That was, in short, my Halloween night.
Let’s start at the beginning. In the last few months The Boy and I have made decent friends out of our across the street neighbors and the neighbors behind them. This week they informed us that another couple in the neighborhood was throwing a Halloween party and that we should all check it out. So, late Saturday night The Boy and I, dressed as ourselves at prom, and our neighbor friends, dressed as themselves from the day before, trot across a few lawns and arrive at a garage party the policed department could only dream of.
The hostess of the party was very nice and offered us some jello shots and burgers that we graciously turned down due to our fear of dysentery and strange meat products. She spent a good portion of the night bouncing someone else’s squishy baby on her lap. We later found out that the parents of the squishy baby were two class act inviduals who not only partook in some illegal substances but were actually the providers of said herbs. The baby daddy popped open the little compartment on the top of the stroller and took out a bag of weed and a bong. I remember distinctly tugging on The Boy’s arm and making him watch as this 19 year old father of an 8 month old carefully resealed his bag and put his drugs back into his son’s stroller. Evening thinking about it now, I have no words. !!!?@#? is all that comes to mind.
Anycrazypeoplespawning, The Boy and I took on a pair of women in Beer Pong, where I did exceptionally well and could have won us the game if FianceFace could have sunk a ball in a damn cup. Competitive much? In all honesty he did well, especially considering he was about five drinks ahead of me. I just did better than expected, I am notoriously bad at beer pong. However, our best was not good enough and we had to ensue teasing and smack talk from the women who won.
One of these women came up and started chatting with us a little later, and after learning that my future husband is A) smart, B) employed C) a high wage earner and D) has good taste in jewelry informed me that if she wanted my man, she could have him. To which I giggled nervously because I’m a sheltered white girl and I had no idea what remarks would be appropriate and what would get my ass beaten by a 5′3 black girl. Later that night she started dancing up on me and mentioned that her boobs were better than mine, to which I take offense because though I know the rest of me needs some work, my girls are PERFECT. And her’s were rather floppy.
And according to my fiance I had “the best butt at the party.”
Which, of course, means I win. Take that homegirl.
How was your Halloween lovers?
I made each one a little different, and mailed them out a week or so ago with the “Go Choose A Dress” paint samples. Soon after I got an excited phone call from one, and days later the above cards from two others. I’m getting so excited! I know it’s months and months away, but each little task I check off my list brings me closer to June. Catering is still proving to be a bitch, but I’m hopeful that I’ll get that taken care of this weekend while I whine to The Boy about it while we drive back to PA to see my family on Saturday and attend his cousin’s bridal shower on Sunday.
Wedding Woes November 9, 2009
Michelle posted recently about the constant “buzz” of wedding planning that exists in her head.
Well, girl, let me just say “WORD.”
I didn’t get it before I was engaged. I didn’t. I don’t think I could have. It’s just one of those things that you just don’t understand before you enter the tulle covered, bedazzled, tiara-ed world of The Bride. Where I once remember being puzzled over “bride diets” (because, really? why try and makeover your body for a party?) now I admit one of the biggest spurs in my side pushing me to the produce aisle and the gym is that white dress hanging in my bridal salon’s “Received” area. {Side note, my dress is in!!! Squee!! I’m making plans for a first fitting in January!!}
Before I spent my free time blogging, or reading, or learning stuff, or making “Shaba Loves Me” t-shirts for a few Very Important People. Now, if I have a few moments of free time I spend it looking at wedding porn. StyleMePretty, a Practical Wedding, The Brides Guide. I spend hours staring at West Coast brides who always seem to have way better luck at thrift stores than I ever do. I spend hours looking for “things” for my wedding. I have lists upon lists of “things” to do, “things” to research, “things” to try and “things” to buy. And after every tiny check I put on my ever-expanding task list I feel a little more defeated. Because it never really turns out the way I imagined.
I’m terrified that my wedding, the vision I’ve had since April and have worked on peice by peice like a little bird building a nest, will become passe before it has taken place. I’m afraid that my handiwork, my vendors, and my wedding won’t be the “wedding blog worthy” wedding I imagine it to be. I’m afraid that my non-theme theme of Stuff I’ve Always Liked That Just Happens To Be Trendy Right Now will become a snore, trendy and “So Last Season” by the time June 12th rolls around. And I know it shouldn’t matter. I know I should just do whatever the hell I want because I CAN. And it’s MY (our, really) Day Dammit. And I will. I just wish I knew it would all turn out the way it looks in my head, I wish I had an insurance policy for the beauty and fun quotient of my wedding. Dear Flo From Progressive, can we get a quote on that?
I just want it to live up to the image I have in my head.
And though I know, I KNOW it’ll be fine and wonderful and The Best Day ever because at the end of the night I’ll be married….I can’t seem to shut up the little wedding ‘zilla inside my head.
So, tell me something good.
And don’t use the word “wedding.”