i want what i can't have

I used to be crafty. I remember when I was nine I made this lovely little shoebox filled with paper people --They were kind of like those cut-outs with little fold-over tab clothing that you could dress [only they mine were permanently dressed, of course]. There was even furniture. Seriously. 3D. I was so creative. I presented my shoebox to my grandmother, and of course she confirmed my brilliance and applauded my artistic abilities.

Then, I grew up. I continued with artsy things right into college, wherein I eventually lost interest (or stopped getting As), and focused instead on more business-related pursuits. Fast forward to today, wherein my free time is spent reading the New York Times and researching CD rates rather than utilizing any remaining creative instincts.

This background may explain my quick obsession with wedding-related projects. One thing I never lost: my love of a good project. It took maybe 2.5 seconds after getting engaged to start dreaming of all the lovely d.i.y. projects I incorporate into The Wedding. There's just one problem: did I mention The Wedding isn't my day job? My former craftiness seems to have disappeared through sieve known as Life. Which is why, upon this history, when I stumble across amazing wedding d.i.y. projects done by much craftier folks than I, I actually wince with jealousy. Many of these projects seem to revolve around something called a "gocco." Again, I'm an attorney; I do not even know what "gocco" is. I think it's some sort of magical tool. Apparently it lets you create coasters like this, which incites the rage inside me... I think I want one, whatever it is.

Ridiculously cute coasters courtesy of Kristina and her gocco over at Lovely Mornings:

throw back

In light of yesterday's events, I'm thinking of a whole new motif for The Wedding. I imagine it looking something like this:

source: The New Yorker

bring it

Break Dancer
Originally uploaded by zunehmen

...on! Another tidbit from this past weekend... There was a brief display of attempted break-dancing by a few aspiring female breakers... which caused The Fiancé and I no small amount of *joy* as we both simultaneously had the same thought:

We have a friend who has recently taken up break-dancing.

Said friend has been known to read this blog.

The gauntlet is hereby thrown.

We can't wait to see You - and You know who You are - break it down at Our Wedding. You hereby have 6 1/2 months to prepare. We. Can't. Wait.

xoxo
Us.

temptation

Remember these little beauties...? Yeah, well, um... I found 'em... on Ebay... in green. In both my size and one half size up (as several friends have noted Christian Louboutin runs small). BUT, they are still over $700... That's really really silly, right? To pay over $700 to walk around in 4" heels all day... Yes, silly. No good can come of this. Talking myself out of it. Help. Me.

all in the name of love

This past weekend The Fiancé and I attended a wedding. This is not a momentous occasion. I mean, it's not like it was our wedding or something (read: momentous). Yet, since becoming engaged, weddings have taken on a whole new life. It used to be: You went (late), You prayed (if you weren't hung over), You drank (regardless), You danced (like a diva), You went home (tipsy). Now it goes something more like this:

You go (on time);
You scour the wedding program (hmmm...nice font; I like that song...);
You listen to the music and decide if You could incorporate any of the following:
(a) the singer (is she Catholic?),
(b) the song (can we do secular music...?), or maybe
(c) the instrument (I like strings...);
You listen to the readings and decide if You like them (I mean, seriously, did You ever care before?);
You critique the sermon (funny guy! Can we get him?);
You attend reception and do all of the following:
(a) look at the flowers,
(b) think about the food (steak, Yum!... wonder if Dad will pop for steak...),
(c) note the size of the guest list (holy cow this is a massive party... her poor dad...),
(d) think about ideas You might steal (that, this, ooo, and maybe thaaaat....),
(e) try to remember songs the band plays that everyone actually dances to (Living on a Prayer),
(f) note what the alcohol is instead of just blindly consume it (wow, open bar...I like, I like...),
and finally,
You go home,
EXHAUSTED ... as if you have just been married yourself.

Oh, and I forgot one thing about that whole "looking at the flowers at the reception..." You don't exactly just look at them... You kinda maybe sorta ask The Fiancé to take pictures of the centerpieces because You both agree they're simple but well-done, just the vibe You're going for. I repeat, You ask The Fiancé to take pictures of the centerpieces. And, amazing man that he is, he does it. At a wedding where You are a guest. The same Fiancé who previously toted a semi-automatic rifle around Iraq and Afghanistan when he served in the Army, yep, that same one... is now taking pictures of centerpieces. *sigh* You feel wholly responsible for your joint-sudden-decline-into-photographic-nonsense the next day as You scroll through your pictures of the night and realize You have equal pics people and flora...

But, the centerpieces are quite nice, no...?

anticipation

Baby Feet
Originally uploaded by GTM (M. Alreshaid.)

...The Godchild has decided s/he is ready to meet the world today! Apparently once this decision is made, his/her presence is not immediate [there's this whole labor & delivery element involved], but we are SO looking forward to what today will bring!

Happy Day!

r.i.p. damask

I'm not sure when, but at some point in this design adventure we're calling My Wedding, I stumbled across a print known as "damask". Now, if you've never heard of damask, you're not alone (neither had I two months ago...). If you have heard of it, you're probably (1) engaged; (2) married; (3) a wedding planner; or (4) been sucked into the abyss of a "Whose Wedding is it Anyway?" marathon. Anyway, that black-and-white swirly print in the photo above is what the billion dollar wedding industry calls damask.

Fairly soon after stumbling across this product of Damascus (seriously, it is - I looked it up), I decided that it totally worked with my black-white-and-green color scheme, and therefore, I had to have it. My Wedding Planner furiously began finding all-things-damask (frames, linens, small children wrapped in fabric, etc.) Merrily we went on our way, creating the vision of My Wedding with what-I-envisioned-to-be classy little damask accents to and fro.

Till last night anyway. When The Fiancé came home to a dining room table littered with Save the Date ideas - only one of which was damask. Guess which one he said, "Absolutely no" to? Mmm hmm. The damask one (oh, and the damask fabric swatch and the damask picture frame My Wedding Planner had sent along as inspiration...). And the funny thing? I actually felt relieved. After all the photos and ideas of beautiful damask things, I realized that I had been trying really hard to love damask. I had. But, well, it's damask. And if you know me... I. am. not. damask.

When I called my mother this morning to discuss Save the Dates (seriously, some mornings I wonder what happened to my formerly illustrious life), she seemed quite pleased with the summary elimination of all-things-damask. Apparently she was not a fan either. Here I had been, floating on my little damask-covered-island, with no one to tell me I didn't quite fit in. Thank heavens The Fiancé has no self-censor. His "absolutely no" burst from his mouth before the thought "maybe she really likes it" even crossed his mind. Thanks, Honey.

So, today, we bow our heads and take a moment to remember My Wedding that never was: the damask one. R.I.P. Damask.

they're returnable.

...I shouldn't have.

I kept trying not to.

But the stupid website kept popping up on my computer [maybe because I kept typing in the address, but that is neither here nor there].

Thus, after many a day of peeking...

Then closing page...

Then peeking again...

That little addictive mecca, a/k/a Zappos Couture [yes, there's a Couture section now...*sigh*], finally got the best of me, took over my powers of self control, stole my credit card info from my wallet, punched "purchase" all on its own, and now, in roughly 24 hours, these little beauties will arrive. I will regret this in the morning, I'm sure. At least, that is, till FedEx arrives...

if she only knew

IMG_1140
Originally uploaded by Bailee's Bride

...Some days [read: today, like when I obsess over photographer's websites], I really, truly wish I'd taken up photography back in the day when I was a student and had access to those helpful little ladders-to-success called "teachers" and "classes".

Instead, I am an attorney [read: definitely not a photographer] and the only person (yes, she is a person!) that regularly agrees to be my model (basically because she has no choice) is Bailee. Poor dear.

(She and I are still holding out for the day when Daddy agrees she can wear a dress and veil...THAT photo shoot will be my shining moment on Flickr)

ihavealotofclothes

ihavealotofclothes
Originally uploaded by danske

...like, a ton. And the older I get, the less I like 85% of the clothes I own (now, the clothes in the store, THAT is a different story...I love THOSE... which may be what contributed to the percentage of fabric hanging in my home...).

It generally takes me 30 minutes to get ready on a school day... from first stretch to when my keys are locking the door. Today, for reasons unbeknownst to me, it took 65. Sixty-five. Do You know why? Because I stood staring in Closet #1, unhappy with the options. Then I trooped over to Closet #2, and I didn't like anything there. Back and forth. Back and forth. Shirt on. Shirt off. Shirt on. Shirt off.

Have you heard of those people that come to your home and go through your closet and tell you what you should keep, what you should buy, what you should donate, and what should just go straight to the dumpster? I once thought the idea was assinine. I mean, who needs that, right? Till this morning anyway. In my 65 minutes of indecision, The Fiancé managed to (1) do a load of laundry; (2) walk the dog; (3) take out the trash; (4) drop off our dry-cleaning; and (5) take his first conference call of the day. [Now, granted, he only has one mere foot of closet space from which to choose from (as if!), but I suppose that might be my fault, not his].

In that same span of wakefulness, I, managed to take my outfit off and try roughly 4 other ones on.

I have a lot of clothes. It may be time to reevaluate...

chivalry is dead

Dear Man on The L,

This weekend I suffered the first known injury of my engagement.

Picture a beautiful day... high 70s, sunny... Imagine You live a mere 1.3 miles from beautiful Lake Michigan. Then insert The Fiancé, eager to join You on a nice little run to the lake and back. Off You go, high on adreline because You are IN SHAPE, You are RUNNING ON A SATURDAY, You look good in those Nike shorts! You are having WITTY CONVERSATION without being out of breath. This is the life!!! That is, at least, until 10 minutes later and two blocks from Your home, when You suffer an unfortunate incident with a curb and the displacement of Your foot off said curb. Result: a lovely little twisted ankle (picture: puffy and purple and not at all bride-like), and a Saturday afternoon shot to hell. Adrenaline is replaced with depression: how will You ever become Buff Bride when the heavens are aligned against You like this?!

Thankfully after two days of RICE (rest, ice, compression and elevation, per Dr. Fiancé), I feel much better. That is, I did feel much better, until I embarked on the bane of my existence in order to return to work: The L.

One would think when You're a healthy 25 year old male with a seat on the L and You see an old hag (a/k/a Your's truly) with an ACE bandage on her ankle, You'd give up your seat before she falls on her arse, but nooooo..... Let her wobble around in uncertain safety for 25 bloody minutes. Right in front of You.

Anyway, I really hope You (read: Mr.-won't-give-up-seat-to-the-handicapped) have a great day.

xoxo,
Gimpy

stalking evangeline lilly

First I was going to post the pic to the left as an example of an absolutely perfect gown {that could even be a wedding gown if You were glamorous and didn't mind 'sexy' being one of the adjectives to describe You on Your big day - neither of which describes me}. Then I was going to post the pic to the right as an example of the hair style I would love to rock on my big day {if I were carefree and effortless..and brunette...none of which I am, at least today}.

Then I decided to hell with it: I don't want the dress or the hair. I want the body, the skin, the hair and the access to incredible fashion. Is that so much to ask? Note to self: must find new job STAT. Perferrably one involving less document review and more Emmy party invites.

cliffside

This morning I'm a bit sore from having clawed my way back up and over from the precipice I flew over yesterday...the precipice into medoldramatic romanticism. The scary, scary thing? I didn't even know I'd fallen until last night, when The Fiancé was reading my blog and suddenly exclaimed aloud, "'makes [your] throat close, [your] eyes smart, and [your] stomach clench'?!?! You're kidding, right? Really? Since when?" He looked at me in mock horror.

I cringed.

And it was then that I realized...I had become my own mortal enemy: a bride. Thankfully, I am about to marry someone who is capable of identifying my own absurdity. And unapologetically pointing it out to me. Before helping me climb back to sanity.

30 years of singledom and intelligence and strength, all down the drain with one little photograph. Alas, is there hope for me? According to Caitlin Gibson and Rachel Manteuffel in a recent Washington Post article, I'm not alone, for they decry:

"But we have seen what happens to some intelligent, strong women when confronted by the multibillion-dollar Wedding Industrial Complex: Those few unattractive tendencies, weaknesses generally kept under control -- bossiness, melodramatic romanticism, obsession with looks, agony over superficial details -- coalesce into a toxic distillate. What chance does anyone have against an industry that seduces the rampaging feminine id?"

So you see, like everything, this is not my fault. I am a mere victim of the Wedding Industrial Complex. How can I possibly compete?


source: Princess Lasertron, as featured on The Offbeat Bride. Drown in button bouquet wedding porn on her Flickr photostream.

[untitled]

Every bride has their "Thing" - that element that is so important to them and their vision of their wedding day that they will sacrifice other wants in pursuit of this one "need" on their day. Mine? Photography. It is the single most important [material, tangible, non-human] Thing to me on our wedding day. Why? Because it is the one Thing, after the champagne stops flowing, we get to keep.

The venue? Not ours.

The band? Will play for someone else the next week.

The church? Will celebrate other momentous occasions that have no bearing on our lives together.

The dress? Will never be worn again.

The flowers? No one will remember.

The invitations? Will be quickly and haphazardly discarded.

But the pictures? Are the one Thing we will have to show our children of the afternoon we thought about our future with them before they ever arrived, the one Thing that we can pull out to remind ourselves about what it felt like to be in each and every little moment as it unfolded.

That's why, in all the wedding porn I scan on an all-too-frequent basis, the stuff that really makes my throat close, my eyes smart, and my stomach clench, aren't flowers or dresses or pretty centerpieces [though I will continue to pour over them, all the same...]. They are photographs like this one, of a wedding in Scotland, where I don't even see what the bride is wearing or the flowers she's holding. I just see the way she's smiling. And the way the priest is grasping her groom's hand, with the light invading the space behind him. And there's the realization that in this photo, You can see the first moment of a marriage.

source: http://www.lillianandleonard.com/ (A breathtakingly beautiful site...)

make money money money

Given the current state of the economy, maybe we [read: I] should all carry around a little wallet like this one by Trees with Knees...

[The Fiancé will be tickled pink by this post, considering just last night I vainly tried to articulate the reason why we need to go shopping at Nordstroms this weekend during their triple-bonus-points sale (If you have their card, you know what I'm talking about...). Problem: I couldn't come up with one single bloody thing I need to shop for. It was a sad, sad day, my friends.]

it's not my fault

Apparently Forbes magazine has listed my current residence as the most stressful city in the country.

At least now I'll have a response when, in the ensuing months leading up to our blissful wedding date, The Fiancé [or anyone else for that matter] insists that I must relax, that I'm too stressed out.

I can just tell them it's not me [because I am perfect, you see. All things in moderation when it comes to stress levels, et cetera, et cetera... Stop laughing, Dear.]; it's just that I live here:

so you're saying there's a chance...

He never claimed to be fashion forward, so when The Fiancé suggested that he wear a morning suit for our nuptials, I accepted the suggestion with equal parts horror and bemusement. I wasn't even sure what a morning suit was at the time, but since he was bringing it up, I was fairly certain it might evolve into some sort of fashion catastrophe.

However, today I officially take it all back. I am in love with the morning suit on the groom in the entry from http://www.elizabethannedesigns.com/blog/ - ooo la la. J'adore.

The wedding pictured above took place at the Central Park Observatory Gardens (I wish!), followed by a reception at the Rainbow Room (ummm... Wow... who are these people?). The photos are from Brian Dorsey.

monogamy is a fickle thing

Today, the New York Times poses a new "remedy"... A Commitment Pill?

I, for one, am not sure I'd want the type partner who only stuck around if they remembered to take their pill. Correction: I am confident I would not.

in seersucker and in shame

I adore the New York Times. I do. I shudder, however, when the New York Times reports that the latest trend of wedding couples is to dictate their guests' attire... As in, "Please wear x, not y..."

I had to read this article twice to determine its authenticity. I mean, it had to be a joke, right? There can't really be a bride out there who "is requesting “hacienda chic,” which, as interpreted by the bride-to-be, means seersucker suits for men and brightly colored cocktail dresses for women."... can there?!?

[Think: Amanda Brooks & Hamish Bowles in Men's Vogue, circa 2006:]

I mean, yes, the attire [at right] is adorable. But it somehow loses its appeal when mandated. In fact, it just becomes downright absurd. Moreover, the thought of any number of our friends in seersucker literally makes a chuckle bubble up inside me. *Hee* Incomprehensible.

Why, then, I wonder, do some brides feel the desire to define not just themselves on their wedding day, but their treasured guests? This desperate grasp for control seems to be the final bucket heave from an otherwise sinking ship.

"According to Antonia van der Meer, the editor in chief of Modern Bride and Elegant Bride magazines, many guests enjoy being asked to dress in “festive brights” or “boating elegant.”"

Really?! Who are these guests? I can assure you they are not the type guests The Fiancé and I would be to any sort of wedded soiree, and thus I must assume they are not the type guests we would invite either. I'm not even sure what "boating elegant" means... This does cause me to ponder, however, what we'd see if we requested our guests arrive in "Irish Chic." Tweed jackets and riding britches, maybe...? Oooo, or Aran Islands wool atop tulle... yes, that would be lovely... I do love tulle...

"[W]hen she married Rossano Rubicondi in Palm Beach, Fla., in April, Ivana Trump spelled out her wishes at the bottom of the invitation. Opposite the words “no cameras or cellphones permitted” were the guidelines for attire: white tie for men and “pastelle” long gowns for women, with three additional caveats: no prints; no yellow (reserved for the maid of honor); and no pink (reserved for the bride).""

Wow. Dear Guests: I hereby pledge you can wear whatever you want to our wedding (I know I will live to regret this, but sobeit...). Just promise to have a merry old time. The only thing reserved for this Bride on her wedding day is the heart of her Groom (be it dressed in tweed or seersucker or anything in-between).

subtlety is my specialty

I wonder if a certain sister [read: mine] and brother-in-law would permit The Fiancé and I to depart the reception in their cute little Porsche convertible with a cute little sign tacked on...? Sorta like this one, maybe [inserting certain black Boxster in place of white vintage model] ... Just an idea ... in case they're reading this blog ...

i am many things; graceful biker is not one of them

Dear Fiancé:

Could you imagine the two of us having a pic like this...? I didn't think so, considering the first time we went biking, I promptly went face-first over the handlebars after hitting [rather than jumping] the curb. And you laughed. (I did too, so it's ok).

Lots more beautiful photos from this bicycle wedding over here.

source: Quintessential Images in the UK

bailee begonia?

So if Bailee can't be there for the wedding, I wonder if we could just immortalize her in flowers like this couple did for their little Finnegan?! Priceless.

source: Soiree Floral in Nantucket

feel the burn

After a weekend of too much consumption and not enough exercise, I'm feeling more like this:

...and less like the buff bride I am aiming to be. Thus, my Monday resolution: back to the gym we go!

I just wish there was some magic potion I could take that equaled toned tummy without food deprivation and sweat inducement. I've been depressed ever since my 105 lb, 17% body fat personal trainer told me that "the days of being able to eat whatever you want and undo it with a hard work out are over." Crap. Really?!? So, what, I replied, am I supposed to do? Her response: "Eat less."

Ha! Good one. But no, seriously...

sink the biz

I went to law school in a little town in Indiana called Bloomington (a/k/a God's country). It didn't take long (ok, it was literally my first night there...) to discover Nick's English Hut. And it didn't take long thereafter (ok, it was my first Friday night on campus...) to be invited to play Sink the Biz... A game us "Hoosiers" (don't ask met to define that) take pride in saying originated at Nick's English Hut. The Rules of the Game are simple: You have a bucket filled with beer. You place a shot glass in The Bucket, and take turns pouring beer into the glass until it "sinks", and the [un]lucky sinker has to chug the shot. (Vicious deviations in the game require the sinker to chug the whole Bucket... followed immediately thereafter by a trip to the E.R. for alcohol poisoning.) Having spent three glorious years of my existence partaking in this debauchery at Nick's (and several years thereafter returning to play some more...), you can imagine the glee of me and my fellow I.U. alums when at The Fiancé's and my engagement party last night, it was discovered that our hostess was the proud owner of her very own Bucket. Not just any bucket. The Bucket. Like the kind you can only buy at Nick's. With, regulation shot glass. Game on.

An evening of gracious celebration (think: champagne toasts, wine directly from Napa, home-baked crab dip ...) quickly turned into a Lesson to non-I.U. grads (including The Fiancé) about the Rules of the Game... The remainder of the evening is a bit fuzzy. Go I.U.

Fast forward to today, wherein The Fiancé delightedly informed me that Sink the Bismarck is probably a reference to the German warship of WWII fame.

My response: blank stare.

Clearly he did not go to I.U. (and instead went some place that teaches silly things like history). Here I just thought it was a drinking game.

photo envy

Endless love
Originally uploaded by millzero.com

...while I like [not love] the city where we'll be married [let's just say it's nickname is "Naptown..."] , given that it is hundreds of miles from an ocean [or a hill] I regret that we won't have pictures like this...

yum yum

I'm not sure whether to drink it or eat it. I just know that as an Irish Bride marrying an Irish Groom: I want it.

source: Irene's Cakes by Design

grand entrance

The Godchild doesn't know it yet (because s/he has yet to make his/her appearance, and therefore we haven't had an opportunity to discuss...), but this is how I envision him/her arriving at the wedding.

I wonder if they could pull me down the aisle too... looks kinda fun...

source: http://www.evokephotography.com/

shoe whore

I would literally go to the ends of the earth to find these [discontinued, never to be found again] pieces of art [preferrably in green] in my size (it's 8, by the way, if Your name is Fairy Godmother):

They are Christian Louboutin. Rosazissimo Heel. And I would marry them if they asked me. (Just kidding).

*le sigh*

“is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

When one says "gun" in the same sentence as "wedding," the natural inclination (one would think) is that it is a conversation about wedding registries... (or maybe shot gun marriages?!)Because where else would the two words collide?! You can imagine my horror, then, when The Fiancé, upon my announcement of this blog's commencement, asked if he could be a guest blogger... and blog about guns (the real, not the registry, kind). He wondered aloud if there was some way they could be incorporated into our wedding. Answer: No. I love this former Army-officer dearly. But Dear, you're going to have to think of another topic before I hand over the keyboard.

Nonetheless, in his honor, I did find this - and the answer to whether we can have it, is, preemtively: NO.

wedding porn

Sara from the $2000 wedding blog coined this term on elizabethannedesigns.com/blog today, and it occurs to me that there is no better way to describe wedding magazines and blogs.

I, like many brides, suffer from an addiction to this "wedding porn" that comes and goes in waves (that is directly correlative to what else is ... or is not ... going on in my life). I struggle with the vacillating desire to plan the wedding of my dreams and the desire to elope (and eskew all things kitschy). Thankfully, I still have seven months to find the happy medium, but sometimes I wonder (like when my wedding planner suggests a budget of $10k to $40k for FLOWERS/DECOR), how did I get HERE and how can I both enjoy the indulgence of this process and stay true to my sometimes-anti-bride self?

tulle

i recently asked my dear friend if her soon-to-be-four year old daughter would be our flower girl. she seemed touched (and horrified) at the invitation. I immediately began the search for dresses, now that I had a vision of the child to dress up. Upon discovery of this little number:

source: nikisuitor.etsy.com

I shrieked (literally) with unadulterated glee. TULLE TULLE so much lovely tulle! Can't You just SEE a little girl twirling around in this all night?! Blinded by my excitement, I committed a recurring error: I showed the pic to The Fiancé. Must. Stop. Doing. That. Because he didn't like it. I hope he doesn't continue to have opinions [read: that conflict with mine].

the godchild

in weeks, maybe days, The Fiancé and I will officially become GODPARENTS! In anticipation of this momentous occassion, what's a girl to do... BUT shop. I mean, if You were a baby, You'd wanna wear THIS (I know I would...):

source: http://www.cottonbabyonesies.com/

bailee. the dog, not the recipient of personal property.

if this was Your's, wouldn't You want to find a way to incorporate her in your wedding too?! Mmmm hmmm. Thought so.

But she's scared of strangers, loud noises, and frankly anything that takes her too far away from her couch. So instead, I think she'll just have to enjoy the pictures. I asked the Fiancé if I could dress her up in a veil and dress. He said no. Party Pooper.

i have this little problem

called Shoes. I like them. So much so that there is absolutely no room for the Fiancé to slide a belt in a good portion of my two closets... because they are filled with Shoes. Beneath my desk at work, tucked away where the casual visitor cannot see them, rest 18 pairs of the daily-worn stuff (I just counted... hmmm... those are cute... forgot about those). Thus, it should come as no small surprise that My Mission (of many) is to find The Most Perfect Wedding Shoe [for me]. Let the games begin... this will be an oft-revisited category. Today I discovered a new site... Hello, Beautiful! Let me introduce you to Gable:















Yes, I know she's not a wedding shoe, but WHO CARES? She's fabulous. Check out her friends on Té Casan (www.tecasan.com)... I have no idea what that means, but it is a happy place.

the beginning

in the beginning, You do things like this with a person chasing You around with a camera and saying, "Act natural!"...









(source: Turtle Pond Photography...more of that later...)







...because of course it is 0h-so-natural to sit in some random door (of a home You don't own), make out in broad daylight (ok, well maybe when You weren't 30 this seemed ok...), and simultaneoulsy pet Your lhasa apso.

Why do You do this? Because You are ENGAGED! Congratulations, You!

Soon thereafter, the not-so-fun (public making out be damned!) tasks creep up... and You and Your betrothed spend Your Saturday afternoon at Crate & Barrell (Old School flashbacks ensue...) and find Yourself having email conversations like this:


----- Original Message ----
From: Bailee's Bride
To: The Fiancé
Sent: Tuesday, September 9, 2008 12:52:39 PM
Subject: FW: Have fun with your Gift Registry

So, I may have gotten sidetracked while eating my lunch and added to our registry... There is SOO much more online than in the store...

To: Bailee's Bride
From: The Fiancé
Sent: Tue, 9 Sep 2008 12:02:45 -0700
Subject: Re: Have fun with your Gift Registry

uhmmm. When WE left the story, WE had 31 items . . . there are now 64 items . . . "MAY have gotten sidetracked!!!???"
love you.

From: Bailee's Bride
To: The Fiancé
Sent: Tuesday, September 9, 2008 2:52:19 PM
Subject: RE: Have fun with your Gift Registry

Dude, but did you SEE the Carlos Margarita glasses I added for you?!?! Love you!

To: Bailee's Bride
From: The Fiancé
Date: Tue, 9 Sep 2008 13:56:06 -0700
Subject: Re: Have fun with your Gift Registry

Dude? Dude? We're going to MARRIAGE prep tonight and you're calling me DUDE!!!???

***

After which, You attend said Marriage Prepation Course at an Unnamed Catholic Church, and then it truly hits You: YOU ARE GETTING MARRIED [...to this amazing person you've started calling "Dude" for no discernable reason...].

You thus decide it is time ... Time to join the ranks of those other style-obsessed, internet-searching, unable-to-work-with-so-many-blogs-to-read brides out there... and You do this: You decide to use Your English degree and start Your own blog. So slam a Bailey's with me (seriously, it's a suuuuuper easy shot... in fact, I am obsessed with the idea of doing Mini Guinness shots at our wedding instead of champage... it's Kalua & Bailey's...mmmm.... but I digress.... That's another post) and Enjoy. Because if You are reading this blog, You're probably a lot like me.