I was very excited to find certified copies of McMoose's and my marriage license in the mail today, so I decided that since today is the last day before I have to go back to work, I would take care of as much of the name change thing as possible today. Wanna know how it went?
5: the number of times my alarm had to go off before I was able to drag myself out of bed.
30: the number of minutes it took me to drive to the social security office.
0: the number of available parking spots at the social security office.
3: the number of people who tried to cut in line to check in and get a number at the social security office.
2: the number of hours I waited for my number to get called.
2: the number of MINUTES it took them to process my request once they actually called my number.
30: the number of minutes it took me to drive to the DMV headquarters.
0: the number of available parking spots at the DMV.
3: the number of blocks I parked from the DMV.
20: the number of seconds it took the guy at the service desk to inform me that there at the DMV headquarters? They don't process driver's licenses.
20: The number of minutes it took me to drive to the driver's license office.
4: The number of times I had to circle the block because the driver's license office is INSIDE the AMTRAK station. Good to know.
6: The number of people in line ahead of me.
40: The number of minutes we waited for THE FIRST PERSON in that line to get called.
20: The number of minutes we waited until a customer service woman came to make sure that everyone had the right documents.
19: The number of hairs on my head that turned gray when the customer service woman informed me that since I just went to the social security office this morning, they wouldn't be able to do the name change for my driver's license until Monday.
Showing posts with label Wedding. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wedding. Show all posts
Friday, August 15, 2008
Friday, July 4, 2008
Putting the Crap into Scrapbooking
I feel like I should preface this by saying that I'm not usually a scrapbooking kind of gal. In fact, I'm not even a putting-photos-in-albums kind of gal. Generally speaking, I'm the person who feigns a headache whenever someone says "Oh, you have to see pictures of [insert event name here]." And yet, for some reason that I can no longer remember, I thought it might be fun to do a wedding scrapbook. Silly me.
I mean, the pages I've already done--the save the date cards, the invitations, the what's-its, the whose-nots--those were all fine. But now? Now I'm smack dab in the middle of the photo part. And the first step to the photo part? Going through the TWO THOUSAND PICTURES that McMoose's cousin (a.k.a. Official Wedding Photographer) sent us. Hear that soul rending cry? Yeah, that's me.
So all crying aside, I finished step one and thought I was home free. Except that when you weed through 2,000 pictures and pick out the ones you think are important, there are STILL over two hundred left. Right. So I'm going to put the scrapbook thing aside for a few years...I mean...hours...and try to channel Martha Stewart. She'd know about this kind of thing, right? RIGHT??? Good.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
A Series of Very Fortunate Events
I really don't think I'm overstepping when I say that it is entirely possible that I had the least stressful wedding in the history of weddings. Which was absolutely fantastic, as well as being wholly unexpected, because considering how many wedding-related things went wrong in the months before the wedding, I pretty much expected my world to implode on the big day. And I was very pleasantly surprised because contrary to my expectations, everything happened at around the right time, everyone got along with each other, and even though I had no idea where my car keys were THE ENTIRE WEEKEND, I was surrounded by people who very graciously helped me look for them.
And as people were leaving, several of them mentioned how nice everything had been and what a good job McMoose and I had done of planning the thing, and I felt slightly...guilty. Because in reality, I think it was nice despite us, and not because of us. See, we had no Grand Vision for this day. In fact, we pretty much let the professionals do whatever they wanted. And the few guidelines that we did provide? Completely spur of the moment decisions. For example, when the baker asked what cake we wanted, our response was "Um...maybe...white? And with...hm...let's see...blue frosting? And some kind of decoration on it might be nice...right?" And we had very similar conversations with the DJ, the florist, the pastor, and the very patient woman at the reception hall. And, as it turns out, these people? They're pretty damn good at their jobs.
And the not-so-much professionals who were involved in this wedding did their jobs perfectly too. The hyperactive 8-year-old ring bearer did an admirable job of not losing the rings, the various family members did an even more admirable job of being civilized and getting along, and people actually got up and DANCED at the reception (albeit with a good deal of encouragement). And despite a forecast of thunderstorms, even the weather was unrelentingly cheerful. And now? I get to play with the MOUNTAIN of presents in my living room.
And as people were leaving, several of them mentioned how nice everything had been and what a good job McMoose and I had done of planning the thing, and I felt slightly...guilty. Because in reality, I think it was nice despite us, and not because of us. See, we had no Grand Vision for this day. In fact, we pretty much let the professionals do whatever they wanted. And the few guidelines that we did provide? Completely spur of the moment decisions. For example, when the baker asked what cake we wanted, our response was "Um...maybe...white? And with...hm...let's see...blue frosting? And some kind of decoration on it might be nice...right?" And we had very similar conversations with the DJ, the florist, the pastor, and the very patient woman at the reception hall. And, as it turns out, these people? They're pretty damn good at their jobs.
And the not-so-much professionals who were involved in this wedding did their jobs perfectly too. The hyperactive 8-year-old ring bearer did an admirable job of not losing the rings, the various family members did an even more admirable job of being civilized and getting along, and people actually got up and DANCED at the reception (albeit with a good deal of encouragement). And despite a forecast of thunderstorms, even the weather was unrelentingly cheerful. And now? I get to play with the MOUNTAIN of presents in my living room.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Skin Things
My arms are red. And spotty. And they itch. Which is just FAN-tastic because I have an oh-so-slight phobia of skin things. By which I mean that if I have so much as a mosquito bite, I promptly hyperventilate and try to drown myself in my sink. Except that as much as I hate having skin things, I'm also fascinated by them. So I watch my arm warily. I poke at the spots with my nails. I scratch and glare and basically bother it continuously, and in the end, I make it twenty times worse than it would have been if I had just LEFT IT THE HELL ALONE.
The last time I spontaneously got a skin thing, it was because I had managed to freak myself out so much over the mere POSSIBILITY that I might get a rash that I gave myself a stress rash. Lovely. And this time? I think I'm allergic to the wedding. Because we spent all morning surrounded by lace and tulle, looking for ring bearer pillows and cake serving sets and the redness and spottiness and itchiness grew steadily worse. I told McMoose about my suspicions and he very unsympathetically informed me that if that were the case, I'd really be hating life in a week, when the wedding will actually be taking place. Thank you, McMoose. Your gift for stating the obvious remains as strong as always.
The last time I spontaneously got a skin thing, it was because I had managed to freak myself out so much over the mere POSSIBILITY that I might get a rash that I gave myself a stress rash. Lovely. And this time? I think I'm allergic to the wedding. Because we spent all morning surrounded by lace and tulle, looking for ring bearer pillows and cake serving sets and the redness and spottiness and itchiness grew steadily worse. I told McMoose about my suspicions and he very unsympathetically informed me that if that were the case, I'd really be hating life in a week, when the wedding will actually be taking place. Thank you, McMoose. Your gift for stating the obvious remains as strong as always.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
A Scarry Lion with Exceptionally White Teeth
You know those children's books by Richard Scarry? I think they were called "The Busy World of Richard Scarry." Remember them? And there was always the lion with the sore tooth and it would tie a huge scarf around its head? I can totally identify with that lion right now. In fact, if I had a huge scarf, I'd tie it around my head and then, I'd eat anyone who made fun of me. Because right now? It feels like a bolt of lightning jumped from the sky and directly onto my right incisor. And it's totally self-induced.
I had this superbly stupid idea that brides should have bright and shiny teeth, so I went out to the nearest Target and bought a handy-dandy tooth whitening product. Came home, put the thing in my mouth, sat there slurring my speech and drooling for thirty minutes, and as a result, my mouth feels like it houses at least 12 raw nerves. And now? It's time for the next application.
Vanity, thy name is Bride.
I had this superbly stupid idea that brides should have bright and shiny teeth, so I went out to the nearest Target and bought a handy-dandy tooth whitening product. Came home, put the thing in my mouth, sat there slurring my speech and drooling for thirty minutes, and as a result, my mouth feels like it houses at least 12 raw nerves. And now? It's time for the next application.
Vanity, thy name is Bride.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Coffee and CSI
I "worked" from home today. I think it's necessary to have those quotation marks around the word worked because so far, I haven't actually gotten any work done. I have, however:
-Walked the dog. Twice. Within a two hour time period.
-Talked to a small child who was wandering around the neighborhood by herself. She wanted to come to my house to play with the dog. I said no. She pouted. I left.
-Watched an embarrassing number of episodes of CSI.
-Drank three cups of coffee, also within a two hour period.
-Stomped on all the creaky parts of the floor because the guy downstairs has his music turned up as loud as it will go and it is DRIVING ME CRAZY.
-Watched another episode of CSI.
-Spied on the mailman.
-STOMPED ON THE CREAKY PARTS OF THE FLOOR.
-Considered making a phone call that needs to be made. Decided against it. Considered writing part of my thesis proposal. Decided against it. Considered registering for classes for next semester. Very quickly decided against it.
-Calculated the cost of the flowers for my wedding. It came to $820. I never thought I'd be excited about paying that much for flowers, but I am because something possessed me to tell the florist that I was willing to spend up to $1500. (What was I thinking?)
-Laughed manically at the agreement the florist emailed me because it said half of the cost had to be paid six weeks in advance. Hoped that they would waive that requirement because we now have two weeks to go, and I haven't mastered the fine art of time travel yet.
-Had a staring contest with the dog, who didn't understand the rules and wandered off two minutes into the game.
Ok, now what?
-Walked the dog. Twice. Within a two hour time period.
-Talked to a small child who was wandering around the neighborhood by herself. She wanted to come to my house to play with the dog. I said no. She pouted. I left.
-Watched an embarrassing number of episodes of CSI.
-Drank three cups of coffee, also within a two hour period.
-Stomped on all the creaky parts of the floor because the guy downstairs has his music turned up as loud as it will go and it is DRIVING ME CRAZY.
-Watched another episode of CSI.
-Spied on the mailman.
-STOMPED ON THE CREAKY PARTS OF THE FLOOR.
-Considered making a phone call that needs to be made. Decided against it. Considered writing part of my thesis proposal. Decided against it. Considered registering for classes for next semester. Very quickly decided against it.
-Calculated the cost of the flowers for my wedding. It came to $820. I never thought I'd be excited about paying that much for flowers, but I am because something possessed me to tell the florist that I was willing to spend up to $1500. (What was I thinking?)
-Laughed manically at the agreement the florist emailed me because it said half of the cost had to be paid six weeks in advance. Hoped that they would waive that requirement because we now have two weeks to go, and I haven't mastered the fine art of time travel yet.
-Had a staring contest with the dog, who didn't understand the rules and wandered off two minutes into the game.
Ok, now what?
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Stretch Harleys
What's with the stretch SUVs? I mean, you hire a regular limo, chances are pretty good you're either rich or you're looking for attention--actually, chances are pretty good that you're both rich AND looking for attention. And ok, it probably makes people feel pretty cool and classy to ride in a glossy, black, stretch limo.
But a white, stretch Explorer? Really? What does that say about you? That you're a 16-foot-tall mountain climber who needs the extra leg room, but also needs the off-roading capabilities? Or maybe someone thought, "Hey, what are the two LEAST fuel efficient vehicles around? Let's combine them and see what happens!" Although, if that had been the case, I guess we'd be seeing stretch Hummers instead of stretch Explorers.
I'd like to go in exactly the opposite direction, I think. I'd like to ride around in a stretch Camry. Or better yet, a stretch 10-speed. In fact, maybe I should suggest to McMoose that we leave the wedding on a stretch Harley.
But a white, stretch Explorer? Really? What does that say about you? That you're a 16-foot-tall mountain climber who needs the extra leg room, but also needs the off-roading capabilities? Or maybe someone thought, "Hey, what are the two LEAST fuel efficient vehicles around? Let's combine them and see what happens!" Although, if that had been the case, I guess we'd be seeing stretch Hummers instead of stretch Explorers.
I'd like to go in exactly the opposite direction, I think. I'd like to ride around in a stretch Camry. Or better yet, a stretch 10-speed. In fact, maybe I should suggest to McMoose that we leave the wedding on a stretch Harley.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
By any other name
I'm getting married in under a month. 3 weeks and 3 days, if you want to get precise. 576 hours if you want to get really, really precise. I could count the minutes for you, but I'm not gonna. Sorry. So I should be excited, right? And I am. I'm excited about the whole being married thing--you know, the committing to share your life with someone you love and trust and respect, the having someone who is legally obligated to put up with you when you lose your shit? Yeah, super excited about that because the losing of the shit is a daily occurrence around here, figuratively speaking.
Except. There's the whole changing of the name extravaganza. And that, I'm not so happy about. Not because I have some deep connection to my existing last name--it's not a family name that stretches centuries into the past, it's not aesthetically all that pleasing, hell, it's not even on my birth certificate. So really, the changing of the name shouldn't even be on the list of Things To Freak Out About At 12:54 am. And yet.
Because no matter how many times I tell myself that a name is just a name, that changing it won't change me, I cannot help feeling that I'm about to lose myself. That somehow, I'll sign a piece of paper and cease to exist. Yes, I hear how ridiculous the thought is. Yes, I understand that in this day and age, it would be entirely appropriate for me to keep my name. Yes, I know that people get married every day and live to tell the tale. And yet.
And for purely practical reasons, of course, I know exactly which choice I'll make, because at the end of the day, when the freaking out has come to an end, I am actually somewhat capable of making practical decisions. It's just that the thought that I would be giving up the only identity I've ever held never quite made it past all the fuss and fluster of the nightmare that we affectionately call The Wedding.
And furthermore, if I am giving up my identity, shouldn't it be for a really cool reason? Like joining the CIA? Or becoming disillusioned with life and going to live on an abandoned bus in Alaska? Or witnessing a gruesome mob murder and joining the witness protection program? Maybe instead of sitting here and whining about the name thing, I should be looking up mob bosses in the yellow pages.
Except. There's the whole changing of the name extravaganza. And that, I'm not so happy about. Not because I have some deep connection to my existing last name--it's not a family name that stretches centuries into the past, it's not aesthetically all that pleasing, hell, it's not even on my birth certificate. So really, the changing of the name shouldn't even be on the list of Things To Freak Out About At 12:54 am. And yet.
Because no matter how many times I tell myself that a name is just a name, that changing it won't change me, I cannot help feeling that I'm about to lose myself. That somehow, I'll sign a piece of paper and cease to exist. Yes, I hear how ridiculous the thought is. Yes, I understand that in this day and age, it would be entirely appropriate for me to keep my name. Yes, I know that people get married every day and live to tell the tale. And yet.
And for purely practical reasons, of course, I know exactly which choice I'll make, because at the end of the day, when the freaking out has come to an end, I am actually somewhat capable of making practical decisions. It's just that the thought that I would be giving up the only identity I've ever held never quite made it past all the fuss and fluster of the nightmare that we affectionately call The Wedding.
And furthermore, if I am giving up my identity, shouldn't it be for a really cool reason? Like joining the CIA? Or becoming disillusioned with life and going to live on an abandoned bus in Alaska? Or witnessing a gruesome mob murder and joining the witness protection program? Maybe instead of sitting here and whining about the name thing, I should be looking up mob bosses in the yellow pages.
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