Countdown to the wedding: 319 days

Just when I thought the stress of moving had subsided and it was finally time to relax, my computer decided that it was the appropriate time to kill itself.

I suppose the warning signs were there, but it’s still a shock when something you rely on so heavily chooses to stop working. It’s a little white Mac iBook that I got about five years ago and for the most part it’s been very good to me. Except that when you push the screen too far forward the monitor turns off. And when you push the screen too far backward the monitor turns green. And when you turn the computer on, the startup screen displays for about 3 minutes before displaying a flashing, striped pattern. It only just started doing the striped thing a few days ago.

“Anything else?” sighed the Apple guy.

“Oh yeah, the bottom gets really hot and then it makes this noise: rrrrr-RRRR-rrrr-rrrr-RRRR,” I replied.

“That’s not good,” said the Apple guy.

I cringed.

“When was the last time you backed up?” he asked.

“Two months ago.”

There is good news and bad news about this. The good news is that for the most part, all of the work I have done over the past five years is saved on a little external hard drive thingamajig I bought before I left San Francisco. The bad news is that I didn’t get a chance to back up two major documents: my book proposal and my wedding guest list (complete with addresses).

The Apple people make you decide right then and there what you want them to do if they can’t save your data when they send the computer out for repairs. So at 10:45 PM at the Apple Store on 5^th Avenue (open 24/7/365), I elected to have them contact me in that situation, stop repairs, and send the computer back so I can give it a proper burial. The other option—just erasing your data and then giving the working computer back to you—just seemed too cruel after all my computer and I have been through together.

I left the Apple Store with an empty laptop case feeling like I had just put my dog down. Ol’ Mac has had a good run, but I’m just not ready to part with him yet. And if he is going to leave this world for a better place, I want him to relinquish my guest list and book proposal, damn it.

When I was in college, I took an anthropology class where we analyzed the relationships between people and their material possessions. We read accounts of people who had lost everything in fires, floods, and other natural disasters. In nearly every case, the victims were torn between the trauma of losing their things and the freedom that comes with being liberated from your material items.

I am not even going to pretend that I can relate to a disaster of that magnitude, but between starting anew out of two suitcases in New York and likely losing some portion of my written work, I am beginning to understand that strange place between mourning and freedom.

So I’ve confiscated Aaron’s computer for the time being, although I will have to relinquish it soon so he can do his work. I feel like the Apple store should have loaner computers you can use, in the same way that car dealerships will sometimes give you a loaner car. Does anyone have a loaner guest list I can use?

Our combined funds were disastrously low after our Paris vacation and Paul’s engagement ring purchase, but we wanted to celebrate our impending nuptials with our nearest and dearest, so we held a low-key engagement party with some friends and a handful of family (just my parents from my side, since my grandparents live an hour away and aren’t in the best health) in Paul’s parents’ backyard in Staten Island. Finding a date where most people were free proved the most challenging part of the process. We wound up picking a day where 3 of my close friends couldn’t make it (weddings, baby showers, and vacations got in the way), which was sad, but it wound up being a great time.

We picked a summer day so we could take advantage of the swimming pool. My mom and I hit up Party City for the supplies–brightly colored table cloths, cups, utensils, and napkins, and tropical-themed plates. Paul’s mom provided the remaining decor–a tulle-draped arch by the door and little, white ceramic bridal shoes and white candles for the tables. I had originally wanted to barbecue outside, but it wouldn’t be fair to have Paul’s dad or some other bbq-loving male manning the grill for a 40-person guest list. So instead, we got two six-foot heroes (subs/hoagies to folks around the country), the accompanying salads (macaroni, potato, cole slaw, and pasta), and some hot Italian dishes donated from our catering hall’s owner.

Just before the guests started arriving, the sky turned a threatening shade of charcoal gray. The rain soon followed. Our friends from all different parts of our lives (college, junior high school, and the work world) sat around Paul’s parents’ dining room table and got to know each other. It was weird mixing all these people together, but I realized that this is what my wedding would be like: a mish mosh of people who have no reason to be in the same room other than loving me and Paul. It was a nice feeling. The rain stopped, and we hit the pool. My friends who had just met each other for the first time were joking around like they had been long-time pals. It was great. And then the skies opened up again and we returned to our dining room table seats. Paul and his college buddies braved the storms to finish a game of pool basketball. Not the smartest idea, since it was lightning, too, but luckily, everyone was fine. Just very, very wet by dessert.

We ordered a cake from Costco. I couldn’t believe how cheap it was for 40 slices! And it was actually quite tasty! My friends who took public transportation in started to leave, and then the remaining guests insisted that I opened gifts. On the invite (okay, Evite), I requested no gifts. And I meant it! We just wanted to get together and mark this momentous occasion. There would be plenty more opportunities for gift giving. I didn’t have a registry yet, so the gifts were random. They included a milkshake maker, which Paul and I use all the time, and a set of thank you cards with pretty lavender ribbon strung through (courtesy of my most Martha Stewart-like bridesmaid, Emily W.) and envelopes with Paul’s and my return address stamped on.

It was a good time, but it flew by. I can only imagine how fast the wedding will go!

Countdown to the wedding: 326 days

We’ve been in New York for almost two weeks and I am finally starting to relax. This is mostly thanks to the support of my friends and family, but at least partly due to my newest TV obsession: Ace of Cakes.

For those of you who haven’t seen the Food Network show, it follows the adventures of Duff Goldman and his fellow rocker-bakers as they create incredible pastry masterpieces. I’ve seen them use everything from sanders and blowtorches to make cakes that look like castles, cars, body parts, and even a CAT scan machine (not to mention the sushi lunch shown in the picture).

It’s a great way to tune out from the world for a half of an hour. I don’t think I’ll be serving anything too crazy at my wedding, but the show does get me thinking about what I want that grand dessert to look like on the big day.

Before we left California we booked Bijan Bakery and Café after a day of tasting delicious cakes. It was definitely the highlight of the wedding planning thus far (well, with the possible exception of finding the tuxes), and it felt like a reward for all the hard work we had done over the past few months. I’m so glad we were able to do the tasting with my mom—she’s been so extraordinarily helpful with everything!

From the depths of a sugar rush, we decided on something called “princess cake” for the bottom layer, chocolate mocha for the next layer, carrot cake for the third layer, and either tiramisu or raspberry for the top layer. We’re going to use butter cream frosting instead of fondant, which means that the layers will have to be separated (and no crazy shapes a la Ace of Cakes).

But Bijan’s representative assured us that we could do pretty much whatever we wanted with regards to the designs on the frosting, so now I’m looking through wedding magazines and websites to figure out what would be right for our big day. I’m thinking some sort of simple design that reflects some other aspect of the wedding—but what?

One idea is to take a cue from the dress. You can’t tell in the pictures I posted, but the gathers of the dress are held up by tiny, sparkly, double fleur-de-lis. What if we used the double fleur-de-lis as a symbol throughout the wedding? Overdoing it could make things look really tacky really quickly, but I think using it on the cake and maybe the table favors could tie the theme together in a tasteful way.

I’m glad that this is what I’m thinking about these days, as opposed to “oh my gosh, how am I going to move across the country?” Time to watch more TV.

Choosing the guy I want to marry seems to be the only decision I haven’t second-guessed.
At the top of my list of regrets is my dress. It’s not that I’ve seen other dresses I like better, because I haven’t. I’m just wondering if getting a gown that needs to be cleaned is worth the trouble. To make matters worse, the dress that had once fit me perfectly suddenly was bunching in spots. My co-workers and Paul’s family kept saying I had lost weight, but, since I don’t believe in keeping a scale in my apartment, I didn’t know if it was true.

I first took my gown to Madame Paulette, a high end dry cleaner in Manhattan. They had me try on my gown to see just how much it needed to be altered. (Again, not wearing the appropriate undergarments!) The seamstress poked and prodded. She then retreated to her desk, took out a pad, and covered her paper as she wrote down a number. It was half third-grader trying to shield his test answers from prying eyes, half sketchy used car salesman trying to hatch a deal. She handed the paper to a woman at the front desk, who wrote down yet another number. After I changed back into my regular clothes, the front desk lady went over the prices with me.

To take it in, hem it up, create a bustle, replace the missing beading, and clean the gown, it was going to cost $750. Front desk lady said she was giving me a fabulous deal. I didn’t agree. If I wanted to spend over $1,200 on a dress, I would have bought a never-been-worn one, not one that had been tried on repeatedly. “Do you want to put down a deposit and leave the dress here?” I shook my head and walked out.

When I got home, I angrily threw down my dress on our futon, as if it had wronged me. For month, I didn’t even peek inside the pink garment bag. My dress and I were in a fight, and I was giving it the silent treatment.
Last week, I decided I needed to figure out if I was going to bother getting it cleaned, or try and find a new dress. After calling dry cleaners on Staten Island (none but one of which could alter and clean a wedding gown), I found a place called Boulevard Cleaners. I tried to get an estimate over the phone, but they insisted that I bring the dress in. So I did. This estimate was more reasonable: $300 to alter it (unless it needs to be taken in at the top where all the beading is, then, said the seamstress, the price goes “way up”) and $100 to clean it. Even with those charges, my dress would be under $1,000, which was my goal.

My mom still needs to buy her dress for my wedding, so when I go shopping with her, I’m going to casually look for myself, too. If I find something I love, I might end up taking it. But odds are, I’m going to keep my dress–and just pray all the time that it doesn’t need to be taken in at the top.

Countdown to the wedding: 333 days

It’s been a crazy week since last I posted. Aaron and I finally made the big move to the Big Apple, and currently we’re cooped up in a hotel room in Times Square as we try to move our stuff to our respective apartments (his on the Upper East Side, mine on Roosevelt Island).

We’ve run into a number of challenges along the way, the biggest being the overwhelming exhaustion and loneliness that comes from uprooting and relocating. But we’ve come out of everything stronger than when we went in, and never before have I been more sure that this is the man with whom I want to share the rest of my life.

The highlight of the weekend was receiving an email from our photographer, Ashley Maxwell, who informed us that the photos from our engagement shoot were online! They were taken on the Stanford University campus, where Aaron and I met.

About four years before I got engaged, so six years into my relationship with Paul, I started thinking about who my bridesmaids would be: my sister, Gillian, who’s six years younger than me, my two best friends from college, Melissa and Emily, and Paul’s two sisters, Marissa, who’s four years older than me, and Amanda who’s seven years younger than me, who both feel like my own sisters. About a year and a half before Paul proposed, I added a sixth bridesmaid to my imagined bunch. Her name’s also Emily and she and I were in the same magazine internship program. She even lived with me and my family for a week when she moved from Indiana to New York City.

Unlike some brides who agonize over who to include in their bridal party, my decision was easy. But coming up with the perfect way to tell them I’d like them to be in the wedding wasn’t. Just days after Paul popped the question, I started thinking about how I’d pop my question. A simple phone call asking, “Will you be my bridesmaid?” wouldn’t cut it.

I read about a girl who bought photo frames and filled them with a card that said, “Put a picture of me and you in your bridesmaid dress at my wedding here.” Cute, but my friends have enough picture frames. I read about another bride-to-be who sent a flower to each bridesmaid with a note that said, “Say you’ll hold a bouquet of this flower at my wedding” or some such. Also cute, but I had no idea what flowers I would include in my wedding. I was in need of inspiration, so I thought about what I shared with each of my bridesmaids. The first thing that popped into my head? I’ve gorged on chocolate with all of them on several occasions. A tenuous link, but hear me out: Melissa, Emily, and I would stalk the cookie oven in our dining hall and horde as many soft, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies as we could…every Sunday. Gillian and I shared many nights as kids listening for the ice cream truck and screaming for my dad to get us sundaes as soon as we heard the faint bells. Emily and I devoured bags of peanut M&Ms in her former Brooklyn apartment. And Marissa, Amanda, and I eat everything from seven-layer rainbow cookies, to donuts, to brownies, at pretty much every Di Pilato family gathering. (And I wonder why I’m a size 12 wedding dress!)

I thought of the perfect gift: Hershey’s kisses with personalized “Will you be my bridesmaid?” banners sticking out of the silver foil. And they really make them! But they were $13 each. If I had three bridesmaids, I would have bought them in a second, but I couldn’t justify spending $100 to mail one Hershey’s kiss each to 6 people. So I went another route: cookies. I came across a Hoboken, NJ bakery called Ganache. They make customized cookies in shapes like wedding cakes, hearts, and dresses that they could write my message on. They were a more affordable, and equally tasty and meaningful, option.

I wish I got a picture of my bridesmaids with their cookies to show you! But, like I said, they love sweets, so the cookies were gone before I could take pictures! So instead, you can see my bridesmaids (top: Emily from college, Gillian, me, Emily from Indiana, and Melissa. middle: Marissa and Amanda. bottom: my adorable flower girl, Brielle, Paul’s cousin, and that little white fluff in the corner is Marissa’s maltese, Madison).

Countdown to the wedding: 340 days

This weekend I took a welcome break from planning my own wedding to attend the nuptials of my best friend and her college sweetheart. The event was a safari-themed affair held at the San Diego Wild Animal Park, complete with cheetahs that watched the ceremony from afar while an alligator and a parrot attended the reception.

It was a great example of a wedding that was theme-y without being kitschy, and I couldn’t help but take mental notes about everything from the flower arrangements (tall and silk) to how my BFF kept cool amidst the chaos (she did a great job of outsourcing busy work, and she didn’t let small issues rattle her). Here are some other tips I took away for my own big day:

-Be in contact with your wedding party well in advance of the wedding date. As I was the maid of honor in this wedding, my friend was able to give me information that I then relayed to the other bridesmaids over email. Thus everyone arrived knowing where to be when and what to wear.

-Do not be afraid of taking people up on their offer to help out, especially in the days before the wedding. Even if it were possible to complete all of the last-minute arrangements by yourself, why would you want to? Delegate tasks like picking a bridesmaid up from the airport or hanging out with the grandparents for an hour to individuals who have approached you with their offer of assistance. And be sure to thank them afterwards, perhaps with a note or a small gift if it was a particularly helpful volunteer.

-If you are going to have a theme wedding, think of the theme as a unifying concept as opposed to something that must be integrated into every detail. My friend had an animal-print cake, orange and black tablecloths and napkins on every other table, and a sunset color palate for the flowers and bridesmaid dresses. It worked beautifully, but it would have been overkill if she had used, say, zebra print, on everything from the invitations to the groomsmen’s vests. Touches of print here and there in combination with bright colors made everything look fun and sophisticated.

-Spend time with your bridesmaids in the days before the wedding by doing a special trip or hanging out in the bridesmaid suite at the hotel. Bonding before the craziness means your bridesmaids will be better able to anticipate your needs the day of the wedding, and you’ll feel more relaxed because your friends have had time to express their love and support for you.

Countdown to the wedding: 347 days

I wish I could say that, like my co-blogger Meredith, I acquired my wedding dress at a location that turned over the proceeds from the sale to a worthy cause. I, however, did no such thing. In fact, I probably would have done something terrible in order to get my hands on this dress, and I’m pretty sure the model in this picture actually killed several people before the photo shoot.

I walked into the bridal boutique with a very different type of dress in mind: off-the-shoulder, short train, lots of lace. Fortunately, I brought along three generations of women in my family to tell me that this type of dress looked absolutely hideous on me. We went through so many terrible styles that by the time I finally tried on the dress in the photo, my mother, grandmother, and sister all burst into tears of joy (true story).

As if the drama in the front of the mirror wasn’t overwhelming enough, the show back stage was enough to make a girl want to crawl under a rock and die. Imagine meeting a perfect stranger. Now imagine that perfect stranger telling you to remove your clothes, and then having that perfect stranger dress you up like a little doll and then strip you of your dignity for TWO HOURS.

My “consultant” was actually a very nice young woman, but things quickly became extremely awkward between us. This is because I managed to forget the two cardinal rules of wedding dress shopping, namely:
A). Always wear a strapless bra
B). Always wear nice underwear

Forgetting Rule A isn’t really a big deal in the grand scheme of things because the boutique has several loaner bras on hand that vaguely resemble painter’s scaffolding and feel as though that scaffolding were being rammed into your rib cage over and over again. But I felt as though I had immediately labeled myself as one of those lackluster, run-of-the-mill, brides-to-be, the kind who just doesn’t care enough to bring her own equipment to the store, and I was ashamed.

But none of that compares to forgetting Rule B. I’ve been living out of a suitcase in my family’s house for the past month as Aaron and I prepare to move across the country, and I can only cycle through so many pairs of underwear before laundry becomes necessary and I have to resort to ugly undergarments that look like something from the Great Depression. Needless to say, I managed to schedule laundry and dress shopping for the same day, and can only be grateful that just one person in the boutique had to see me running around in my skivvies.

Long story short, I’ve found the dress, I love it, I ordered it, and I would do basically anything to not have to go through that process ever again. I predict a long, happy marriage