obligatory wedding stories (random)

The cost of alterations (a simple hem) is almost half the cost of the dress itself. I went in a few weeks ago and put on the dress, standing in front of their large mirrors.

I had put the dress on twice since I’d gotten it home over the summer. No. Wait. Three times.

The first time I was drunk, it was midnight, and I knew stee would be home in an hour, but I had to know if the dress was still something I liked, as I hadn’t seen it in almost three months. Here’s a little tip from me to you: never try to do this by yourself.

Fifteen minutes later I’m naked in a pair of heels, sweating, trying to figure out how to put on this bra with a zillion hooks, worried that stee will walk in any minute and see the bed covered in bad-luck-before-the-wedding. It took almost a half hour to put everything back where it belonged, hidden in the closet.

Three days later, Jessica came over and made me put the dress on. Then we ran around the living room, giggling like freaks.

About a month ago Dan had asked to see the dress. Liz watched, heckling the entire time, noting that the dress needed to be pressed. The combination of Dan, Liz and me around something that quintessentially Girl was pretty amusing, as not one of us was completely sure what order I was supposed to put everything on. I mean, Jessica had been taught everything at the bridal shop. We kind of half-assed some of it, but got me into the dress just fine. Ta da.

Cut to me at the bridal shop, getting a hem that costs more than everything I’m wearing under the dress, including the shoes.

“Who was your craziest bride?” I asked her. “Who freaked out the most?”

Not missing a beat, the seamstress at my feet answered, “Raquel Welch.”

I was looking at myself in the mirror for the first time without a friend, under the harsher lights of the shop. “Huh,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” the seamstress said. “You’re going to look fine.”

I nodded, pointing at a part of the dress. “This thing here? Should it do that?”

“You’ll lose weight by the wedding. It’ll fit perfectly.”


“All brides do. You’ll lose one pound, two, and that will be gone. I’m not doing anything other than this hem. It fits you perfectly. No worrying. You’ll lose bride weight. Everybody does. Stress. Family. Crazy! Crazy! Whoosh! Weight gone.”

“Yeah. About that. It’s taken a long time for me to…”

“Walk toward me. Pretty. Yeah, that’s good. We’re done. You’ll be fine. You’ll look fine.”

Not that I’m expecting everyone to constantly compliment me, but way to give a bride a complex, lady.


A location had offered us a cheap rate for the rehearsal party until they learned it wasn’t a birthday party, but for a wedding. Then they claimed the day before new year’s eve would be a very popular night for them (a Thursday), and raised the rate. At this point we had already sent out the invitations. We had to accept the higher rate, as nobody would own up to the past conversation.

A very similar situation happened with a florist. Once they figured out it was a holiday wedding, they suddenly couldn’t remember any conversation they’d had before with a much lower quote. Suddenly the flowers I wanted were impossible to get this time of year. They also tried to talk me into much more ornate bouquets than the ones I wanted. Oddly enough, the other two florists never mentioned a problem getting these flowers.

I’ll let Dan recount the phone conversation he had with florist number four, the place we didn’t even bother going to see after two ridiculous phone calls. I was shouting, “No! I’m not picking up my order this Saturday! I haven’t placed an order yet! I wanted a quote. No, I can’t pick up my order this Saturday. I haven’t ordered anything.” Over and over. And then Dan called them, and it was even worse.

The florist we’re going with happens to be the exact same location where we shot part of the Oxygen pilot. Our last day of shooting was in front of this shop, where we shot the opening and closing of the episode. I didn’t know that when I called the place, but we knew it was a good sign when we pulled up to the building.

Dan was impressed that Lou, the florist, had a worksheet. I was impressed with how she could tell what I wanted and made suggestions that only helped that, including lowering the price when we were asking for something that wasn’t necessary (too many flowers that would have made the bouquet too thick to hold).

She went down the worksheet:

“How many girls?”




“Maid of honor?”


“Best Man?”


Lou gave me a look at this point.





“Flower girl?”



Dan told her no. Lou didn’t look up this time.



“What color are the bridesmaids wearing?”

“Whatever they want.”

Lou pretty much ditched the worksheet at that point, looked at the pictures I’d brought in, and showed me what she’d do. Then she quoted a price that was HALF of the first place we went to. Lou rocks.


This is the point where people have no problems telling me when we’re making, in their opinions, huge mistakes. The date. The location. The honeymoon. The ceremony itself. The bridal party. My mother’s family couldn’t wrap their heads around having boys in the bridal party. And they ask incredibly personal questions, too, about our religion, if I’m going to change my name, when we’re going to start trying to have kids. I mean, every day we’re having to answer thirty questions for the ceremony itself. Let us have a few days before we start planning out the rest of our lives.

There are seven Rebeccas coming to our wedding. It is very tempting to seat them all at the same table and see who wins.

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