In a Rut

I feel like all I have been blogging about is the wedding and Christmas and drinking. It's really wearing on me, to the point that I'm starting to believe all the hype. I have an alcoholic Christmas wedding problem, or is it that I'm a Christmas alcoholic bride? In any case, the doctors say it's not serious, and that come February 4th, all the symptoms will go away. Strange, though, that the Christmas part will stick that long. Maybe I can get some ointment to clear that up by the end of the month.

Great, now I'm all self-conscious about what I'm writing. I'm not going to get it right. I gotta go ______(Sing Frosty the Snowman/do a seating arrangment/spike the eggnog).

Nightmare on Wedding Street


Last night I had my first dream about the wedding, and I got upstaged.

Since dreams can come off as boring, I'll try to make this quick. It was the weekend of the wedding, and apparently we had some big group activity planned, which was to attend a football game. After the game, there was a big announcement about a wedding that weekend. I immediately thought they were talking about mine, but up on the stage (I know there's no stage in football), these older women in incredibly ornate wedding dresses made entrance after entrance, and lined up, and sat on chairs and smiled. Turns out those were just the women attending the wedding. Then the bride came out, wearing a copper gown with a gorgeous ivory wrap, and she was truly queen of the moment.

I was sitting in the stands in jeans and a hoodie. No so beautiful, not so queen-like.

Well, at least the worst has already happened. Unless I dream up something more horrific, because let's face it, this wasn't even that bad.

Coincidentally...

I went back home to Colorado for my Thanksgiving adventures. Well, truthfully it wasn't at all very adventurous, but you might say there were moments of melodrama.

As many of you know, I am getting married in February. The planning is in full gear, meaning the invitations have been sent, the dress has been bought, and the florist has been contacted. The RSVP deadline is on Friday. But guess who's not coming -- my grandmother, who I've become very close to since my parents divorced several years ago. First, my dad told me she wasn't coming. Then my brother told me she wasn't coming. I still thought my powers of pursuasion would prevail, and that I could guilt her into coming, or somehow convince her that a trip to the mountains in the middle of winter is nothing but routine. But alas, my powers were too weak. She still said no.

My grandmother has not spoken to me face to face about her not coming, or even over the phone. Our main exchange was over email, because I knew I would never get two words in if I tried to talk over the phone, and supposedly she starts crying any time she thinks about it. It's very difficult to convey the entire situation (my grandma's fear of travelling anywhere, the usual old-person health issues, and her downright stubborness, for starters), but suffice it to say that I was expecting from her a heart-felt, possibly emotional, decline of invitation. It never came. It seemed she never intended to speak to me of the wedding.

Enter the bride, headed to Colorado for the Thanksgiving holiday. Bride had not spoken to grandmother in a month, still waiting for some word of regret. Nothing. Bride calls grandmother on Thanksgiving holiday. Grandmother makes no mention of wedding. Bride visits grandmother the day after Thanksgiving. As grandmother continues making no mention of wedding (she is sorting through her collection of newspaper clippings, trying to find something she had just quoted), over the radio plays the grand wedding march. The song everyone associates with the wedding. Bride opens her eyes wide, not believing what she is hearing. Grandmother pauses in her paper clipping search and says, "Well, listen to what they are playing," and hastily returns to her precious task.

I had never seen an 800-pound gorilla in the room. It's more terrible than seeing one at the zoo. I wondered if it was a sign? No, I decided, not for me. For her. And she didn't take it.

If there are psychologists who study the workings of the elderly brain, I completely admire them, yet wonder how they get anywhere. I just don't get it. I can't understand my grandmother's reasons. I'm sure she has many. I'm trying to accept that, but I think it's going to take me a long time.

Confessions of a Bachelorette part five

It's a sad day in bachelorette-dom. Invitees are dropping of the list like flies. I don't think I came on too strong, so hopefully these girls have something better to do than spend a refined, intellectual night out with a young lady who is about to lose her freedom to household chores and marital spats. Don't feel guilty.

The fun will go on! It's easier to keep track of a smaller group of women anyway. Perhaps the girl who was going to make out with a different guy at every bar has just declined her chance to smooch the night away. Perhaps the girls who are going out of town will miss out on the most incredible night imaginable. We'll never know.

Or will we? After the big night, look for a detailed account of the bachelorette events, complete with pictures and embarassing tales. Then we'll know. But really, don't feel bad. More shots for me.

Confession #5
I felt a little rejected at first, but I'm still determined to have a good time!

Confessions of a Bachelorette part four

What to wear?
Something that screams "I'm taken!" or "Take me now!"


The costume option. I don't have many costumes at home, but the ones I do have are cheerleader, Marilyn Monroe, and boxer. Hmmm, Halloween is just too close.











This is a fine example of the "I'm not interested" look. I could wear my glasses for the ultimate studious nerd signal, some frumpy shirt buttoned all the way up to the top removing any hope of a sneak peek, and to top it all off--running shoes.



And finally, the underwear and hair look.












Cast your votes. I'll wear the winner on Saturday (HA!)


Confession #4
I prefer the "Take me now!" look

Confessions of a Bachelorette part three

Here are some of the shots I would like to try this weekend, and a short note about what I think of their names:

Purple Hooter
Vodka, Triple Sec, Chambord, Ice
Ice first - 4 oz Vodka
1.5 oz Triple Sec
2 oz Chambord
Shake and strain into four glasses
I don't even want to know what the creator was sitting in when they named this beverage.


Pink Panty Pulldown Punch
1 750ml bottle of vodka (a fifth)
3 oz Lemon juice or 1 can of lemonade concentrate
9 oz jar of maraschino cherries
2 L Sprite
Pour it all, including the juice from the cherry jar into a punch bowl and serve. Wear a belt.
Apparently, this drink was invented so that the bachelorette's friends could pull down her pants and get a look at her famous pink undies.



Pucker up Foreplay
8 oz Absolut Vodka
4 oz Pucker (melon is good but others work)
12 oz Pineapple juice
12 oz Cranberry juice
Ice
Fill all ingredients in a pitcher and serve.
Maybe it all feels better with a little pucker, sucker!

Confession #3
I intend to take full advantage of those who will buy me drinks.

Confessions of a Bachelorette part two

The only time I will don a veil (since I've chosen not to wear one at the wedding), could possibly be at the bachelorette party. For some reason, these awful bachelorette brand of veils are designed to make the wearer look as cheap and white trash as possible. Decked with ribbon rosettes and fake pearls, these stiff toule veils wouldn't flap in the breeze if they were in a hurricane. They look itchy, dirty, and always make me think they are second hand.

A history lesson on the veil reveals that it was meant to keep the groom from seeing the bride until it was too late to back out. Or that the veil protected the bride from evil spirits that would be lured in by her beauty on her wedding day. Or maybe it was a way to tantalize the groom--thinking he'd want what he couldn't have (flawed logic, since he was getting what he couldn't see!).

Let's think about the veil. It's symbolic, representing the release into womanhood. Removing her guise of innocence. Opening her eyes to--to what? Sex? It's ridiculous. Think of a father walking his daughter down the isle, and when they get there, he lifts the veil and says "Your mother and I should have warned you. About tonight..." No it doesn't happen. Now women wear the veil because they think that's what they are supposed to do. It doesn't mean a thing anymore. It's part of the costume. Which is why no one protested when it encroached on the bachelorette party.

Clearly, the veil has become nothing more than an advertisement: I'm getting married. Buy me a drink, dammit!

Confession #2
I think veils are dumb

Tomorrow I'll spice things up a bit by providing my thoughts on binge drinking.

Confessions of a Bachelorette part one

The big event to look forward to this week is my bachelorette party. I have to admit, I'm pretty excited to let loose. Although, I still have a few months to go until the wedding, so should I hold back a little? Nah!

My friend Kiki was so gracious to put together a girls night out, while David and his friends are celebrating the rights of the bachelor in Vegas (thank god for those commercials--what's happens in Vegas stays in Vegas--I don't even want to know!). So far, I know we are meeting at my friend Brooke's house for dinner and drinks, and after that, it's anyone's guess.

So, what exactly is a bachelorette supposed to do these last few precious days of singlehood? I associate these parties with heavy drinking, incriminating photos, and flirting with men who will never be attainable again. Who says this has to end once you get married? (just kidding David, I love you).

Thankfully, according to one source, less than 20% of bachelorette parties involve a stripper. That is the last thing I want to see, some banana hammock wagging around in front of my face. Gross!

So here it is folks:
Confession #1
I am a boring bachelorette.

More to come this week.