Feeling Punchy

I had my first moment of irrational hysteria yesterday. Not bad, with only eight days left to "I Do."

After Matt and I applied for our marriage license and assured town hall that we are not brother and sister, we put him on a train to go to work. When he left, I gave him the train schedule and the couple of dollars I had in my wallet after paying for the marriage license.

A few hours later, I was going to get on a train to go see my sister and her family. First, NJ Transit's website was down and I had to deal with calling a phone number with one of those wonderful "automated attendants." So that right there lost me a good 15 minutes.

Then I get to the train station. My hometown is doing construction on the train station, so I thought your only option was to buy your train ticket on the train. As you recall, I have no cash now. As you can assume, I find out the train conductor doesn't take credit cards. So, I have to get off the train in the next town and buy my ticket at a machine that DOES take credit cards, all just in time for the train to leave me there.

The train conductor told me a train was "right behind us." In my book, that means 5-10 minutes. So I check the posted schedule near the ticket machine. In the conductor's book, "right behind us" means 35 minutes! You know what I did? I open-handed punched the schedule and yelled an expletive, and then burst into tears.

I called my sister crying and she complimented my ability to recognize the ridiculousness of crying over a train. So I got myself a pumpkin spice latte and listened to Kellie Pickler, and eventually I was fine.

By the way, can you imagine if I'd gotten married with a cast on my wrist due to punching a train schedule? It would be hard to use the excuse "you should've seen the other guy."

This Is My Dance Space, This Is Your Dance Space

My father loves music. Really, he loves it. My introduction to iTunes was life changing for him; he makes playlists constantly. He enjoys country, 80s pop, show tunes, chanting monks, classical, doo-wop, Christmas carols, you name it. Unfortunately, my poor father is completely tone deaf! He can't clap along to a song at a basketball game. He can't even hum on-key.

So, as you might imagine, the man cannot dance for crap. In preparation for my wedding, he signed up for some dance lessons. After three lessons, he seems to be mastering the box step (or something resembling it). As he practiced with my musically literate mom in their kitchen over the weekend, my mom yelled, "Slow down! Listen to the music!" My dad responded, "What music?"

Anyway, since they're taking lessons, my dad offered for Matt and me to take a lesson. We said, why not?

Luckily, my 7 months of ballroom dancing lessons with Mrs. I. W. Thompson in sixth grade came rushing back to me. OK, that is a complete overstatement. But I did vaguely remember the box step and the Lindy. Matt and I spent an hour with a ballroom dance instructor while my parents watched. In comparison to my dad, my mom thought Matt was the next Patrick Swayze.

You know, it was actually pretty fun! A little hokey, but fun!

We have chosen a classic Elvis song for our first dance, and we plan to do lots of practicing in our living room for the next two weeks in preparation for our first dance as husband and wife!