Wedding Weirdness

Mavs lose, and a bad day is sure to follow…the kind you wish would hurry up and end so you can go home, grab some ice cream, curl up in your favorite chair, and watch some guilty pleasure movie, like Dance With Me.

Here are the high points (low points?):

In the course of random conversation with people I barely knew, the topic of weddings came up.  Hardly surprising considering it’s the month of June--the unofficial wedding month--where every girly station like WE, Lifetime, and TLC, airs enough I Do shows to make The Stay Puft Marshmallow Man explode. 

I’m a hopeless romantic, y’all know that, but weddings have never been a fantastic fantasy in my life. This, as I learned, instantly shoves me into the “You are so doomed” category.

Here’s why:

-I haven’t had my ideal wedding planned since I was a little girl.

-I don’t have THE dress already in mind.  An idea, maybe, but certainly nothing set in stone.

-I don’t buy bridal magazines and keep clippings in a box with hand painted flowers and hearts. (I’ve never even held a bridal magazine)

-I don’t have a dream venue; I haven’t chosen my colors (again, an idea, maybe); I don’t have music or flowers picked out.

-I wouldn’t force my bridesmaids to wear something they don’t want to wear—no single style dress/outfit; no single color, etc. If they want strapless, cool! If they want a little jacket, cool!

-I’ve never tried on a wedding gown (Um, is this really something a single woman does?)

Bride Enthusiast: “Didn’t you know it’s bad luck not to pre-plan your wedding?”

Me, amused: “Interesting. And here I thought it was bad luck if the groom sees the bride before the wedding.”

Bride Girl: “Will you take this seriously, please? This isn’t good!  You're jinxing yourself!”

Me, grinning: “Well…I know I don’t want fancy, frou-frou food. I want down-home cooking that everyone will love. Does that count?”

They weren't convinced.

Guess I don’t have the cart-before-the-horse mentality. I don’t begrudge anybody who plans their wedding in advance of an engagement…or a groom…(it’s kinda cute and hopeful, really), but, good grief, don’t say it’s oh-so-bad luck for me because I never did the same.  

Here’s the deal: I don’t define love by a single day event where you wear an unmanageable white dress that is certain to get slopped on by day’s end. For me, it’s about two people who somehow find each other through this unbelievable chaos called dating.

Reckon I just value the love part more; the wedding part, to me, isn’t meant to be stressful—it’s meant to be enjoyed. A bridezilla, I would most definitely NOT be. It’s not my nature. If you’re lucky enough to find a lifetime love, then the wedding is just white icing on the chocolate cake…at least to me (Huh. Looks like I subconsciously have the cake part picked out anyway).

So, after the Bridal Brigade, I didn’t think the things could get much worse.

I was wrong.

My phone is totally PMSing. She refused to make calls, refused to take calls, and denied me my voice mail. She begrudgingly let me text. Little b*&^%.  I had to call (on another phone) to see if I can fix my phone’s funk.

Following the automated voice stuff, I dutifully fulfilled my button pushing role until something went massively wrong.  It asked me to punch in the number of the phone I was calling about (which, of course, wasn’t the one I was calling from). So, I punched in my cranky phone’s number and heard this:

“You chose to pay 1 million blah blah blah…”  Her voice kept reading numbers and my brain went into freeze mode, while my body starting sweating profusely.

I WHAT?! No, I absolutely DID NOT.

I ended the call immediately, not even letting her finish the endless number reading.

“Thanks a lot, you useless piece of PMSing metal!”

What followed was me trying not to channel the horse in Animal House, all while shaking, dialing, glaring at my problem phone, talking, and getting everything resolved—hopefully. The person I talked with said there must be a problem with the automated system.

See, this is why I don’t use GPS. Dang thing would send me straight off a pier, into the ocean, and down the mouth of a whale.

The day ended with a massive headache and an ice bag.   

Mavs, I really, really need you to win.