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!

The Undercover Accountant

Four weeks before our wedding day, Matt and I went with my mom to the florist to go over the details and check out a sample centerpiece. I get such a kick out of this guy! I want to ask him to go for a beer with me.

The rule that my mom has given me is that I have to chill out (code for shut up) and go along with the flowers and stop worrying about what they cost. She said she knows the budget and will (more or less) stick to it. Apparently she told Mr. Florist about this arrangement too.

At one point during the meeting, I was getting antsy. You see, I've gotten sucked in to the idea of these beautiful flowers and I actually wanted to ADD flowers. (This from the girl who didn't want much of any!) More corsages, some wreaths for the church doors, garland on a banister, why not! How delicious, this Wedding Kool-Aid!

However, getting nervous because I have no idea if we're within or over budget, I say to Mr. Florist, "Just let me take a quick look at the prices. I promise I won't add them up."

You know what he says to me?

"The hell you won't add them up! What are you, an accountant?"

Damn, he's good. (Little does he know though that I'm as close to being an accountant as I am to buying a designer wedding gown.)

Mom and Matt both laughed. I never got to see the prices.

Playing Musical Chairs

We have received the majority of the RSVPs, which is so exciting! My mom loved getting them in the mail. After we harass our beloved friends and family who didn't RSVP on time (why does this always happen?), the next daunting task will be . . .

THE DREADED SEATING CHART!

You know, when I've gone to weddings, I just grab my little table tent card with my table assignment and I go sit there. Done.

I now realize that what goes into that little table tent is one of the big un-sung tasks of wedding planning.

People can look at flowers and say, "pretty!" They can taste the scallop wrapped in bacon and say "yummy!" But no one looks at the table of seat assignments and sighs, "wow, so much work went into this. How lovely of the hosts to put all this time into deciding where to seat all of these people!"

Nope, they do what I do: keep a cocktail in one hand and put the table tent in the other hand, and go find the ladies' room.

The Bachelorette (sans Chris Harrison)

My bachelorette party is this weekend! Like Cinderella without her glass slippers, what's a bachelorette without a rockin' (and teeny-tiny-bit slutty) outfit (and Chris Harrison telling her this is final rose this evening)?

Since I can't get Chris Harrison for the weekend, I decided to focus on finding fun outfit. Well, since I haven't gone to a frat party in seven years plus I'm a GAP card-toting white girl in Connecticut, I quickly realized that nothing in my closet was suitable for the occasion. So, off to the mall I went (believe it or not, Matt came and was actually very helpful).

First, I kept trying my old stand-bys (Ann Taylor Loft, the Limited) only to be reminded that I'm looking for party clothes, not work clothes. So I decided to be a little daring: I went to this store called "Maybee," which should've immediately indicated that I'm too old to shop there. Everything I tried on reminded me of Stacy and Clinton on What Not to Wear: "Don't try to compete with the 20-year-olds. Those bitches always win."

Fine, so no luck at Maybee.

I tried H&M, the old go-to store for cheapo party tops. And guess what I found? Nothing!

Suddenly, I was feeling rather old and un-fun. See, I get that I'm 29 and not 19, but what the hell, I still wanted something saucy (but not too expensive) to be the bachelorette!

Luckily, I did eventually find such a number at Express on my third day of shopping. It's a strapless sparkly dress that in all likelihood I will never wear again, but I'm okay with that! It'll be the perfect outfit for this bachelorette.

Now the question is whether my darling girlfriends are going to make me wear anything cheesy and bachelorette-y. I already said no checklist tee shirts or anything like that, but beyond that, I will be a good sport.

Wish me luck and a minimal hangover!

Shaking Hands with the Devil

Alright, you guys, I admit it.

Despite having a 16-month engagement and having done so many things in advance, the wedding is seven weeks away (!!!!) and I'm starting to feel all jittery, like I haven't done anything at all.

At this point, I truly understand the expression, "The devil is in the details." Everywhere I turn, I either spot the devil or his horns are starting to peek up:

• Making sure everyone's got a ride on the big day


• Scheduling beauty appointments


• Deciding exactly who is doing what during the ceremony


• Remembering to get my shoes dyed


• Making sure I don't forget to pay someone . . .

Devilish, I tell you, downright devilish!

I'm Alice, He's Ralph!

For those of you who don't watch the marathon on New Year's Day, I'm referring to Ralph and Alice Cramden - the Honeymooners!

Matt and I booked our honeymoon today! He is back from training in Virginia, and we got the OK from his new boss to book our honeymoon! We are so excited. We are going to The BodyHoliday (coincidentally, where Amy Winehouse went to dry out) in St. Lucia, island o' honeymooners. We are leaving the Monday after our wedding and we'll be there for six nights.

Is it bad that I almost want to just fast forward to the honeymoon?!

In other news, my mom starting mailing our wedding invitations this week! I can't believe it's really happening . . .