Thursday, July 19, 2007
I think men who have a pierced ear are better prepared for marriage. They've experienced pain and bought jewelry. -- Rita Rudner
Seems that all my blog buddies are on summer hiatus. That's ok. But I mean, really, how am I supposed to know the neat details of your everyday life? Pick up the phone and actually call you?! I can't really talk, though, see, cause I've been on my own starting-work-planning-a-wedding hiatus myself. So we're all forgiven.
And speaking of that wedding. It sure is creeping up on all of us. Maybe not you so much. Kinda on ME actually. Oh yeah, and the Betrothed too -- who in a few shorts months will need some other clever moniker for blogging purposes. I'll be honest. Getting him a new blog name isn't high on my list of things to accomplish in the next two months. He doesn't read this anyway. He sure doesn't know what he's missing. Maybe he does.
In all honesty, the wedding planning is, dare I say, pretty easy. We've had over two years to make decisions, buy things, reserve people and places. There is little left to do that I can't PayPal on the internet, get in one big trip to Michael's or finish up in this weekend's trip to the Williamsburg Pottery Factory (aka: Little Mexico.. seriously, have you ever BEEN there?). So I don't blog to complain and be all bridezilla on you.
I blog about a wedding we went to this past weekend. An old highschool chum of the Betrothed. Nice guy, really. I encountered him at the reunion last year. She's nice too, even though I'm pretty sure she carries a pink glitter pen with her at all times and has a serious stash of stickers and Precious Moments figurines in a curio cabinet somewhere. And I don't roll like that. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Ever.
So Saturday we get all duded up and head out to AMISH COUNTRY, PA. It would have made a better story to say that she was Amish, but the story looses nothing to tell you that the ceremony was at an old clapboard Baptist church IN Amish country. Unfortunately for the Betrothed, he has never seen Harrison Ford's 1980's classic "The Witness" (and clearly has not spent any amount of quality time watching movies on the USA channel..) and so my numerous -- and I mean numerous -- references and quotes from said movie as we drove down the dusty road served only to confuse and piss him off. ("Four-thirty! Time for milking!".... "I'm dying to know if any of them have some wrecked volkswagon in one of those garages and are romancing the hot Amish girl by playing the radio..."). When we arrived to the church 45 minutes early, I persuaded him to continue down the road so that I could shamelessly stare and wave at more Amish people and excitedly squeal at my the viewing of my first Amish buggy en-route. We turned around when we hit gravel. (Because you aren't anywhere you want to be anymore if you hit gravel. It leads to no where good. At least no where that smells good. I'm a city girl. Or at least a suburban girl. I don't DO gravel. )
The wedding was nice (if not very purple and a minister who needed a very serious lesson in comedy before attempting it in their ceremony). The reception was nice (if not very purple with mediocre cake and an obnoxious DJ). I reserved my normal wedding-reception excitement (wine-dancing-cake-dancing-wine) on our way to the hall as I knew no one at this wedding except the Betrothed -- and the groom (who I knew barely and I figured might object to spending the evening entertaining me..).
It was mediocre cake, but it made for an awfully strange reunion with another old HS friend of the Betrothed. Both commented on their inability to run for office now.
My fears were dashed away as soon as I got to know some new friends at Table #13 -- the awesomest table at the reception. Table #13 stuck together, man. None of us knew anyone else there and that is what bonded us together. We cracked on the poorly dressed, the jellyfish dancers and the sloppy drunks.
Before we knew it, Table #13 was dancing as a table. We decided to photo document it. The Betrothed cleverly decided to bring the magic of the table to the dance floor with our actual table number.
It was basically the Betrothed and I taking odd pictures of the #13 in different places.
Huh. Seemed funny at the time.
I mean, yeah, he was with us as a 13, but like, woah.
Who brought THIS dude?
And the polka dot dress was way cute sans sweater. But, sadly, I lost a button during the Charlie Brown Cha-Cha Electric Slide song and so for modesty's sake, I opted for the sweater.
So -- now I blogged. It's your turn. Go.
And speaking of that wedding. It sure is creeping up on all of us. Maybe not you so much. Kinda on ME actually. Oh yeah, and the Betrothed too -- who in a few shorts months will need some other clever moniker for blogging purposes. I'll be honest. Getting him a new blog name isn't high on my list of things to accomplish in the next two months. He doesn't read this anyway. He sure doesn't know what he's missing. Maybe he does.
In all honesty, the wedding planning is, dare I say, pretty easy. We've had over two years to make decisions, buy things, reserve people and places. There is little left to do that I can't PayPal on the internet, get in one big trip to Michael's or finish up in this weekend's trip to the Williamsburg Pottery Factory (aka: Little Mexico.. seriously, have you ever BEEN there?). So I don't blog to complain and be all bridezilla on you.
I blog about a wedding we went to this past weekend. An old highschool chum of the Betrothed. Nice guy, really. I encountered him at the reunion last year. She's nice too, even though I'm pretty sure she carries a pink glitter pen with her at all times and has a serious stash of stickers and Precious Moments figurines in a curio cabinet somewhere. And I don't roll like that. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Ever.
So Saturday we get all duded up and head out to AMISH COUNTRY, PA. It would have made a better story to say that she was Amish, but the story looses nothing to tell you that the ceremony was at an old clapboard Baptist church IN Amish country. Unfortunately for the Betrothed, he has never seen Harrison Ford's 1980's classic "The Witness" (and clearly has not spent any amount of quality time watching movies on the USA channel..) and so my numerous -- and I mean numerous -- references and quotes from said movie as we drove down the dusty road served only to confuse and piss him off. ("Four-thirty! Time for milking!".... "I'm dying to know if any of them have some wrecked volkswagon in one of those garages and are romancing the hot Amish girl by playing the radio..."). When we arrived to the church 45 minutes early, I persuaded him to continue down the road so that I could shamelessly stare and wave at more Amish people and excitedly squeal at my the viewing of my first Amish buggy en-route. We turned around when we hit gravel. (Because you aren't anywhere you want to be anymore if you hit gravel. It leads to no where good. At least no where that smells good. I'm a city girl. Or at least a suburban girl. I don't DO gravel. )
The wedding was nice (if not very purple and a minister who needed a very serious lesson in comedy before attempting it in their ceremony). The reception was nice (if not very purple with mediocre cake and an obnoxious DJ). I reserved my normal wedding-reception excitement (wine-dancing-cake-dancing-wine) on our way to the hall as I knew no one at this wedding except the Betrothed -- and the groom (who I knew barely and I figured might object to spending the evening entertaining me..).
It was mediocre cake, but it made for an awfully strange reunion with another old HS friend of the Betrothed. Both commented on their inability to run for office now.My fears were dashed away as soon as I got to know some new friends at Table #13 -- the awesomest table at the reception. Table #13 stuck together, man. None of us knew anyone else there and that is what bonded us together. We cracked on the poorly dressed, the jellyfish dancers and the sloppy drunks.
Before we knew it, Table #13 was dancing as a table. We decided to photo document it. The Betrothed cleverly decided to bring the magic of the table to the dance floor with our actual table number.
It was basically the Betrothed and I taking odd pictures of the #13 in different places.Huh. Seemed funny at the time.
I mean, yeah, he was with us as a 13, but like, woah.
Who brought THIS dude?
And the polka dot dress was way cute sans sweater. But, sadly, I lost a button during the Charlie Brown Cha-Cha Electric Slide song and so for modesty's sake, I opted for the sweater.So -- now I blogged. It's your turn. Go.
# posted by Cathy @ 8:24:00 PM 
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At our wedding, we seated all our softball buddies together at table 16. And put disposable cameras on each table. The combination of those two factors resulted in some HILARIOUS photos of the table 16 crew at some of the more important moments of our wedding ... Kev and I cutting the cake, Dave in the background with the table 16 card; my sister's boyfriend putting the garter on my sister's leg, another of the 16-ers in the background; the whole of table 16 laying on the floor in the shape of a 16; table 16 in the bathroom; table 16 in the kitchen with various help ... it was quite amusing :)
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