My excuse this time is that I went to a festival and wedding.
Excuse me—an amazing festival and an amazing wedding. I barely have pictures of the former and none of the latter, but just know in your hearts that I was away this weekend celebrating life (like we all should) which is why this is going to be a short, to-the-point post.
So, which festival did I go to? Reggae Rise Up, and it was hands-down awesome, from the chill but lively music to the relaxing atmosphere to the delicious fried Oreos. My sister has been a few times and always raves about it, and she thought Batman and I might enjoy going. Spot on, sis. Other than the slight sunburn (due to not properly thinking through the OUTDOOR festival) and the port-o-potty-bathroom situation, the whole thing was so great. We attended Friday and Saturday and got to see Rebelution and Slightly Stoopid among other terrific bands. And yep—probably going again next year, so there’s that.
The wedding was equally great because it was a high-school friend, making the whole thing a mini-reunion since I saw some faces I hadn’t seen in a while. It’s crazy that I still feel mentally sixteen (ten at times…) and here I am, this gorgeously amazing thirty-six-year-old goddess. Crazy how that works.
In regards to writing, I’ve got my first round of edits back, and I’m working through making APIP slightly better. I was on such a roll with AROG, but I think I’m going to do half and half. Half editing ARPIP and half writing AROG because I can fly through the edits pretty quickly, and—more importantly—I’ll go mad if I’m not writing. And no offense to blogs or newsletters or witty emails to my coworkers throughout the day, but those don’t count quite the same. They’re fun, but I’m still in this reality. I like to be in other realities with my popcorn watching my characters do their thing. It’s so a passport I wish I had (and existed!) but until then, writing is the only commute.
Also: I’ve made a final decision on the cover and it feels sooooo good. I’ll probably share it in next week’s post because, you know, reasons, but just rest assured knowing it’s chosen. You don’t have to lose anymore sleep over it, so, you’re welcome. That hill is behind us. Only a few hundred more to go.
Since I actually do have evidence of Reggae Rise Up and that I exist as a person (and not an adorable figment of your imagination), here you go:
Until next week’s cover reveal…and whatever happens between now.
So, here’s the thing: I don’t have my pictures back yet from my wedding, and I’m kind of waiting for some nicer ones to post, but at this point, the wedding is fading like a lovely distant memory, and I need to write this before I fondly remember unicorns and doves and llamas being a part of it (though I still might do that) because that sounds magical and in my future brain, totally possible. If you didn’t get a chance to read my I’m getting married during a pandemic post, go check it out! It’s a real hoot and a downer, but it ends on a happy note: marriage to my best friend which I am *proud* to say we are making it last already. I’m only directing you there so you can have a history on me and Batman before I walk you through the magical day (that sadly did not include unicorns and doves and llamas) but was still the picture-perfect fantasy event that child-Caitlin always imagined.
First, let me start off by saying it was supposed to thunderstorm. I know, because the second the 10-day forecast became available, it became my new heroin. But around five days out, I relinquished that stress and worry to my poor Maid of Honor who took on the role like a champ, smiling and saying not to worry about it every time I asked for an update. The amazing thing? It was a beautiful day.
And I mean beautiful. It was cool, which, in Florida, is a Godsend, and although we did the rehearsal the day before under the nearby pole barn (second option for the ceremony site) because it was torrentially down pouring, we were still able to revert to the original plan for the actual day—in front of the tree.
I shouldn’t take all the credit, but I will. People loved the flowers. We received so many compliments on just how gorgeous the displays and bouquets were, and even though I didn’t technically do anything to arrange them, I gave the original inspiration and color scheme, and therefore, all the credit goes to me. (This is what I’m telling myself. All the REAL credit goes to A Fantasy in Flowers who did an amazing job. Seriously, if you’re in the Jacksonville area and finally subdued your life-partner, I’d hands down recommend this company for all your floral needs.)
Besides the flowers, the food was on point. This is what I’ve been told and if I recall correctly, everything was yummy. I was solidly distracted by everything—everyone and making sure they were having a good time—but I tried a brie-apple tart thing with strawberry sauce and I remember thinking, yeah, we picked the right caterer. I heard (remember in the contract?) there was a carving station for our prime rib, but I never saw it because I was at our sweetheart table, admiring the charger and plate combination I’d selected and wondering if everyone noticed how well the gold trimming complimented the hanging votives.
Everything—like I was told, like I knew would happen—flashed by. It was the beginning of the day with mimosas and struggling to pop the champagne bottle, and somehow, I was in this beautiful dress that kept falling because I’d lost too much weight, which, in my chubby-existence, I never thought could be a real thing. And then I was taking pictures with Batman around the venue, like I’d researched a thousand times before. Then my guests were arriving and I saw my stepdad (who made the journey just for the ceremony, and then had to drive three hours home for work in the morning), and then my dad was coming to get me, and the music started playing…
After everything, all the work and planning and crying—so, so much crying—it was worth it. It came together beautifully. Batman looked snazzy and sexy and like James Bond (his inspiration besides Batman) and I’d like to think it was one of my better fashion days. Although, knowing what I know now, for my second marriage, I will not be wearing a lace dress. Lace and pavement, as I’ve discovered, do not mix well, especially when elements like twigs and leaves and acorns want to jump in the mix. I do recall part of the day helping my photographers pick nature out of my veil, which kept me from displaying the full train of my dress. Which sucked, because it was gorgeous.
Other than a few tiny screwups, I’d say it was a success. There were going to be screwups regardless (I’ve hands-down attended a thousand weddings and nothing ever goes perfectly. It’s called reality.) but having a wedding during a pandemic is such a feat by itself, that the issues were like gnats; I just didn’t give a shit about them.
There are, of course, a billion details that even I don’t remember, and I could go way more in depth, but I’ve already used up some of your time based on your reading speed/skippage, so I’ll end it here. Again, I wish I had some truly flattering photos of us/the event from our photographer, and not to say these aren’t, but they’re not professional (borrowed from family and friends) since I only picked up my phone to check the weather and make sure the universe wasn’t fucking with me. It wasn’t.
I’ll try to have a honeymoon post up soon. But, it is the holidays, and I’m the only one holding myself accountable, so we’ll see.
~ Lady Caitlin signing off
P.S. Also, my bouquet weighed eight pounds. Just remembered.
I wasn’t sure how I should write this, or if I should write it at all, but after the hundredth time thinking it was better to keep everything bottled up, I figured I might as well confess now. It’s better than carrying around a lifetime of bitterness that will no doubt be flung in Batman’s face. Not his fault, but I can’t blame the dog. That would be unfair.
(For those who don’t know, Batman is my fiancé. No, I’m not marrying a man who thinks he’s Batman or secretly dresses in black latex with a rodent compulsion. None of that. I’m marrying a man who very much wishes he was Batman, and to some people, may be on the wrong side between obsession and fandom. Whatever. He’s not foaming over the Joker or the Penguin or even Hannibal Lector, so I’m not worried.)
Now, when I say confess, I mean honestly confess.
I won’t say this. Not to your face, and not in a text or an email or even on the phone. I won’t say it because I can’t say it, because if I do, you’ll see the part of me I’m trying to hide. The busted-up, gory, pummeled-to-shreds mass currently sitting in my chest that keeps beating through every disappointment. And I get it. Life is full of them. I’ve had plenty, like watching all our friends get married over the last decade and wondering when I’d get my turn. If I’d get my turn. Don’t get me wrong—I’m truly blessed to have had the time with Batman that I have, regardless of our title, but when you want something that doesn’t happen in the first two years, five years, ten years…disappointment inevitably hits. Batman and I have worked through this, and we’re fine now, but to understand how heartbroken I am, you need to know the history:
Batman and I met in the spring of 2007, when we were finishing our junior year at Florida State University. We attended a mutual friend’s birthday party and sat across from each other which ended up being the best thing to happen to him. There was a lot of movie-bashing which turned into flirting, and even after we stood up to leave, and he discovered I’m closer in height to a hobbit, he still asked for my number. (Which he later confessed was almost a deal-breaker. Batman is close to 6’0 and I’m 5’1.)
After proving his affection by attempting to steal a chair (long story), the relationship was established, and only strengthened in the coming months by both of us participating in a heist over a condom shaped piece of art (another long story). Even after being separated by my six-week study abroad program in Amsterdam, we were still completely into each other.
Then we broke up.
Actually, he broke up with me. Batman will say it never happened, but it did, and I know because I moved back in with my mother over it, and no one ever forgets moving back in with their mother. The break up didn’t last long—a couple months—because someone realized he couldn’t live without someone else, and that someone decided it was worth giving the first someone a second chance. (Also, I needed to get out of my mother’s house.)
So, we moved in together. It was a tiny apartment with one bathroom and no laundry machines in the unit. That didn’t matter because it was ours and we could do whatever we wanted. Then we realized having only one bathroom is terrible for me, because he has longer legs, and beats me to the latrine when we both need to use it. Lesson learned. Also, our tiny apartment was on the second floor, which we didn’t take into consideration after learning there’d be communal laundry facilities. Second lesson learned. Batman and I spent five years in our first apartment racing each other to the bathroom and hauling our clothes up and down the stairs every two weeks. But we were happy.
When we outgrew our first place in 2014, we moved into our second—a slightly bigger unit with two bathrooms and laundry machines. We were in heaven. But after a year, an opportunity to move to Jacksonville became available, and with nothing tying us down, we left. Batman and I have been renting the same house since 2015, and the same year, we added the newest addition to our family—our German Shorthair Pointer named Appa (before it was popular to like Avatar. In fact, our vet asked if the name was Latin, to which I replied no, he’s named after a cartoon flying bison, to which I then received a very odd look.)
Fast forward to 2018. This is when I get really honest.
2018 was crappy. Not in every-way, but in the me and Batman way because I’d given a marriage proposal deadline (I actually did it a few times during our relationship, but never held him to it) and this deadline passed as well. I was heartbroken. I was beyond heartbroken, and still not to a point—after 10 years—that I could articulate this without losing him. And I didn’t want to lose Batman. Marriage or not, we were going to be together because he’s the love of my life.
After spending around a decade going to nearly a wedding a year—sometimes two—and celebrating all our friends and family on both sides, 2018 came to the end of pretty much everyone we knew getting married. It was literally only us left. And at that point, I’d convinced myself it wouldn’t happen. Marriage just wasn’t in the cards for me, which hurt because every wedding I went to, I told myself my turn was coming. It was coming. But I still didn’t have a proposal.
2018 had me believing it would not happen. It would not happen. I wouldn’t get the wedding I’d been waiting for, wanting, and…kind of deserving. But I had Batman, and it was fine. Until I couldn’t keep it in any longer. Innocuous comments from friends would have me bursting into tears when a year or two earlier I’d shrug it off, although I’d be hurting secretly on the inside. I couldn’t keep my feelings on what was happening—or what wasn’t happening—in anymore, and finally, I broke down to Batman.
I told him everything. How I felt, how I’d been feeling, and how I knew we were never getting married—but I still loved him. This all came as semi-news to him, because again, I never articulated these feelings. He suspected, but didn’t know the depth of my pain. We talked and talked and our relationship, after ten years, grew even stronger. We decided to look at rings together.
In January 2019, we selected a ring I liked and could afford and bought it same day. I wasn’t sure how the proposal would go since I knew about it, but I was still happy we had a ring. I think once Batman realized how close I was to just not wanting to get married anymore—because I reached that point too, several times—it became his mission to make it happen. He called my dad the same week to ask for permission to propose, and then told me he was going to do it the next day. The next day at work was terrible, and I came home crying even though I knew what was going to happen.
It was nothing like I’d hoped for, or expected. There was no movie moment wonderment because I think we were beyond that point. Maybe our proposal to each other occurred in all our happy moments over the years, when we didn’t realize at the time that we were choosing each other. Maybe a few words and a quick drop to the knee in our bedroom on a Friday night wasn’t our true proposal, but the solidification of the accumulation of years spent loving one another.
It wasn’t the picture-perfect proposal I’d envisioned, and definitely not the story to tell people like several of my friends had (poor Batman had the bar set really high for some of those proposals) but it happened. I’d convinced myself it wouldn’t; I convinced myself Batman and I would be partners and lovers through life, and that’s all. But it happened.
We made our announcement in early 2019, when we were closing in on almost twelve years. Since this was such a long time coming and we wanted to have the best wedding ever, we decided on a long engagement, giving ourselves plenty of time to save the money and plan everything. We decided on a November 2020 wedding. Too excited, and probably because I’d been secretly planning my possibly-never-happening-wedding all along, we sent our save the dates out a year ahead of time. We wanted people to have plenty of notice and plenty of time to plan, because we were throwing one hell of a party, and wanted everyone we loved and who supported us over the years to come.
Then Covid happened.
Like many of us, I was in complete shock. Of course, safety concerns were high, but my heart broke for all the brides who had to cancel or postpone. How could they deal with that? How completely, completely horrible. I told myself how lucky I was to be getting married in November and not March, April, May, or even the summer months. Thank God Batman and I chose a later date in the year, because that meant Covid wouldn’t really affect us. It’d be gone way before then, and we’d still have the wedding we’d been dreaming of/waiting for, and been planning for nearly a year and half.
Around June we realized that wasn’t going to happen. We spent a very shitty day crying and wondering if we should cancel the whole thing. Cancel it. Cancel the thing I thought I’d never get, the thing I’d wanted for years, and that was finally gifted. We couldn’t cancel. Besides all the money we would lose, I couldn’t give up on the idea that after believing for so long that I wouldn’t have my moment, and then believing I would, that it wasn’t going to happen. Again. My mind and my heart just couldn’t take another brutal stab. We were going through with the wedding, Covid or not.
Batman and I made this decision fully aware of the possibility that many people wouldn’t come. We were right. While we did receive some positive responses, we also received more “no’s” then I expected, and from people I didn’t expect them from. People I knew would be there…except they won’t. I understand the gravity of the situation. I do. There is definitely a danger factor, but you could walk outside and get hit by a car. It’s just life. No one knows what’s coming, and you just have to do the best with what you’ve got. That’s what Batman and I are doing.
The last six months have been bittersweet. Expecting it to be the most exciting time, I was faced with heavy conversations from many friends who wouldn’t make it, friends who were there at the beginning of our relationship, and some who joined in the middle, all who watched our love grow. Then, some family reached out to say the same, that they wouldn’t make it either, all due to Covid. Like previous years, my heart was silently breaking. My dream wedding wouldn’t happen, because everyone I love wouldn’t be there. But, I put on a brave face and just kept going. What can you do? You keep moving forward while focusing on the positives. And there are always positives.
This isn’t a sad story; it’s just an honest one. Yes, I’m still heartbroken that of all the years to celebrate our thirteen-year relationship, we picked 2020. Yes, I’m heartbroken that some of my family and several of my closest friends who have been there since the beginning won’t be with me on my special day to celebrate.
But I’m having my day. For so long I believed it wouldn’t; I knew I wouldn’t – but it’s happening. It’s finally happening.
Trent and I are getting married a week from Saturday. We met at twenty-one years old, and now we’re creaky and in our mid-thirties. But we’re here. We’ve made it. Despite everything we’ve been through and all of the heartache over the years, especially the brutal disappointment in the last six months, we finally made it.
To the boy who sat across from me all those years ago –
I love you, baby, and I can’t wait to be your wife.
Honestly, I doubted I would see it. Not just because of Covid, but because Batman and I were together so long before getting engaged, that I really wondered if I’d ever get to wear the bridal sash or the tiara with the most blinged-out penises. So, it was nice finally achieving this milestone most of my friends hit in the early part of the last decade. But, it’s cool. We’re all on different journeys.
Since I live near St. Augustine, I had a few close friends join me for dinner at this fabulous restaurant right in the historic district (though the restaurant is fairly new) that perfectly fits our vintage theme. It’s called Prohibition Kitchen, and guess what their hook is? Yup: prohibition-era style everything. From food to drinks to atmosphere, it was the perfect little joint to consume all the old-time yummies while sipping through penis straws and answering a penis-themed questionnaire. Unfortunately (but mostly at my request) there were no strippers. It’s not really my thing, and one or two male reviews was one or two male reviews too many, especially when they come David-Bowie-ing their junk at me. No. Just…no.
After dinner, the ladies and I participated in an escape room, and just like my first time, I was little to no help. But I’m okay with that. The room, like the restaurant, had to fit the theme, so I chose the Lucky Duck Speakeasy. Our objective was to find the clues left in the speakeasy to uncover the murderer and disarm the bomb in 60 minutes! Let me repeat: I was little to no help. I solved ONE puzzle because it was a picture puzzle and I’m not terribly stupid at those. That was it. Everyone else (although shout-out to Shelby and Jen!) were solving things left and right. But did we make it you ask? With THIRTY SECONDS TO SPARE. I must say, I’m friends with some smart, funny women.
And Sunday, my mom and sister threw me the most beautiful shower. I actually wore a white dress that I managed not to spill anything on, and heels that propelled me a little off the ground—and I didn’t fall or trip once! Several of my out-of-state friends were able to zoom in, although they were not privy to the mimosa bar, or the several delicious appetizers and desserts scattered throughout. The whole thing was so magical and enjoyable, and not just because most of it was viewed through a mimosa-lens, but because it just *was*. And because I felt so incredibly showered in love.
I’m sad that the weekend had to end, but I’m overjoyed I was able to have it at all. Nothing is guaranteed, and after so many years of wondering, I can say I finally had my turn—and it was perfect.
Last week brought a lot of tears, and when I’m ugly-sobbing, my brain’s creative functions turn off. It’s like a door slammed shut into the writing/art world, and it’s probably good I don’t visit, because it’s all overcast and murky, and anytime I Chuck Norris the door and *force* myself to go in when I’m not ready, I produce crap. Not first-draft crap. Just nonsensical nonsense, and I end up feeling worse. So, Batman and I binged through a healthy combo of Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon instead. I feel a little better.
There were a lot of wedding discussions, and I think I’m going to make that a separate post…at some point when I feel up to writing it. Besides, this is not only the first day of the month, but also IWSG day, so, I’m going to boomerang back to writing.
Obviously, again, last week, I didn’t get a lot done. I wanted to write a post, but the Chuck Norris in me couldn’t kick down the door to personal writing, and I’m surprised I was able to sneak past it to work on my no-name story as much as I did (which was very little). At this point, I’m convinced it’s just for me because it still doesn’t feel…special. Which is fine, because I don’t feel special as a writer. I guess I’m feeling a little insecure ☹
This year is throwing me all over the place, so I’m not even thinking of writing in the long-term, business-way, like I should be. Right now, it’s just cathartic. I’m writing because I want to. Because it’s makes me happy and lets me breathe again, even if it never sees the light of day, or brings any amount of money (like most of my published writing), it’s a soul-necessity. This is obviously something I’ll have to move past, but for right now, it’s the pace I’m going – and I’m good with that.
Insecure Writer’s Support Group (IWSG) is a monthly blog hop for writers at all levels to share their fears and insecurities in a safe and encouraging place. Please drop by and say hi to Alex Cavanaugh who started this nifty concept in bringing us all together.
Recap: I started Project No Name last Sunday when I needed a break from RTD and I’m still writing it. As of today, I’m sixty pages in…about 33K words.
In a week.
That’s good, right? Honestly, I’m not one of those writers who keeps track of word count. I tried to, but ended up getting disappointed with myself if I didn’t meet the same number every night. I didn’t like it, especially if I wrote two pages of crap and one paragraph of genius because I’d still feel bad that I didn’t write more. So, I don’t look at numbers. I look at the effort (something I learned from the great Richard Bausch) and ask myself: did I work? Did I write today? And if so, then I get a gold star.
So, I’m not sure what 33K words means in a little over a week. But I’m still going. Maybe this will be a two-three week side project that will reset my reader/writer vision for RTD, and when I’m done with that, I can come back to this. Maybe. I really have no idea what I’m going to do; I simply go with it and hope something gets published at some point.
The wedding is in less than six months. SIX MONTHS until Batman becomes the happiest man alive (he already is, but it’ll be officially recognized by the government.) I’m still in my breezy mindset because I have six whole months to do all the little things I was putting off until this year. I’m surprised I’m not panicking more, but I think it’s because we’re in a good place. We planned early and did this thing smart (I think?) other than waiting thirteen years to get married in the year of the pandemic.
That’s it for me this week. What about you? How’re you creative/non-creative goals coming? Any big or small events you’re looking forward to?
I made it, guys. I made it. I know a lot of you thought I might’ve walked in front of something or off of something or between two somethings by now but BWHAHAHA in your face! I haven’t. Not yet. It’s coming, but I’m 34 going strong! It feels a lot like 33 and 32 and even 31… NOT 30. At 30, I felt shitty. I felt all the guilt of reaching a milestone-age and not reaching any major milestones (still kinda do). Also, the Firehouse guy gave my sandwich to the wrong person on the big day ☹
Now I’m in my “mid-thirties” and still feel pretty much the same. I have no clue what I’m doing with my life (yay!) but at least Batman and I are making this thing legal, so my non-directional dayjobness will be his problem too. So will my student debt. Haha, sucka! But that’s on him. He asked. I said yes. It’s a done deal. The dress has been purchased, and there’s no going back now, especially since we’ve spent the last twelve years together. We’re here. We’ve made it. We’re doing this thing. Plus, he’s deadest on the honeymoon. Now that he’s knows we’re seeing the USS Arizona and USS Missouri, there’s no way this wedding is *not* happening (we’re honeymooning in Ohau…not some weird ship graveyard…just want that clarified.)
I will say, Batman (like so many of you) has been a champion of mine. Occasionally, when I’m lurking in Facebook writing groups, I come across a rant that someone’s family or partner doesn’t support their writing, or makes them feel like their passion is their hobby. It sucks reading those. It makes me want to jump through their screen and hug them because it IS important and their writing DOES matter. But I never feel like that. Batman has never made me feel low for living the dayjob—writing-night lifestyle, especially since the latter generates zero revenue. But it’s okay. It’s what I want to do with my life. Plus, it’s this or the lottery to get us into our fancy castle-mansion, and we don’t even play. So, maybe if I could get smart with marketing my books and doing this whole indie author thing, I might become a self-made billionaire. It could totally happen, so Batman’s on board with this plan too. We could get to our castle-mansion via my writing. It’s possible.
Just need my big break, guys. 😊
(or a little break. I’ll take what I can get)
But until then, it’s the non-directional dayjobness until I figure something out. Or win the lottery. Or discover a royal relative in Genovia. I’m sure I must be related to someone famous… Come on, I’m 34…they should’ve found me by now. Well, maybe 35 is my lucky year. Guess we’ll see. Either way, Batman is along for the ride, so at least we’ll figure it out together. (Insert sappy music)
Oh, and before I forget…
What does a caped crusader get his blushing 34 year old fiancé for her birthday:
YES. A Giant plush smiling vagina. Compliments of iheartguts. No, this isn’t derogatory or rude or anything like that. This is something we both chuckled over and something I’d said I wanted. This is love. (Insert Sweet music)
I figured no post was better than five paragraphs of ramblings about makeup research or Pintrest fails or the fact that I still have to climb into my car every day. I guess no news is good news, but it’s boring news, and not worth-writing-about-news which isn’t stellar when you want to do that for a living.
So, in addition to the nothing listed above, one of my bridesmaids and I did attend the Bridal Premier Expo on Sunday. Just so you understand, this is the opposite type of event for introverts who are passive-aggressive and don’t like confrontation. It’s a madhouse. A legit madhouse. And yet, I knowingly entered the lion’s den. Again.
Batman and I went earlier this year, because, you know, we had to start on recon for the wedding. Everyone was IN MY FACE then, but it was mixed with excitement and fun because it was the first wedding thing we did, we didn’t know what to expect, and we needed the info. Now that all of our vendors are (mostly) booked, it’s not the same. It’s especially not the same since the second I walked in, two Prudential sales people hounded me about what I would do financially if Batman died. THEY HAD ME THINKING ABOUT BATMAN’S UNTIMELY DEATH. First booth in. I’m not supposed to think about that for a few years, when I get sick of his crap and decide to murder him for his money. And here they are, right out of the gate, asking me in front of everyone while I sip my overpriced mimosa. Rude.
I’d like to say it got better after that, but that’s only because miss awesome bridesmaid and I scored free food from a couple of the food vendors. But in order to get to them, we didn’t look anyone in the eye, and even that tactic didn’t work. THEY STILL FLAGGED ME DOWN. I nodded, pretended I was interested, falsely promised to return after we hit the perimeter and kept going—only to be accosted two booths down. I just wanted my free cupcake, guys.
Besides some much-needed girl-time, the only *real* reason we went to the expo was to do double recon on the DJ I hired, since I made a novice move and hired him without a face to face. I know. Stupid me. And when my wedding planner and venue said they never heard of him (and made the face like wtf is he?), I thought, well…shit. I fucked up. But I didn’t! 😊 Not only does he and the company exist, they were playing some kickass music. *Swipes brow* crisis averted.
But this expo…it’s like a car sale on ‘roids—except it’s for things you think you like (flowers and dresses and pretty table settings) but it’s scary and intimidating and makes you wish people would calm down because no, not everyone wants to sign up for a free trip to Sandals or hear their twenty minute spiel about what makes their company so great. We only stayed for a little over an hour, just to validate my DJ (check!) so now I can set my worrisome eyes to something else in the future wedding forecast.
Moral of the post? I’m not sure. Have face-to-face conversations with your vendors and prepare for battle when you enter a bridal expo. It usually helps if you have liquor in hand. For courage, and as a weapon. Trust me.
Last week kicked my ass. Can we all agree it sucked? ☹
Since my favorite Aunt was in town, everything was cranked up to the next level of crazy-emotional, and I found myself crying at work on THREE different occasions over things I would’ve normally bottled up and whined about to Batman. And not cute little tears that I could pass off as a tender moment of sadness. No. I straight up Ugly-Cried, guys. AT WORK. Where I have to go back and show my ugly-crying face daily. And since I don’t care enough to wear make-up, just imagine my level of sexiness. Yeah.
I also put my hand through a spider’s nest.
I’m going to give you a second to think about that. To really get the image. Not a web. A nest. A spider’s nest which means there was one fat momma and her *billions* of babies. Really soak in that image. Are you fainting yet?
Because I nearly did. After the scream that shook the earth (and a terrible day earlier; note the ugly-crying above) I about passed out because WHAT THE HELL UNIVERSE. Yeah, I know I don’t sweep every day since Appa leaves a healthy layer of fur on my floor, but I WAS GETTING TO IT. Why would you hide the forces of evil under my dryer sheet—with *billions* of evil babies—and then let me grab it? With my hand? The one that I use to write and CANNOT chop off even though it’s touched the lowest layer in hell and will forever be tainted.
So, last week was fun. 😊
I still get sick in the morning (most mornings) and no, I’m not pregnant. I’m stressed, and my body just reacts. Though, I will say this is one of the best diets I’ve been on. Is it unhealthy? Of course. But so is depression, and that’s the next best option that I’d really rather not explore. The silver lining is that it’s been great for wedding-dress-shopping which I recently did. Want to know how it went? Let’s just call it the opposite of my spider’s-nest-drama because mom and sister helped me FIND MY WEDDING DRESS 😊😊😊
YES! I HAVE IT! Eons early, but I have it, and it’s perfect, and I cannot WAIT to put it on again (many, many months from now.) I’d *love* to describe every frigging detail down to the time of day we went and the number of dresses I tried on, but I can’t. Sometimes Batman reads my posts (sometimes…) and I don’t want him peeking in on anything his happy butt can wait to know in November 2020. If we’re besties in the real world, of course you’ll get the whole story (details included!). For everyone else, just imagine the most gorgeous, perfect dress you didn’t realize you wanted—or even knew existed. And it’s yours! GUYS. I HAVE MY WEDDING DRESS!
Okay, so maybe the tail end of last week turned out to be not so terrible. I’ll give you Friday afternoon and Saturday. But Monday through mid-Friday—WTF, Universe? And really, a SPIDER’S NEST? You know it’s the antithesis of everything pure and holy.
But I did find my wedding dress. And it’s so, so beautiful…
Fine, Universe, you’re off the hook this week. But only because Batman just might cry now. He swears he won’t ball at the ceremony, but this gown might be the trick. I hope so. I’d really hate for mom to lose her five bucks. 😊
I spent twenty dollars on a bridal magazine about flowers.
I’m obviously insane.
Do I have money like that to spend? No. But I’d neglected to check the price, and I liked what I’d flipped through, and my debit card was already out, about to be swiped. Everything was in motion. So, I got it. I spent TWENTY DOLLARS on a magazine because I’m awkward and can’t change my mind mid-purchase, and because it had pretty pictures that I could use for my wedding binder. That’s it. I should justify that a little better, but I can’t. These are the decisions I make. I wanted to finish my art project and apparently, I have good taste. Twenty-dollars-good. Also dropped five dollars at Starbucks so I must’ve been on a roll.
We’re approaching mid-May and a lot of decisions are being made eighteen months out (by the way—this is going to be a wedding post. Have I not mentioned that? Now you know. Carry on 😊). We have the venue and DJ booked and are in heavy research/ correspondence with a potential caterer and florist. Woop! Four out of the big five are in the process of being checked. The photographer is the last piece of the puzzle and I’m saving that for late summer.
I have a pintrest board and if you’re even the slightest bit interested/stalkery, feel free to take a look/stalk to your heart’s content:
Whatcha think? I have some ideas. Batman has some too, and we think this event is going to be kick-ass. That’s the goal. Have a kick-ass wedding. Just as I imagined as a little girl 😊
Well, I’m going to flip through my TWENTY DOLLAR magazine and figure out which images will be used for the wedding binder. It’s not even that thick of a magazine. But there are a lot of really beautiful, really inspiring images, so at least I only feel half ripped-off.
Still though…TWENTY DOLLARS?!?!
What the hell Virgo tendencies? Why didn’t you pick up on this shit the second I reached for the thing? Details are OUR THING.