I took all the precautionary steps to avoid becoming a Bridezilla. I never intended to tear out clumps of my own hair, shriek in tones that only dogs can hear, or throw a temper tantrum that would give the average two year old a run for his money. I found a wedding planner who offered a package called "Just Show Up" – a modest goal I felt I could achieve. Show up for the wedding? Yes, I can do that. Mind you, a more appropriate name for said wedding package would be, "Just Show Up and Write a Lot of Big Fat Checks" but that doesn't fit nicely on the marketing collateral. Since preparation is the key to success, according to no small number of dead philosophers and large-toothed current day motivational speakers, I was confident that I would sidestep the bridal angst and just show up and be happily married. Imagine my surprise and profound disappointment when, a couple of weeks ago, I found myself curled in the fetal position, shrieking all manner of wild and insane statements, and losing no small amount of water weight (win!) as I sobbed as if my pet goldfish died.
Much like 90% of projects in the business world, my wedding has its very own Gantt chart and budget, including color-coded pie charts that chastise me for overspending and make me want to stress-eat an entire Bakers Square pie. Or, actually, the entire display case of pies. Unlike the projects I see at work, my wedding is on schedule to happen on the pre-planned and agreed-upon date. That's a plus since I've put deposits on things such as a venue, a caterer, a photographer, a florist, a horse and carriage, etc. for that date. Being off-schedule would throw a real wrench into things as a result. So, from a scheduling standpoint, I feel pretty good. Look at me, finding the silver lining! Would a crazy person be so optimistic and cheerful? I am the epitome of a positive, together, calm bride, right? Wrong. Let's talk budget. And let me frame this up as if this wasn't, you know, my big day and a hugely important milestone in my life, but rather, a simple mathematical equation. At this point, if I had any mathematical abilities, I would insert a clever X and Y type algebraic equation to show you how smart I am and to illustrate my point. Since I am not qualified to do so, let me just put it this way. The wedding is currently running 50% over budget. If this was work, I would fire myself for being an impractical, impulsive, irresponsible spending nutcase. If I didn't fire myself, at the very least, I would discipline myself severely and I would not allow me to make any decisions involving money for the foreseeable future. My prince is unable to demonstrate any empathy and instead, wanders around saying versions of "I told you so" when looking at the budget. While I'm sure he enjoys being right, and for those keeping score, I will give him the point on this one, let me also point out that the running commentary is not exactly helping me keep my cool.
I have developed middle-aged onset perfectionism. I cannot possible live with the chairs at our reception venue. They are ugly! The caterers' standard plates? Revolting. They look like prison cafeteria plates. I obviously require four thousand yards of expensive fabric in the reception venue or I will not be able to go on with my life. Why? I have absolutely no idea. Mind you, I don't get invited to a lot of events due to my unpleasant demeanor and general distaste for humanity, but I can assure you that even a social hermit such as me has attended a fair number of weddings in her day. I can honestly say that I cannot recall what anyone's chairs, plates, invites or programs looked like. Nor, as a guest, did I actually care. It never occurred to me that the bride may have developed a nervous tic obsessing over the texture of the napkins or selecting the centerpieces. In fact, there are only two weddings I've ever attended that stand out in my mind. One took place on St. Patrick's Day and, if memory serves me correctly, the bridal party all wore mint green ensembles. The second took place in a very small historic mansion that wasn't equipped to hold the large number of guests and I was wedged against the wall, next to the boom-box that served as the sound system for the event. A member of the wedding party shoved me aside in order to press play on the Luther Vandross CD that would provide the soundtrack for the blessed union. Perhaps it was the bruise on my ribcage that made the event so memorable? On the plus side, I do seem to recall that the Luther Vandross event featured some of the best onion rings and chicken wings I've ever sampled as appetizer fare.
But I digress. My point – and there is one, I assure you – is that my cognitive mind understands that as long as I provide a meal and an open bar, my guests are unlikely to care about much else. As long as no one chokes, gets food poisoning, or hurts themselves, I should be in good shape. Unfortunately, my lizard brain has been supplanted by something even more primitive and dangerous – the bride brain. The bride brain is unreasonable, irrational, and frankly, a bitch. It's a real thing, folks. You can go online and take a 10-question quiz to determine whether or not you're at risk of becoming a bridezilla. Signs that resonated for me personally include spending yourself into the poorhouse; anger and rage; total inflexibility; and alienation of family and friends. I'll also admit to being single-minded and boring as hell. I used to read books, see movies, have opinions and think/talk about a wide variety of topics. Now, unless you want to talk about cake or invitations or possible venues for the rehearsal dinner, I am incapable of engaging with you. The other irritating feature of Bridezilladom is the paranoia/victim mentality that accompanies it. There are days when I swear everyone is conspiring to make me nuts.
On the topic of crazy-making, let me give you a few recent examples and you tell me if I'm paranoid. Let's start with the invitation list. Ever since my prince had an invitation-induced nightmare 10 months ago, "the list" has been a hot topic in our household. I mistakenly believed that we would invite a list of people we wanted to have attend our nuptials. Due to venue size and budget constraints, we determined that 100 – 120 guests would be an appropriate celebration, and we each began crafting our lists. I created my list using the following criteria:
- Am I related to this person?
If so, have I seen, spoken to, or interacted with this person in the past ten years?
If not, no invitation
- Is this a person I want to share this experience with me?
If so, will they view attending my wedding as a form of torture?
If yes, no invitation
While I felt secure in my logic and while I created a small list of invitees, I also was proud of myself. As someone who was forced to attend any number of weddings against my will (guilt is a powerful motivator), I made a conscious effort not to invite people who would feel obligated to attend while secretly wishing they were at home with an SVU marathon and a pizza. If that's your idea of an awesome Friday night (and who could fault you? That sounds pretty kick-ass to me!), then please – have a slice for me. Stay home. In fact, I was feeling pretty smug until I was schooled on the error of my ways by my parents. As it turns out, they had a whole different set of criteria for invitations. I failed to realize that, in 2013, I could bring shame onto the family by not inviting a cousin whom I haven't seen or spoken to in more than a decade and who I am confident I wouldn't recognize if I saw him on the street. I actually think these obscure cousins will be irritated to be invited to my wedding and not putting them on the hook is perhaps the greatest gift I could give. And I would be so very, very, very wrong. This course of action would bring disgrace and shame to the family name and would create sibling wars among the AARP set that would rival the Hatfield and McCoy feud.
Once learning the error of my ways and begging forgiveness for my flawed logic in the first place, we began the first of many, many, many edits to the invitation list. This in turn, led to the first of many conversations about being over-budget since our budget was built on 100 guests, not the 150 we were currently planning on. Thus, we began negotiations. Guests were cut. The first cuts were our friends, which was painful but necessary. The second cuts were some relatives who behaved badly recently – to which my own family responded with some impolite behavior of our own. And then I started cutting deeper. I am so annoyed with the invitation list that I have failed to select invitations because frankly, the thought of invitations and the mail and the list causes my blood pressure to surge and I'm starting to develop hives. And no. The list still isn't done. My parents had some late-breaking edits as recently as 24 hours ago, and even though I took a blood pressure tablet in front of them in the middle of the discussion and also laid my head down on the counter while rocking back and forth and muttering, I'm not confident that we're done. Maybe that's an incentive to get these invitations picked out and in the mail, actually. Once they're in the mail, we're done.
Other crazy-making topics include but are not limited to:
- Cakes. When I went to the cake store, there was a dead fruit fly smashed in the frosting of a cake in the display case. When I pointed this out to the bakery-gal, she apologized to me but left the bug there. This has put me off cake shopping.
- Tuxedos / groomsmen wear. Thank GOD my prince selected his ensemble and the groomsmen's' outfits on his own. He did a great job, too. He wisely asked me to preview the ensembles and pre-approve before any ordering took place. His tux was dapper as hell – he cleans up nicely! – but when he showed me the groomsmen' outfits, I almost passed out cold. Don't get me wrong – they looked amazing, except I couldn't figure out why they featured an iridescent eggplant purple vest and tie, since the bridal party will be in amethyst. Problem solved and we're back on track.
- Bridesmaids. Half of my bridal party optimistically ordered dresses 1-2 sizes smaller than their measurements dictated, thinking this would motivate them to lose weight and get into shape. Thus far, it hasn't and the dresses will be here in three weeks. I may have suggested that they wire their jaws shut or develop an eating disorder. Your princess would never be so mean. She embraces practicality and prays for a good tailor to let the dresses out. Bridezilla, on the other hand, had no problem suggesting rib removal as a method of fitting into dresses.
- Wedding planner. She is great and everything is as on track as it can be given the aforementioned budget issues. The problem is that she is great only when I pin her down and force her to meet with me face-to-face. She doesn't respond to emails and it's hard to pin her down, which can stress me out. Of course, there is nothing off track so I should just simmer down, but Bridezilla? Simmers for no one!
And the list goes on. I now understand why everyone looks at me knowingly and says, "You should just elope." In the meantime, I have 114 days to pull my head out of my ass, put Bridezilla back in her cage, and return to my normal, regal, princessly state. Here's hoping.
©2013 Princess D
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