I have Biggie Smalls in my head right now, except when he says “notorious” the word in my head is “victorious.” In fact, if the lyrics to this track weren’t so heavy on f-bombs and “gettin’ head on the beach,” I might dance down the aisle to it this Saturday, when I finally get to marry the bearded man I’ve been in love with for the past 8 years.
Today has been a good day. Last week, not so much. It started on Wednesday when I crossed the wedding liquor order off my to-do list, then decided to take my BevMo wine-tasting buzz to Ross Dress for Less for a little accessory shopping. There I was, browsing cheap cardigans, when the port-a-potty vendor I’d booked three months earlier called to cancel just 10 days before our 120 guests would potentially be peeing in the woods of Berkeley, California. I stammered something into the phone then hung up feeling dazed. The sweater aisle at Ross is no place to receive bad news.
The next issue arrived Friday morning, when the new bathroom rental company just couldn’t figure out if they’d have any pots for us to piss in. “Sorry,” the rep for the one of the largest port-a-potty companies in the West kept saying. “I just don’t know if we’ll have any inventory.”
Then there was the email from my dad, who, while attempting not to sound alarmist, sounded the alarm that the only road to our venue would be closed on our wedding day for a Cal Football game. Don’t worry, he wrote, I’ve got the contact info for the presiding officer. And oh yeah, he’s out of the office til next Wednesday.
I spent the rest of the afternoon leaving increasingly panicked voicemails for a number of city and campus police officers, traffic officials and bathroom rental companies. At one point, a Berkeley Police secretary actually tried to convince me that our venue simply was not in the city at all. “The numbers on that road only go up to 300,” she said, as I stared into Google maps wondering why everyone had lost their minds. The next time I reached the bathroom rental rep, she cautiously suggested I start reaching out to other companies for quotes.
And so, I spent the weekend making to-do lists, stuffing welcome bags and alternately freaking out and laughing about how we didn’t really need toilets anyway, since the road to the wedding would be blocked and none of our friends and family would even be there. After nine months of relatively seamless wedding planning, I had hit a stressed, frustrated bottom.
Today, my luck changed. First, I showed up at the eyebrow salon to find my appointment had been booked for 30 minutes before the first waxer started her shift. If I could wait, it was on the house. Then, I found a parking spot near the gym (this is no small feat). Next, my cautious sales rep called to say that by the grace of the mobile restroom gods, there were two bathrooms available for next Saturday, and while I was on the phone with her, a friendly Berkeley lieutenant left a message assuring me that our guests wouldn’t have to storm the road block and that the wedding, months in the making, would happen after all.
So, I’m feeling a little victorious today. Maybe even ready to get married.