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.
My perfect wedding venue: The Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. They don’t do weddings.
I have made a spreadsheet. In fact, by now the spreadsheet is color-coded, with 14 fields, and 21 venues, and all kinds of lingo I didn’t even know a couple of months ago.
Among the preferred vendors and BYOs, hopefully there is my future wedding. I swear it’s there, but it’s sorta tough to see that sketch right now. Maybe it’s the dozens of “real wedding” photo galleries I’ve clicked through or all the delightfully vague venue descriptors—”rustic chic,” “industrial glam,” “contemporary country.” I’m sure there’s a meaningful difference, but they all seem to include string lights and wood. When wedding vendor contact forms leave a text box for “your event vision,” I’ve taken to just leaving it blank. Who can form a complete, original vision among all those Mason jars and burlap table runners?
Next month, Tovin and I are heading to the Bay Area to scout wedding venues. The planner we recently interviewed (the lovely Stacy Hillstead of Wink! Weddings) promised me that once the when and the where are settled everything will come into focus. Let’s hope she’s right. Until then, I’ll be watching 27 Dresses and working on my spreadsheet.
Aspen dress by Jenny Packham. Begging for a glass of Champagne.
Every woman has a friend who’s obsessed with her hypothetical wedding. She knows which dress silhouettes she likes best, what kind of lace she wants on her veil, the color scheme, the kind of cake (and frosting), even the flowers she’ll pick for her bridal bouquet. Once upon a time, she probably bought bridal magazines and fantasized about walking down the aisle toward her crush du jour. These days, she has a “Wedding Ideas” Pinterest board where she collects table setting inspirations and Mason jar DIYs for use somewhere down the romantic road.
I am not “that girl.”