Bridezillas are made, not born

I am exhausted, you guys.

Seriously, people keep asking me if I am excited about my upcoming wedding, and…I’m not.

I mean, I want to get married and I feel like I have been waiting for this for forever, but the planning, ooh the planning, has just sucked the life out of me and I have no energy left.

What energy I do muster up is spent on my clients, and after that, I have nothing left.

It doesn’t help that my dress was 5 weeks late and I just got to see it yesterday for the first time since ordering it in January.  And now I have to bend over backwards to get this thing altered in time.  And it’s great that the bridal shop is compensating me with reduced fees, but you know what I really want?  I want them to erase the anxiety I went through.  The anxiety I still have and can’t seem to shake.

Which brings me to another subject….

I’ve been reading Quiet by Susan Cain, and even though I am not finished yet (I have much less time for reading these days), it’s been soooo validating.  While I always knew that I was on the introverted side of the spectrum, I never knew that all these things about my personality tied into all those introvert personality traits.  Since introverted traits are often pathologized, (“She just needs to come out of her shell,” and “Why are you so quiet?  Are you mad at me?”) it was awesome to read a different spin – that I groove better with a lesser level of stimulation, is all.

I plan to blog more about my introversion later, but this brings me back to the wedding stuff.  In theory, I like being the center of attention, but in reality I often shy away.  And at weddings, the bride is the center of attention.  Let’s face it, I’m going to look smashing in my fluffy white dress, so can you blame people?  There’s also a shitload of stimulation going on at a wedding, especially at your own.  I’ll be going around talking to everyone, which don’t get me wrong – it’s going to be awesome – but it’s also going to be taxing.

I suppose I just wonder how I am going to handle it.  I guess that’s what my groom is for, to help me get through this…I mean, he’s an introvert, too.  Maybe we need to have a safety word or something for when it’s time to go hide in the bathroom.  It’s ok, because people will just assume we’re going in there to bang.

Speaking of hiding in the bathroom, I totally understand how bridezillas are made.  That’s right, they aren’t born, they’re made.  The evil wedding factory takes in perfectly rational, in-love (oxymoron?) engaged females, throws them into the fires of Mt. Doom and cranks out bridezillas like evil furby dolls, except less hairy and with more lace.  Their fiances won’t recognize them anymore.  The bridezillas will burst into tears because they stepped in cat vomit that morning and their poor gentlemen will be at a loss as to how to console them.  And then the bridezillas set fire to the house.

So, this is where I am right now.  Maybe a tad bit of an exaggeration, but you get it.  And I am going to a wedding this weekend…mixed feelings about that.  On one hand, it’s a break from planning, a break from stress, a break from my life.  I’ll get to watch people in love (!) and I’ll get to eat and drink and dance.  But it’s also time away from planning, which let’s face it, may make me even more stressed.  And, I mean, it’s a wedding, so it’ll kinda remind me of my own and how it just needs to GET HERE.

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I’m tying the knot- pour me a shot!

Hello Psychos!

I am so blessed.

I haven’t updated about the wedding planning process in a bit, and today I plan to remedy that.

Since I last updated, I have been thrown two beautiful, delicious bridal showers and last weekend I was thrown one saucy bachelorette party!  I am incredibly thankful and lucky to be surrounded by such swell people.

When I sat and thought about it, the tradition of bachelor/ette parties is quite amusing, especially in Brian’s and my case since we’ve been in a monogamous relationship for almost 10 years now.  It’s a tradition like this that reminds me how much we’ve already been living the married life, and now we just get to throw a massive party to officially celebrate.

All the same, we didn’t pass up the opportunity to experience the traditional debauchery with our gender segregated peer groups!

How does one create the perfect bachelorette party, you ask?  Based on my recent hands-on research, I have arrived at the optimal recipe.

1. Bling

Ladies need the accessories on any normal day.  Brides need flashing signs saying I’M THE BRIDE!  THIS IS MY DAY!  NO ONE NEEDS ATTENTION MORE THAN I DO RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT!

My bling came in the form of a stately white hat, complete with a veil, a sparkly sash like I just won beat up Miss America, and a classy plastic shot glass necklace.  No one was going to ignore me if they could help it.

We also made use of props to enhance the experience.

2. Pleasures of the flesh

Some brides-to-be need to get some nasty out of their systems by admiring glistening pee-pees flying about under pulsating lights.  That’s cool, I get it.  I watched Magic Mike with Depends on to get my fix.

As for me, I am saving myself for Shirtless Ryan Gosling, so instead, my ladies spoiled me with a full body massage (given to me by the masseuse.  phrasing.), and I nearly cried on the table I was so overcome with stress leaving my body.  Seriously, I wanted to cut off this lady’s hands and take them home with me, they were so magical.  They totally would have fit in my purse.

After I spent about 10 minutes drying my tears and wiping the goo off my body (phrasing?), we progressed to the third stage of bachelorette-ing.

3. Gastrointestinal delights

My ladies and I then went to a leisurely late lunch where I stuffed my face with carbs and then had some gelato so delicious I cried some more for good measure.

The melted gelato is mixed with my tears.

We were generally obnoxious in this slightly fancy pants restaurant, being loud and getting up to take pictures.

I’d also like to take this opportunity to apologize to the poor, shy bus boy who had the misfortune of having to deliver appetizers to our table.  I know some good therapists, kid.  Call me.

4. Booze

No bachelorette party is complete without making a complete fool of yourself under the influence.  Not one.  You wanna fight about it?!

My ladies knew of this hecka rad speakeasy, that actually used to be a real speakeasy, and you needed a password and everything.  We felt special and smug.

We were led inside to this smallish room lined with books on one side and very furry red velvet wallpaper on the other.  Wobbly 20s clarinet music wafted through the stale air.  At first, it was so dark before my eyes had time to adjust that I probably looked drunk just stumbling around for a place to stash my jacket.  The irony of having tons of real books (we checked) but not enough light with which to read them was not lost on us, in case you were wondering.

My people kept me well watered that night.  At least, I assume the drinks that magically kept appearing before me had more to do with my friends and less to do with magic…even though it felt like I was in the restricted section at Hogwarts.

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Now, careful when mixing ingredients 3 and 4, because you don’t want to be reacquainted with all the carbs, gelato, and lobster rolls; those trysts were meant to be one night stands, not rageful ex-lovers returning to throw rocks at your window.

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A random brass band played the Wedding March in my honor. Bonus!

Needless to say, I had a blast and now (after some recovery time including moaning the obligatory I’m never drinking again…) it’s full steam ahead to the Big Day!

Fanclub is a Four Letter Word

Dear Le Clown,

I think I would make a most excellent ACOF Club Member attention whore Wrangler in that I don’t suck and I work hard.  When I’m not slacking off.  Or sucking.

I’m already pretty damn good at witnessing how everyday is fucking magical.  Hell, I am a therapist, and I create the fucking magic.  It spews out of my cranial meatuses (meati?) like rainbow farts spew out of baby unicorns’ buttholes since they can’t yet control the flow at such a tender young age.  I am also very organized, and I am good at spelling when I don’t completely ignore spellcheck.  I am also witty and polite when I am not drunk.  Now is not one of those times, so fuck you.

Even though I am already the maker of magical thoughts that will blow your mind like the honeybadger blows out his birthday candles, I’d like you, Le Clown, The Master, to teach me your ways.  Please.  I will be as obedient and dedicated and flawlessly gorgeous as Uma Thurman playing The Bride, and I totally picture you as Pai Mei, because, come on, that’s just awesome.

Le Clown – The Kung Fu Master

Lyssa – The devoted (and kickass) apprentice

I am willing to bloody my knuckles if it means being able to one day single-handedly hack my way out of a wooden coffin after being buried alive by my insane babydaddy’s younger brother.  And by ‘bloody my knuckles,’ I mean do hard work being the Club Member Wrangler.  And hacking my way out refers to grand success in the form of magnificence (tee em).  And I really hope I don’t have some crazy secret babydaddy out there.  I think this particular metaphor went amiss, so let’s move on, shall we?

Metaphors and blood stains aside, I am also quite literally The Bride, as I am planning a wedding and getting married in July.  Allow me to explain how this works to your advantage (because it does – trust me).  Not only am I baby-crazy female without a rock on my finger, but now my hormones have instinctively revved up and this Bridezilla is so batshit crazy driven that no one is going to get in her way of talking about herself in the third person.

I’ll fuck you up in the name of Le Clown

For serious, if you want me to get you new readers who are only creepy bald man puppets – consider it done.  Slaughter the Crazy 88s?  On my lunch break.  Paint your toenails a different shade of green than they normally are?  With pleasure (and glitter).

In closing, thank you for considering me for the very prestigious position of ACOF Club Member Wrangler.  I feel that I would be an excellent addition to your carnie staff.

Attached are my references and the severed head of your worst enemy.  Please know that he died slowly and with much pain.

Ruthlessly yours,

Lyssa aka The Bride

PS – I’d like full vision and dental.  And 3 weeks paid vacation.  Per month.

PPS – Tell Subcomandante I said hi.  The severed head of her worst enemy is in the mail.