Diary of a Mad Bride (7 page)

M
y parents keep their wedding album neatly filed between a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt and a Sidney Sheldon paperback that my baby-sitter left behind in 1976.

As kids, Nicole and I would flip through the album and laugh at how funny everyone was dressed. Our dad in a
beige
tuxedo. And Gram, impossible to miss, in her floor-length gown covered with giant gold sequins.

But now when I think about that wedding album it's my parents' youth that strikes me most. They were barely in their twenties. My father had just been hired as a manager at the local supermarket and my mother was studying for her teaching certificate. They had no idea what life had in store for them. Yet their joy is impossible to deny.

This is what I see in my relationship with Stephen—a love that's strong enough to brave an unknown future, joyfully.

I
met Mandy for lunch today. It's less than three weeks until her wedding, so I expected the usual hysteria about place cards and hors d'oeuvres and wine selections. But there was none. Far from hysterical, she was truly
depressed. Apparently her mother and her aunt had a fight about her aunt not giving Mandy and Jon an engagement gift and now her aunt won't come to the wedding. It seems her aunt withholds gifts as a way of expressing her dissatisfaction. When pressed, she told Mandy's mother that she was dissatisfied with the graduation gift Mandy's family had given her own daughter three years earlier. It was too cheap and thoughtless. When Mandy's grandmother heard this she got so mad at the aunt that she decided to disinherit her. This made Mandy's cousins so angry that now they won't come to the wedding either. It all sounded ridiculously petty.

But it did make me appreciate my family. Bud and Terry Thomas may be stingy with their enthusiasm, but at least they're not dysfunctional. Which is good, because Stephen and I have chosen June 2nd as our wedding date, and nothing is more unpleasant than dysfunction under a hot summer sun.

W
edding planners. What a joke. I've already made an impressive dent in my “Things To Do” list.

Official THINGS TO DO List

1. Choose wedding date

2. Tell boss wedding date

3. Vacation time for honeymoon

4. Decide on honeymoon

5. Get minister

6. Choose reception venue

7. Make guest list

8. Choose maid of honor

9. Choose best man

10. Register for gifts

11. Arrange for engagement party

12. Buy engagement ring

13. Buy wedding rings

14. Buy wedding dress

15. Choose maid of honor dress

16. Order wedding cake

17. Hire caterer

18. Hire band for reception

19. Order flowers for ceremony

20. Buy shoes

21. Plan rehearsal dinner

22. Invites to rehearsal dinner

23. Hire musicians for ceremony

24. Decide on dress code

25. Get marriage license

26. Hire videographer

27. Hire photographer

28. Order table flowers

29. Order bouquets

30. Order boutonnieres for men

31. Order nosegays for women

32. Order invitations

33. Decide on wine selection

34. Postage for invitations

35. Choose hairstyle and makeup

36. Buy gifts for attendants

37. Buy thank-you notes

38. Announce wedding in newspaper

39. Buy headpiece

40. Buy traveler's checks for honeymoon

41. Apply for visas

42. Get shots and vaccinations

43. Order tent if necessary

44. Order chairs/tables if necessary

45. Make budget

46. Divide expenses

47. Make table-seating charts

48. Choose bridesmaid dress

49. Decide on menu

50. Decide on hors d'oeuvres

51. Decide on dinner-service style

52. Decide on staff-guest ratio

53. Decide seated or buffet

54. Reserve vegetarian meals

55. Reserve band/photographer/videographer meals

56. Make photo list

57. Choose hotel for wedding night

58. Hire limo for church-reception transport

59. Buy guest book for reception

60. Find hotel for out-of-towners

61. Decide on liquor selection

62. Hire bartenders

63. Verify wheelchair accessibility

64. Choose processional music

65. Choose recessional music

66. Choose cocktail music

67. Choose reception music

68. Choose ceremony readings

69. Prepare birdseed instead of rice

70. Schedule manicure/pedicure/wax

A
ccording to
BB
I'm alarmingly late in reserving a venue for my wedding reception. Flirting with disaster. Treading that thin line between a life of happiness and a dream unfulfilled.

And it's starting to worry Prudence. I can tell by her refusal to blink.

It seems people typically reserve their venues a year in advance. I only have nine months. But I refuse to worry. If a human being can sprout in nine months from some spare biological matter, then I can plan a wedding. Besides, this is New York City. Not some little suburb with one church and a town hall. There are literally thousands of hotels, “event” spaces, and gardens for us to choose from. We could do a turn-of-the-century mansion, a hotel ballroom, a loft, a theater, a botanical garden, a private club, or a waterfront restaurant. And Lord knows, this city of sin
isn't lacking in places of worship. Even Gomorrah had churches.

Besides, how bad can it be? After all, I'm going to be a June bride.

Holy shit.

W
hile compiling my guest list for the wedding
¹⁷
I realized that it's been a while since I've seen several of my friends.

This is strange, because I'm very social. I'm the one you call if you want to go out. I'm always up for a movie, a gallery show, or a meal. I love debating local politics and discussing career goals. Then it occurred to me that all these “lost” friends are married. I've only seen them a couple of times since their weddings. One by one my married friends have disappeared. How did this happen?

Where did they go?

I'm vowing here and now that THIS WILL NOT HAPPEN TO ME. I will not fall off the face of the Earth after June 2nd. I will not cease to exist.

I wonder if my married friends made the same vow?

I
can't sleep. It's just occurred to me that marriage is emblematic for lodging.

The Jewish wedding canopy is symbolic of the roof on
the couple's new home. The Catholic church is the
house
of the Lord. And then there's the “institution” of marriage, like the Institution of American Dentistry, which you “enter into,” like a home, a supermarket, or a car wash. But do you ever come out? Will I fade into my friends' memories as that brunette with the great smile?

And what if the lodging is substandard, like a hut? Or a log cabin? Or a studio apartment with roaches and no hot water? Who do I complain to?

I
went to Frutto di Sole with the girls tonight. Anita, Jenny, Kathy, and Paula. We just laughed and bitched and ate really great bad food. I felt like I was back in college. Except Mandy wasn't there to complain about my use of profanity. She was too busy putting the fear of God into her wedding caterer.

Several times during the evening I thought to ask my girlfriends about wedding venues, dress suggestions, and creative party details…but I decided against it. I'm not going to be one of those brides who won't shut up about her wedding. As much as I love her, I'm no Mandy.

Furthermore, I'm going to make a point of doing this at least twice a month when I'm married. Going out with the girls. Kicking back and talking, maybe Rollerblading in the park…I just hope Stephen won't feel threatened. Forgotten. Left out. Neglected. Abandoned. Hurt. Ignored.

For Christ's sake! This is why I don't own a pet!

B
arry held the door open for me on the way into the conference room.

Something is very wrong.

I
went over to Stephen's apartment for dinner. We needed to buckle down and come up with a rough estimate on our guest list. And though I purposely sat on and tried to bond with his plaid couch, visions of Goodwill just danced in my head.

Since I always want sushi and he always wants Mexican, we generally compromise and order out for Chinese. But tonight Stephen surprised me with a homemade dinner. Seafood paella served by candlelight. And on our table was an ice sculpture the size of a milk carton, which Stephen himself had made.

The man can cook but he can't sculpt. He claimed it was a rose, and though I praised his artistry, I couldn't help but think how much it looked like a human brain. Shrinking and dripping before our very eyes onto a saucer. All through dinner—drip, drip, drip. And when I suggested that we move it away from the candles, Stephen insisted on keeping it where it was. Drip, drip, drip went the human brain.

Then, just as we were finishing dessert, and the human brain had shrunk to the size of a small tumor, I noticed something sparkling within it. Minutes later Stephen's hand-carved rose revealed a dazzling jewel. He plucked it out and slipping it onto my finger asked how I liked my engagement ring.

It was the most romantic, creative, thoughtful gesture. And the ring was sparkling and stunning and NOT A DIAMOND.

It's a glorious emerald set in a gold band. Lovely and elegant but NOT A DIAMOND.

ME

Oh. Wow. It's an emerald. I don't know what to say.

STEPHEN

I'm so relieved you like it. I thought you might prefer a diamond, but my grandmother convinced me to give this to you. It belonged to her mother and she's been keeping it all these years, waiting for one of us to get married. I even had it sized to fit your finger.

ME

Oh yeah, it fits great.

What could I say? It was his great-grandmother's ring. To refuse would be insulting four generations of his family. So what if his wedding proposal was cut-rate? The ring is stunning and he cooked me dinner and he hand-carved a human brain from a block of ice, but it's NOT A DIAMOND.

I know this shouldn't bother me. After all, I'm the one who keeps insisting that we avoid the shackles of tradition, blah, blah, blah, but when else in my entire life am I going to get a diamond ring? Never. This was my one chance and I blew it.