Shampoo Solo

But I finally just got this photo scanned into digital format — while in Mexico, we went horseback riding on the beach, and you were also allowed to unsaddle your horse and take it into the ocean for a swim. It was my first experience both riding bareback and swimming with a horse. Apparently horses love to swim, but they make really weird grunting noises while doing it. Anyway — there is Scott (isn’t his farmer tan so adorable?!)! On a horse! (A horse whose name was either Wizard or Weezer!) And, while it appears that the horse is smiling, he’s actually grunting.

Scott had joked the whole ride that once we got to the beach, he wasn’t just going to swim with the horse, he was going to drown it. And, well, unfortunately for Wizard/Weezer, Scott succeeded.

(Just kidding.)

I’ve had a life-long love affair with Polaroid photos (longtime Internet readers may remember the Polaroid-shot casts of characters); so it comes as no surprise that they were a big part of our wedding day. The Husband and I spray painted a series of signs that said things like ‘WE’RE SO GLAD’ and “YOU’RE HERE” and then took Polaroids of each other holding them, and placed them on the welcome table at the ceremony.

We thought it would be a nice way to be with our guests during the times when we couldn’t be with our guests, because of traditions and formal photographs and whatnot. We also brought the camera to the reception and tried to take photos of all our family and friends; we have one of us that served as the only real proof (other than rings and dented savings accounts) that we had gotten hitched during the weeks we were waiting for the official photographer’s photos.

The bottom line is, we got a lot of compliments on the Polaroid touches. One friend told me he steals an idea for his wedding at every one he goes to; the signs were what he planned to steal from us. Which was neat, and nice, because the Polaroids were something that was really just us, and not inspired or lifted from Martha Stewart or InStyle.

When it came time to write our thank-you notes, The Husband had the brilliant idea of including Polaroids of ourselves actually using some of the gifts we’d been given. Most were simple, and boring; him mixing cocktails with the shaker into the highball glasses. Me sipping wine from the Cabernet glasses, the decanter nearby. And, et cetera.

One lucky friend — who is a big fan of our gray tabby — got this Polaroid:

(Oddly enough, I’m wearing the same sweater right now. And my hair is six inches shorter.)

It makes me wish we had made the rest of our thank-you notes just as sassy. The tabby disagrees.

Rather than making a long post in pictures of our wedding day, Scott and I decided that LOLcatting felt more appropriate. (All original photos by the amazing Tamar London.)

More to come later … but for now … yes … we really went through with it. And it was amazing.

Today I’ve got to go pick up a dress, two rings, and a tux, and then I’ve got to drive, and then get a license, and then I’m going to get hitched. In case anyone was wondering, it’s about damn time I got married. And took a long, long honeymoon.

Back in ‘08, but maybe, just maybe — if you behave yourselves — even before then.

XOXO,
Girl Who Never, Ever Gossips

Him: I called the limo place in ____ to get a quote today.
Me: And?
Him: $180 for two hours.
Me: What?! That’s absurd. Did you tell them it was for a wedding?
Him: Yes.
Me: There’s the problem, then. You say “wedding” and vendors get dollar signs in their eyes. Never say wedding, they jack up the prices!! You should’ve told them it was for a funeral. I bet funerals get discounted rates.
Him: A funeral I’m planning … in December?
Me: Oh. Well. Aren’t most women who are murdered killed by their husbands?
Him: Once again, I’m not following your logic.
Me: Yeah, me either, actually.

The wedding machinery is starting to churn. (The date is December 8, for anyone who [quite understandable] lost track in the 14 months since we got engaged.) I’m already starting to looking forward to December 9, when all this planning and crafting and researching will be finished and I can focus on being married and taking tennis lessons. Until then, though, there’s a good chance the majority of my posts will be wedding focused; if you’re not into that kind of scene, see you on December 9!

Anyway. Today we went to Men’s Wearhouse and got some college kid to reluctantly help us — he had Marketing 228 homework to do, folks. During the course of our time there, which was brief because we’d already cased the store and picked out what we wanted, he managed to personally insult us with the following:

1. Called our wedding “boring” when we decided on a very simple black-white color combination for the tuxes. Um. Excuse me? Scott quickly jumped in and corrected him — “Actually, it’s classic, not boring” — before I could summon up the proper order of profanities to explain that we’re not (motherfucking) teal blue kind of people (you ignorant douchebag).

2. Told Scott “Oh, so you’re the cheap bastard” when he said he’d be the beneficiary of the rent-four-get-one-free tux special. Um. Excuse me? Again Scott jumped in quickly and corrected him — pointing out that we had plenty of wedding-related expenses and it wasn’t like getting a free tux was actually making the whole thing affordable. Again, I was flabbergasted and caught flat-footed, gathering my profanities. (Not to mention — does anyone give that free tux away, ever? You can’t, you just can’t. I’m afraid it would come across as “We didn’t think you could afford it,” not to mention that you don’t want Best Man A casually mentioning to Best Man B that “Oh my tux was free — yours wasn’t?” You just can’t.

What a punk. (And yes, I get that he was trying to be funny and build rapport, at least with the bastard comment — but failing.)

We totally would’ve and probably should’ve walked out of the store and gone somewhere else except, wedding planning? Total pain in the ass. However, calling Men’s Wearhouse and complaining about crap employee? Easy. And done.

Her: So, how have things been since the last time we met?
Me: Really good … Scott has been hitting me a lot less.

Unfortunately, she’s now accustomed to our snarky comments and they don’t throw her off her game anymore. Thus, we’ve been forced to resort to chest-bumping and high-fiving, which doesn’t translate as well into prose.

I recently decided that I would no longer, never ever, wear my hair down (whether straightened or curly) to the office. There are two reasons for this:

1. I am lazy. (And the blow drying and the straightening and the putting products in and the climbing back into bed for 10 minutes to then make it look like I didn’t spend any time on it really eats up a valuable chunk of time that I could be spending sleeping, reading, or, you know, even working.)

2. When I do wear it down, I feel like I am constantly playing with it. Making me, then, The Girl Who Is Constantly Playing With Her Hair. And I really don’t want to project that image — I much prefer being The Girl Who Is Obsessed With Her Cell Phone.

This means that I am wearing my hair up, in some kind of bun (smooth or bumpy) every day now. Which is fine. Easy. Quick. Aerodynamic. I suppose I’m also now The Girl Who Looks Kinda Like a Librarian but that’s OK, too.

The next date I will likely wear my hair down is when the bun is no longer an option — i.e., post-wedding, when I chop it all off and go short again. Sometimes I am tempted to do that now, because I wonder if, after the wedding, when it’s short, if I won’t regret holding on to All This Hair for months and months when I didn’t really want it, just for the sake of some photos.

Of course, the memory of my last short haircut, and my father constantly referring to me as Paul Kariya … that’s what’s keeping me out of my stylist’s chair.

‘Tell me what you find romantic.’
Me: Money?
Scott: A third person in bed?

‘Tell me some things you’re doing right now that are romantic.’
Me: Anal?
Scott: Oral?

‘Tell me some of the things that bother you about your relationship right now.’
Me: The gray cat.
Scott: Yeah, the gray cat.

‘Tell me some things you’re going to do after today that are romantic.’
Me: Oral?
Scott: Anal?

(No, nothing’s wrong; it’s just the whole pre-marital thing that everyone recommends doing. And we eventually gave her honest answers [NOT MADE-UP ANSWERS LIKE THESE, PEOPLE {And by 'people' we mean 'mom' and 'dad' and 'boss' and 'coworkers.'}]. Seriously, if our relationship has any faults, it’s our inability to take anything seriously.)