Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Wedding Mishap Countdown! #6 & #5: A Dyed-to-Match Pair of Bridesmaid Disasters

Hey, get the door!  It's WEDDING MISHAPS!

As the title indicates, tonight you are getting a lovely matched set of bridesmaid calamities - not one, but TWO situations of comic proportions that arose during my very own wedding day.  Ready for round one?  Okay, here we go:

The wedding day was really picking up speed.  Our hairdos were sprayed in place, our turbo-bras were fastened, and our photographer had arrived.  After the aforementioned creeptasticity of the photog unleashing his papparazzo skills BEFORE all of us had gotten our tops on, we scurried outside for a few quick shots in the beautiful August afternoon, like this one:

(For the less matrimonially experienced among you who might be wondering: no, I did not have my bridesmaids wear blue jeans for the wedding.  We waited until we got to the church to finish changing, to avoid awkward butt-wrinkles in the satin skirts.)

It really was a gorgeous day, and we realized after our mini photo shoot that we had a severely diminished amount of time to pack up and get to the church.  So we scrambled.  We bustled through my house, stuffing cans of hairspray, panty hose, and cameras into bags at frantic, breakneck speeds.  Finally, we carefully maneuvered The Dress into my mom's van for safe transport to the church.

(I'm the one in the tiara.  Just FYI.  Totes not a big deal or anything.)

All the bridesmaids sprang into vehicles, followed by the creepy photographer, and peeled out of the driveway in an orderly fashion.  I hopped into the passenger seat of the van, and my mom started the engine.  We each took a deep breath, ready for the emotionally significant mother-daughter moment that was the four-minute drive to our family church.

As we were backing up, however, we realized a single fatal flaw in our plan.  The Ford Windstar, being a mini-van, has more blind spots than your average car.  Also, a ginormous ivory dress was obscuring the rest of the rear view.  Mom might as well have smeared marshmallow fluff on the mirrors. 

Me: Should I move it? (tries in an uncoordinated fashion to turn around in seat and adjust the dress)
Mom: YOUR HAIR!!! (saves tiara from being crushed against the van ceiling) Just leave it.  We just have to get out of the driveway, and then we'll be just -

THUD.



My mother and I looked at each other, speechless for a moment in our shock.

Me: Did you hit the photographer?! (envisions headline: "Photog Run Down in Blind Side Bridal Ride")
Mom: No... (cranes head to look) Oh, no!  I hit Alexis!
Me: YOU HIT HER?
Mom: No, no! I hit her car... I hit her CAR!

To my knowledge, my mother has never hit another moving vehicle, so this was kind of one of those moments when your brain starts going really, really fast as you try to evaluate whether any of this is actually happening and what you should do next.

Mom: Is she okay?  Are you okay?
Me: Well, she's pulling out... her bumper is still on...
Mom: Should we go?!  Can I pull out yet?!
Me: Yes... NO!  I mean, yes. Yes.

Alexis waited for us to pull out of the driveway and followed us to the church.  Our emotionally significant mother-daughter bonding consisted of repeating the following interchange about five or six times:

Mom: Try and look.  Is her car all right?
Me: I don't know... I think so.  Should we stop?
Mom: No, no time!  It will look the same when we get there, anyway.
Me: Did that really just happen?
Mom: I don't know.

When we arrived at the church, we assessed the vehicles.  Miraculously, neither car had sustained visible damage other than a couple of scratches.  Alexis was very gracious about the whole thing, though I couldn't speak for her Pontiac, which may have been quite flustered.  In any case, no one was injured, the wedding preparations proceeded as planned... and my perfect run-down-photographer headline went to waste.

COMING SOON (meaning as soon as I have time to type it)... the second bridesmaid mishap of my wedding day!  Here's the teaser headline:

Staid 'Maid Fades - Nerves Frayed

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Resolution of the Month: Go on a Schedule Diet

(I can try to have at least one measly nugget of introspection this month, right?)

I fear that my poor day-planner is suffering from ink poisoning.  I use a good ol'-fashioned DayMinder to keep track of my life outside the office.  I don't think I could handle a BlackBerry... and besides, I might melt it.  Here is a rough sample of what my month often looks like:

(I actually kind of geeked out when I found this planner, because it had split pages for months AND weeks, so I could make to-do lists on top of my regularly-scheduled schedule!)

Lately, I've been trying to keep things bright and cheery by using a variety of colors in my planner, but when February begins to look like a Mardi Gras parade before the month has even STARTED, that's kind of an indication that there's a little too much going on:

So I thought about it, and I realized that this has become a perennial problem.  Despite my best efforts, managing my time has become a rather grim addiction.  Every so often, I mentally smack myself and say, "Stop doing this to yourself!"  I resolve to cut back to the bare minimum of activities outside of my full-time job:

- writing
- tutoring
- classes

But after about a week or so, a little voice starts whispering:

"Choir is ONLY two afternoons a week... you can fit another tutoring student in on the weekends... a cappella practice is a DE-stressor, so you can certainly make time for that... don't forget about those church events coming up... why stay in on the weekends when there are parties, game nights, and dinners-out-on-the-town to be had?..."

And like a moth to a camp lantern, like Charlie Sheen to a scarlet woman, like Oprah to macaroni, like Rush Limbaugh to Advil PM, I just get drawn right back in.  I fall into the same escalating pattern, approaching some asymptote of insanity that I have thus far miraculously avoided.  Because all of these activities are quite enjoyable, benign, or otherwise rewarding, I can't bear to pass up the opportunity, so I commit.

One of the toughest things about being an adult is time management. How am I supposed to accomplish all of the necessary tasks in one day?  Here is what the current 24-hour period looks like:
(Yes, these are all necessary tasks.  Even the make-up and TV.  But especially the make-up.  Trust me on that.)

I can't keep this up forever.  I'm starting to find white hairs, and I'm afraid my colored pens are going to run out.  Therefore, I have determined that I need to go on a schedule diet.  This month is going to be a wild ride with my pre-existing commitments, but here is my plan, to which I need YOU to hold me accountable:

I'm going to mark a block of time each week in February that will remain untouched by the outside world.  I will reserve time to eat cookie dough, crochet things, play with my dog, take a bubble bath, read a book, or maybe stare at the wall.  Here's the "diet supplement" schedule:

Saturday, February 5, 10:30am-12:30pm: read a fictional book for fun, and perhaps meditate on the origins of the spork.

Thursday, February 10, 9:15-10:45pm: do intensely girly things like manicuring nails and using new massage pillow.  Thorougly ignore Husband and Dog for 90 minutes.

Tuesday, February 15, 8:00-10:00pm: DVR "The Biggest Loser" while preparing cookie dough, then watch said show while fastforwarding through copious commercials and consuming said cookie dough.  Copiously.

Thursday, February 24, 6:00-?:00pm: dinner out with the Husband, on account of it being my birthday. :)

Wednesday, February 30, 5:45-8:15pm: research on wikipedia the rationale behind February's truncated duration.  Yes, this will take the full two-and-a-half hours.


Please, net-friends, hold me to this course!  I will update when said periods of relaxation are over, and I urge you to join me in my schedule diet this month.  What's YOUR preferred (legal, reasonable) method of relaxation?