The Future Looks Jaded

Generally speaking, couples tend to get set in their ways after the wedding is over. Some put on a few pounds, others let their guard down and indulge in farting or picking their nose. I’ve done that already. I’m pretty sure Sebastien knows what he got himself into when he signed that marriage contract. So we’ll just keep our expectations of one another pretty low. But, who knows what will come to pass in the future.

Jaded Corporate Executive

Jaded Mom

Jaded Convict

Jaded Senior Citizen

 

For now though, I think I’ll just be jaded.

 

Disgust

 

 

A Manual for Life

We’ve been doing a lot of house cleaning and rearranging this past week to make room for some of the gifts we received for our wedding.

One couple gave us a Tiffany’s bowl. So far it has managed to stay in place on our rickety kitchen table, although I’ve considered putting rubber padding around it just in case. I’m trying to preserve the fine china in the hopes that we will one day have a dining room set or something other than an upside down cardboard box to display it on.

In the meantime, Sebastien has been using it as his own personal knick knack dish. Every night when I return home I find ear buds, change or gum wrappers in the bowl. I’ve never understood his obsession with taking things out of his pockets and putting them in bowls when he gets home. I might have to put the bowl back in the box.

Another guest offered us stainless steel copper pots and pans so I can finally replace the warped pan we’ve been frying in and the pot with the missing handle. I was hesitant to use it though, because I couldn’t bear to ruin such a nice gift.

For the first few days I just stood in the kitchen looking from the fridge to the shiny copper pans in the cabinet, and hoped they would just learn to cook themselves like all of the objects in Beauty and the Beast. When I got hungry enough, I just ordered in.

Finally one day, with expiration dates looming over my head, I pulled a package of chicken out of the fridge and decided to give it a try. Armed with a full bottle of Pam cooking spray, I placed the frying pan onto the stove. Wise words Sebastien once told me ran through my head: read the fucking manual. I ignored the voice and turned the knob on the stove. The flame hissed to life and my confidence grew. I coated the cookware with Pam and dumped a pound of meat in it. The food sizzled and crackled.

The meal turned out pretty good, but the pan didn’t fare so well. As I scraped off the last of the burnt meat in the pan I noticed brownish stains all over the bottom and the sides.

Read the fucking manual, the voice said again.

I thumbed through the instructions for cooking and cleaning and then realized what I should have done first. I relayed the information to Sebastien, who just said he would use the old pots and pans. It was easier, he said. He had a point, although I wouldn’t admit it. I guess I just wanted to believe that we could handle cookware and china like any normal adult.

But maybe we’re just not cut out for adulthood. Maybe there should be a manual for life. I would fucking read that.

Let’s Take the Deathstar, Honey

People have been asking if Sebastien and I are planning on going on a honeymoon. But the thought of it makes my stomach turn. When I hear the word ‘honeymoon’ I think of beaches and I can’t think of a worse place to be: the sticky sand, the polluted salt water, the heat. It sounds awful. Sebastien agrees.

We prefer cold, bland places with a lot of concrete and depressed citizens. We would go to North Korea if we could. Instead we just visit countries with high suicide rates.

And what does it mean to have a honeymoon anyway? We normally go on a vacation every year, anyway. But because it is a honeymoon does that mean that we will really enjoy spending time together unlike those other vacations where we dread sharing a bed and spending every waking hour with one another?

If it’s a honeymoon does that mean Sebastien is going to ogle me for five days straight, whispering sweet nothings into my ear? I think I’d have a better time at the beach.

I don’t even like the term honeymoon and told a person that we would only call it that if free things were involved: massages, robes, an upgrade to a larger suite. If not, we will just call it another vacation. Or, the deathstar.

It’s Over…

The wedding, I mean. And the worst part about it being over is that I can longer use planning my wedding as an excuse to get out of my regular responsibilities.

At any rate, here are the highlights:

-The wait staff was alerted about my extreme hunger prior to my arrival and satiated my appetite with mini chicken pot pies, shrimp skewers and steak ceviches until I encouraged them to feed the other guests.

-Sebastien and I entered the reception to the Imperial March-a fitting tune for a couple so determined to rule the universe.

-My Dad did his famous Charlie Brown dance.

-Despite my ban, guests danced to the electric slide. The song was never played because of said ban, but one clever guest realized another dance song had the same beat as the electric slide and rallied guests to join in. Now I have to extend the ban to include all songs with a similar beat.

-For some reason the DJ played Hava Nagila and for some reason it worked as part of this nondenominational wedding reception.

-And we finished the night off with Enter Sandman by Metallica. Some were dubious that it could be done, but, we danced. Even Sebastien’s 73-year-old godmother danced.

The Word of the Day is ‘No’

This morning I was looking over the questionnaires I submitted to the photographer and the venue manager and I noticed a common theme.

Will you need photos of the ceremony: no

Will you be doing a bouquet toss: no

Do you need pictures for the cake cutting: no

There’s no word I like more.

Then when I arrived at the hotel an hour ago, I noticed my name and Sebastien’s name flashing on a screen behind the reception. I thought it was someone’s idea of a sick joke. Then I found out it was the idea of the hotel manager who thought it would be better than apologizing for her incompetence. I tried to reserve a block of rooms with the hotel a couple of months ago and she never responded to any of my phone calls. (It was the most stressful part about planing my wedding.)

I thought I was going to have a seizure if I saw my name flash across the screen one more time. “Can you take that down,” I said to the man behind the counter.

“You don’t want that up?” he asked.

“No.”

Feel free to take bets on how many times I will say that word tonight.

Bag of Tricks

I carry a moderately sized purse that can hold a book, a selection of magazines, two notepads, a handful of pens and an assortment of gum. My shoulders are permanently lopsided, but at least I don’t look like a jackass walking around with multiple small purses. (I see it everyday on the subway.)

I’ve never understood small purses and I am always amazed when women show up to parties with them. Especially in New York City where you need to take public transportation to get anywhere. What do these women usually do during the travel time? It’s hard enough to get me to leave the house, so I can’t imagine going anywhere without a variety of things to keep me entertained before during and after the event to which I am traveling. You never know when you are going to get bored.

I met a group of friends at a bar one night at the insistence of this guy I know. I don’t go out to bars much because I usually get bored and I’m a low talker so it makes for strained conversations. I told this guy as much but he persisted.So I agreed to show up.

When he arrived, he found me sitting at a table. “So where’s your magazine,” he said. I pulled it out right after he finished the sentence.

I’m sure a number of women will come to the wedding with dainty shoulder purses that can hold a tin of altoids and a packet of birth control, if anything at all. I reserved the seat next to me for my purse, which will contain a panoply of items to keep me busy if and when conversations lag.

Introducing…or maybe not

Everything is just about done for the wedding reception on Saturday night. It’s been a long time coming and now I’m a little bored. Makes me just want to call the whole thing off and rent a movie. But it’s not over yet.

The last thing I need to do is give the wording of our introductions to the DJ. But, I’ve got nothing. What do they normally say? I’ve been to several weddings, but I never paid attention to these details. I just clapped whenever everyone else started clapping, just like a trained seal.

This whole introduction thing could ruin an otherwise stress-free wedding.

Should it be something simple? And now, Amy and Sebastien.

How about, Introducing Amy and Sebastien

Those are nice, but not very effective at getting everyone’s attention. Maybe there’s a way we can have some sort of voice that everyone is familiar with and commands attention. Like a dictator or GPS or the Internet.

Maybe when we enter the room the night of the wedding, AOL can say, “Welcome, you’ve got mail.”

Mime Time

In three days, I will see all of Sebastien’s family at our wedding reception. This might be a problem.

A number of his relatives only speak French, a language that now eludes. I used to know how to speak it because I spent two years living in France. I picked up words and phrases by trial and error: If you want cigarettes bad enough, you learn how to ask for them in any language.

But now that is all gone. And the only things I remember how to say are vulgarities and bawdy jokes.

So although I can tell Sebastien’s cousin to go fuck himself, asking if he is enjoying the meal might be a stretch.

I’ll probably just smile and keep my mouth shut.

In Your Face

We had to give our final head count to the reception venue a few days ago so they know how many meals to provide. Since then, five guests have canceled.

That’s unfortunate. We already paid for the meals and I really hate to see fod go to waste.

So I think we should take those extra meals, wrap them up in a dish and throw them in the faces of the people who canceled.

That would be one sweet $100 pie in the face.

Why a Tailor Should Offer Delivery

The tailor that I use is a block away from my apartment, but in the opposite direction I generally travel. So it took me a while before I had the energy and motivation to take my dress to him to get hemmed. I did consider just using a handful of safety pins, but I don’t know where else to get them other than my grandma’s house.

So, I managed to crawl out of my cave to drop of the dress at the tailor’s. He said it would be ready in a week. My heart sank. That meant I had to go one block out of my way again to pick the dress up.

If I knew planning a wedding required this much effort, I might have reconsidered.

Why did I have to wear a gown? We’re going to have a photographer so he can just Photoshop in some new clothes. I know I’m already going to ask him to airbrush in a few celebrities on the group shots.

For the record, my original idea for a wedding was to have a Halloween theme. I wish more people had agreed with me.

I still might be able to pull together a Power Rangers costume just in case I don’t get the dress in time.