The Bumpy Ride Begins

Looking at reception sites, knowing that your first choice is already booked, is depressing. I wanted to get married in this beautiful hotel near my hometown, but it was booked for both days of the weekend we picked. And I don't want to change my date because I've already changed it twice to accommodate people I don't even like that much.

So we looked at one place first. It took all of ten minutes. The woman who showed us the place had no personality, was rude, and gave no sense that she had any interest in booking the place for us. The outside of the building is shabby and the landscape didn't look great (it was also covered by three feet of snow that will not melt until the Apocolypse. Just a tip to those considering moving to the northeast: go to Hawaii instead). We drove off liking the price and the convenience, but not the attitude or the look.

The second place we looked at was the complete opposite. We spent over an hour and a half with the sales rep, were walked through both the room and every detail we could possibly think of for the reception. We left there convinced that's where we were going to book. Until we got home, did the math, realized it was incredibly expensive and that the two hour gap between the end of the service and the start of the reception was seriously an issue.

So I fell apart. Completely. Got whiny and upset. I didn't realize this was going to be so hard or this expensive. Rock Starr and I were just blown away by all the things we hadn't thought about. Mom was great, totally supportive and positive. Stayed upbeat and wouldn't let me get down. Daddy-O told me I was overreacting and to stop it. Needless to say, we didn't stay long after dinner was over since my father had kind of made me feel even worse about myself.

We got home and both of us headed straight for the advil and the chocolate cake in the fridge. Both were restorative. Then the Object of My Affection did something that made me feel both simultaneously better and worse. He went online and found seven more sites to possibly hold a reception. He took notes and had phone numbers. Omar has an evil job where he sometimes doesn't even get a lunch break, and yet tomorrow he will take time out from the evil job to call those places because he wants me to have a day to relax and not think about the wedding.

When he found all those places, I will confess I got very upset. I started blubbering and feeling totally inadequate as a bride to be. Omar had previously expressed zero interest in wedding planning until I screwed it up. In a half an hour, he got further than I did in a week. And Omar was fabulous about it. He told me I was the best girlfriend in ten states (after six years of calling me girlfriend, he has a hard time with fiancee. It's okay with me, though). (BTW: Jay Leno is not funny. I hate March Madness because it preempts Letterman. I'd watch the Daily Show, but we don't get cable in the room with the computer.) I think he could tell how totally overwhelmed I was feeling after just one failure. I hate to fail. I hate being wrong and I hate not getting my way. Omar is the best man I've ever met. He found seven places that he'll call on his lunch break because he feels bad that I feel bad. How did I get so lucky?

Okay, seriously, Jay Leno sucks. But Dennis Lehane does not. Read Shutter Island. One of the best books I've read this year. I read Ben Affleck was going to direct a film adaptation of Gone Baby Gone. I will not go see it if he casts bad actors in those films. I love the Kenzie/Gennaro series and if he casts Jennifer Garner or Leonardo DiCaprio or someone like that in the film I'll scream. Not that I don't love Jennifer Garner, because Alias is my favorite t.v. show, the only one I never, ever miss. But she is so wrong for Angie. Jay Leno, you are not funny. Shut. Up.

Easter is Sunday. Omar and I are spending it with the Extended Family, including Oldest Uncle and Youngest Uncle. Middle Uncle can't come. It should be an interesting weekend. I am particularly looking forward to spending time with Baby Sis. She's one of my most favorite people, ever.

So I wasn't cut out to be a wedding planner. Maybe I can be a film critic or a book reviewer instead. Maybe Omar should quit his Evil Job and be a wedding planner. Maybe I should just go to bed and try not to obsess about my wedding.