a-lifetime series, Adventures in Brideland! Here's Part I if you need a refresher. This latest installment discusses the finer details of wedding planning. I challenge you to count the puns in this post. Begin!

On Friday, I took the day off from shamelessly job hunting at work so Fiancé and I could drive down to beautiful Cape Cod. Our agenda: meet with the florist and the venue coordinator.

This would be our second face-to-face with the florist. At our initial meeting, we looked through magazines and wedding photos and I pointed out which flowers I liked. Then we talked on the phone, and she instructed me to Pinterest flower arrangements so we could finalize the details at our next meeting. I didn't want to create yet another online account, so I prepared a folder with magazine clippings and printouts of bouquets and arrangements that looked nice.

Naturally, I remembered about the folder as we sped down the highway.

"Can we go back?" I pleaded.

"It would take forty-five minutes," Fiancé replied, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "We would be way behind schedule."

Fortunately, I love the Cloud and I tell it all my secrets. I had saved several pictures on Google Drive. We used my phone to show our florist the flowers that I thought looked good, and I promised to mail her the hard copies when I got back home. She was very gracious about it. She talked about or showed us samples of what we would be getting on the day, based on what we told her at the initial meeting. She had it planned out: the bouquets, the boutonnières, the decorations, the centerpieces. Sweet. The whole thing took twenty minutes. I paid another percentage of the bill (the first installment, to reserve the florist, was 20%), and swore on my life that I would pay the rest upon delivery.

Then we pranced to the venue for our next appointment... and found it deserted, because we arrived too early. We wandered around and took in the exquisitely blue sky and bloody freezing winds. Eventually, our coordinator showed up. She was also gracious and met with us two hours ahead of schedule.

I should have brought water and a snack. I had no idea just how many points would be covered in our discussion. She wanted to know the number of people in the wedding party and what they would be doing. She grilled us on food choices. Would it be the Prix Fixe menu? How many entrees? Which ones? What about cocktail hour? Did we want a display? Did we prefer a couples table or a head table? Would we take the midnight bonfire option if it was available? Are we having a full bar? (OF COURSE.)

And so on and so forth, until we got to the cake. She promised to set up a tasting with the bakery that catered for them. We finished up the meeting, viewed the guest rooms and our suite, and fluttered to the bakery. We polished off a quick lunch and then braced ourselves for the Sugar Attack:

This is usually the point in the wedding planning when the groom perks up.

We chose a cake, frosting, and filling in short order. The baker boxed up the leftovers for us. Obviously, there were almost none left of our top choices.

Then we drove back home, pleased with our productive day, and hopped up on sucrose.

Thus did our latest adventure end.

In case you were curious, there was one actual pun and one trick pun. The real pun was "grilled" (get it? "She grilled us on our food choices"? hur hur hur) and the trick pun was "short order," because cakes are baked, not cooked.

Tune in next time, when I reveal the tawdry shenanigans of the bachelorette party! And by "tawdry" I mean "restrained, sophisticated, and tasteful." And by "shenanigans" I mean... well, shenanigans.

This post brought to you by my mom's quote of the day: "I can't even imagine going to the office when you have to leave! Be a tiger! Claw them!"

Adventures in Brideland, Part I

A successful bride needs awesome bridesmaids. Good thing I can pick 'em. With my two big sisters currently unable to cross the Pacific to be my slaves my pillars of womanity, C and K stepped in.

These two ladies share my deep and abiding love for food. We're friends for other reasons, obviously, but food is the main one, let's face it. And by that I mean that they have both fed me on numerous occasions, and I have liked it every single time. Such a bond cannot be broken! As a Leo born in the year of the dog under the moon of the Philippines, the way to my adoration is through my stomach.

But enough about me. This post is about my bridesmaids...helping me. Er, yes. Here's how they did it:

#1: They Helped Me Buy My Dress

C beckoned us to a place called Vows in Watertown. We went during a weekend, and the place swarmed with brides, their entourages, and camera crews. Turns out they're filming for reality TV! Possibly due to her glowing face, C got interviewed.

"Are you the bride?" they barked at her.

"No, I'm a bridesmaid," she replied demurely.

"What's the bride looking for?" they demanded.

"She doesn't know!" said the honest C. "But she has very opinionated bridesmaids!"

And thank goodness I do! C and K patrolled the rows of dresses and stuck pink cards labelled with my name onto the likely candidates. Then a Vows rep stepped in, grabbed said dresses, plucked a few to add to the pile, and trooped us into one of the dressing rooms. The rep unzipped dresses for me, zipped me up after I stepped into them, and guided me onto a pedestal so we can all do our synchronized, "Oooohhhh!" Then it was on to the next dress.

It ultimately became a choice between [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. Sorry, dear readers, Husband-elect reads this blog, too, so let us help him continue to believe that I will be dressed like Xena the Warrior Princess, which I totally am, honey, I'm glad you support all my decisions.

In conclusion: I ordered the dress after only one hour. It'll be here early next year in my size, for tailoring.

Wedding Dress Level: Cleared. Time Bonus: Unlocked.

#2: They Helped Me Fix My Face

My idea of makeup is a paper bag. By contrast, C and W know what the face needs.

They took me to Sephora while we were out shopping for their dresses. K led me to a brand of foundation that she liked. The rep came over and was immediately like, "No way are you using this for your wedding. For one thing, this has ethyl methacrylate copolymer because it has SPF. It also contains mica. Light will just bounce off your face. Your face will look paler than your body in photographs. You want this," and here she marched us to a tiny bottle that screamed "I cost ridiculous amounts of money!!!" and handed it to me with authority. Then she told us that we must--must!--schedule an appointment so a makeup expert can put on my wedding face while K observes.

Then she led us to another lady who assured me that so-and-so premoistened pads will make my face resemble a human's. Then the new lady pointed me to a night cream that will restore my oils as I rest after an exhausting day of non-remunerative blogging.

Bottom line: I bought three tiny items, and they totaled over a hundred bucks. It'll be worth it if I stop looking like the moon and all its craters. Now I need to schedule that appointment.

Makeup Level: Incomplete. Weeping Credit Card Trophy: Unlocked.

#3: They Got Their Dresses in Under an Hour

We couldn't find bridesmaids dresses at the mall, so we went to David's Bridal in Natick. It had even more dresses on display than Vows! But their dressing rooms are less private. But they have more mirrors!

I like pink, so the rep got an array of shades for us to look at. We immediately nixed the ones that were too purple or peach. C and K proceeded to try on dresses, and had decided by the end of our 45-minute appointment. They looked adorable in all the ones they tried on, so it is quite a feat! They'll get their dresses by early next year, too.

Bridesmaids Dress Level: Cleared. Time Bonus: Utterly Violated.

***

In case you mistakenly thought that life = breeze, let me inform you that there will always be that troglodyte who will ruin your day just by existing. Currently, FedEx holds that loathed position. Blame FedEx for your still-missing Save the Date card.

See, Wedding Paper Divas had FedEx ship the cards almost two weeks ago. The driver got confused because he didn't see my name on the door, even though he had the right street address. So he left without leaving a sticker. Same thing happened the next day--no note saying that FedEx stopped by.

Yesterday I wondered what the heck was taking so long, tracked the package status, and promptly blew a gasket. "Delivery exception -- could not locate recipient," the website trumpeted. Whoever does this route sure is unique, since this has never happened before. So I called FedEx, confirmed that they had the right address, identified the major streets near the house, and gave them my number. They assured me they would have it to me the next day.

Did the package arrive? Of course not. Same error message: "delivery exception." This is the third time FedEx has tried, and if I do not find a sticker when I go home today, why, I shall eat and drink more than is healthy for me to sublimate my rage! That'll teach FedEx!

AND!, as Miriam Defensor-Santiago would say with a vigorous finger-shake, it turns out Wedding Paper Divas specifically instructed FedEx not to hold the package in one of their facilities so I can pick it up after work! I'm sorry, was I supposed to be barefoot in the verdammt kitchen while my beautiful Save the Date Cards were being delivered to me? I wish!

Husband-elect nobly volunteered to stay at home tomorrow to wait for the package. This will save us a fortune in lawsuits because my flying kick would have greeted the FedEx man when he finally rings the thrice-damned doorbell.

Boogers.

***

The mild profanity above is brought to you by my mom, who objected to my swearing on this blog, notably when I cussed out AT&T Customer Service.

***

There you have it: the first installment of the exciting and once-in-a-lifetime series, Adventures in Brideland. Stay tuned for the next episode!

Groomzilla

A couple of weeks ago a friend forwarded this Bridezilla email article, and I read it, slack-jawed at the  bride's self-importance and horrible spelling. I had never seen a more beautiful thing. Fiancé insisted it must be fake, because how could this person possibly have friends?

But behind our laughter lurked the fact that I had no Vision. Apparently, every girl imagines her wedding day. Then your Vision becomes sharper when he puts a ring on it. You see everything laid out in exquisite detail: the flowers, the table settings, the chairs, the invitations, the weather, the exact number of birds allowed to fly past. At that point, you may or may not transform into Bridezilla, a creature so captured by its own Vision that it terrorizes everyone in sight. My sister, who got married last year, remained herself, which might have caused Fragrant Mother to morph into Mamazilla, she who wears a sour face during the wedding planning process. After all, someone has to be a -zilla, and mother nobly stepped up.

But, being a freak of nature, I was enamored with the idea of just popping into City Hall, chatting with a Justice of the Peace for 10 minutes, signing the forms, and skipping out for a fabulous honeymoon involving business class seats, luxurious suites, powder-like sand, and oceans bluer than the eyes of someone with big blue eyes. As a goal-oriented modern lady, I focused on the impending marriage, y'know, that lifelong partnership between two compatible people, rather than the wedding.

Fiancé resisted. You see, he had a Vision: himself and his bride on a beach, surrounded by family and friends. He would be barefoot. He would wear preppy clothes. As the process-oriented member of our team, he saw the wedding as a crucial step toward marriage. It would affirm our love and commitment to each other in front of the ones we love.

"I don't think we need to do that in front of other people," I said one day.

"Fine," he retorted. "But I hope you're prepared for the consequences of not having a wedding."

THE CONSEQUENCES OF NOT HAVING A WEDDING! Faced with this dark and ominous prospect, I submitted to my future groom's will.

Then we hit a snag. Even though he had the Vision, he expected me to want to plan the wedding, because tradition chains us to preconceived notions despite evidence to the contrary. The bride plans. The groom says yes to everything, perks up during the tastings, and shows up on the big day. Those ideas had embedded themselves into his mind. So for two months we would say, "So...wedding?" to each other, and then shrug.

Finally, one night his Vision spoke to him, and the next morning, he suggested we go check out this place downtown with spectacular views. I told my coworkers, all of whom immediately advised me which places we should also check out. Off we went!

During the tours, the sales managers looked to me for questions and answers, and I stared back blankly. Fiancé heroically grew into his role as planner. He asked all the questions -- what are the minimum fees, what about gratuity, will there be transportation from hotels, etc. All the managers we talked to proved wonderful with sharing all that, and more! They had lists of menus, flower shops, chair rental places, photographers, and every other small business involved in the shebang. (FYI -- go for Longwood Events if you're in the Boston area. They have multiple locations, all excellent.)

We're now reserving our chosen spot -- why yes, there's a beach -- and the manager asked for information, including this gem:

Main Contact for Planning Purposes First & Last Name (usually Bride):

"Not me!" said I. Fiancé named himself. And thus, the legend of Groomzilla is born.