Diary of a Wedding Planner

Pretty in pink

2007-01-19T16:35:00.000-08:00

One of my goals this year is to participate in the Rosarito-Ensenada bicycle race, a 40-mile event that takes place twice a year down in my neck of the woods. My father gave me his super-duper light, fast and amazing bike so I could enjoy what has always been his favorite sport. (If you're reading this daddy, I love you!)

Mr. T has been training me on the bike, patiently showing me how to unclip my bike shoes from the pedals (easier said than done!), how to change gears, and how to get out of my seat when climbing hills.

I love the thrill of flying down the road, the challenge of climbing a hill, and the feeling of accomplishment at conquering another personal milestone. What I don't love are the saddle sores associated with cycling.

Sometimes I get so uncomfortable during a ride that I start yelling "Santoooooooos!!" at the top of my lungs. Go ahead and laugh, but I can tell you something: My girly parts are NOT AMUSED.

I have thickly padded cycling shorts and Mr. T even suggested I use a wool seat cover to protect my girly bits. OK, people, that's NOT going to happen!

Would any of you be caught dead riding with this seat? I didn't think so...I'd be the laughing stock of the biking community, people would think I have hemorroids!! No, no, I'd rather suffer the pain than bear the shame.

Because Mr. T has a vested interest in keeping my girly parts happy, he did some research and surprised me with the most beautiful, most thoughtful early Valentine's day present I have EVER received!

Not only did he get me a seat specially designed to accomodate my girly parts, but he also got me a PINK jersey and matching PINK arm warmers!!! Is that not the cutest thing EVER??? I'm such a lucky girl...

So, next time you see a flash of pink zooming past you on a bike, go ahead and wave because it could be me!

He's "The Olive Garden", she's "Bombay Palace"

2007-01-18T11:35:00.000-08:00

Ok, people, I need your help here. What would you do in the following situation:

You've been on two dates with a really nice person. He/she is sweet, nice, athletic, good-looking, has a good job, owns a home, treats you well, calls when he/she says he/she will, and says he/she likes you. Basically, the typical "good on paper" person.

The problem is, you don't find him/her intellectually stimulating. Your conversations are superficial, and he/she doesn't seem to share your passion for different cultures. It's obvious he/she hasn't done much research in the subjects that you feel strongly about, and you feel like there's an intellectual void. Putting it in food terms (because I'm hungry), he/she is an all-american "The Olive Garden" while you are a globe-trotting "Bombay Palace".

You're going on a third date, but you're almost certain this person - albeit good on paper - isn't right for you. How do you let him/her down easy without saying something like: "You're not my intellectual equal?" Or do you just say it and hope for the best?

No animals were harmed in the making of this wedding

2007-01-17T09:02:00.000-08:00

The fate of the vendor...Well, that we're not too sure about.

Before I start, I must say this happened to a wedding planner I know and not to me (although I've had my fair share of animal encounters!)

She was planning a wedding in Acapulco, a beach resort located on the west coast of Mexico. The couple wanted a ceremony at night, overlooking a cliff. They would be illuminated by reflectors and at the moment they kissed, the wedding planner was supposed to open a box and white doves were going to fly out and be dramatically lit up by the powerful reflectors. It all sounds fabulous, right?

Well, the wedding planner looked EVERYWHERE for the darn doves in Acapulco (ah, the lengths we'll go to for our clients) and she finally found a little old man who could provide them. She hired him and got everything set up for the night of the wedding.

Finally, the day of the big event rolled around and she scampered to get everything in place before nightfall. The little old man showed up on schedule and she carefully positioned him and the box of doves behind the altar, where nobody could see him. The sun set and the guests started to arrive. The musicians started to play and the lovely bride walked down the aisle. The couple said their vows, exchanged rings, and got ready for the grand finale.

Meanwhile, the wedding planner was crouched down with the old man, ready to give him the "go ahead" signal so he could open the box and the doves could fly out. As the officiant declared the couple husband and wife and instructed them to kiss, the wedding planner gave the "thumbs up" sign to the little old man. He opened the box, and...

And, nothing. The birds walked around in the box bobbing their heads, making "coo coo" pigeon noises, and pecking at the floor of their cage. In frank desperation, the wedding planner picked up a bird and flung it in the air, just as she had seen it done in the opening ceremony of the Olympics. All the guests saw was a blinded ball of feathers desperately flapping its wings, only to come crashing back down near the box. The wedding planner tried again, to no avail.

She turned to the little old man in frank despair and asked him what was wrong with the birds.

"Nothing," he replied. "It's just that these doves don't fly at night."

Are you naughty or nice?

2007-01-15T20:04:00.000-08:00

I remember going to the mall as a ten year-old girl and being fascinated by the Victoria's Secret store. My mother would spend hours among the striped pink walls and it was always a treat when I could accompany her. Everything in the store was frilly, satiny, silky, and soft. Fruity and floral scents wafted through the air while perfectly groomed salesgirls attended to my mother's every need. She would always leave the store with a cute-as-can-be striped pink bag, and I knew that when the time came, I would shop at Victoria's Secret, too.

Pink bag in hand, my mother and I would set out in search of my father and brother, who inevitably got lost in the mall. It would take us 30 minutes of walking in circles to find them (this was waaaaay back in the pre-cell phone age, in case you're wondering), and as we searched for them we'd pass by the "forbidden store", Frederick's of Hollywood. Corsets, garter belts, daring g-strings, crotchless panties, slit cup bras, thigh-high stockings, and marabou-covered stilettos decorated the store windows, and I remember eyeing these unfamiliar contraptions with childhood curiosity and even a slight feeling of contempt at the type of woman who would choose the crassness of Frederick's over the femininity of Victoria's Secret. (Who was this Frederick guy, anyways? I always imagined he was one of those sleazy Hollywood "photographers" who would tell women he could make them into models only to seduce them and con them out of their money.)

Fast forward 10 years. (Ok, 15. Ok, 20! Geez...) I've come to appreciate the seductive power of a tightly laced corset, the playfulness of peek-a-boo undies, and the commanding feeling I get when wearing stiletto heels. I still don't quite understand why the right piece of lingerie can bring a man to his knees, but let me tell you something: Frederick seems to have it down to a science!

So, girls and guys: Do you vote for Victoria or are you a fan of Frederick? (How's that for alliteration after a long workday?)

As for me, forget the pretty pink bag and give me fire-engine red any day!!!

Neither Mr. T nor I own a TV

2007-01-14T13:16:00.000-08:00

Shocked? Don't be, I'll explain.

Whenever I was going through a difficult period in my life (layoff, body issues, bad marriage) I would use television as a means to avoid facing reality. Instead of dealing with the problem, I would sit in front of the tube for hours (sometimes 12 hours a day!) watching anything that would help deaden the pain and confusion I felt inside.

When I decided to reclaim my life one year ago, one of the changes I implemented was a future without television. I experienced withdrawals for a few days and craved the mind-numbing fog of an "I Love The 80's" marathon on VH1 or an all-day "Law & Order"-fest on TNT (or on 25 other channels, for that matter). My life was changing very quickly, living alone was scary, running a growing company was daunting, and it was tempting to run and hide among the characters whose lives made much more sense than mine did.

Little by little, I discovered that not only did I have the strength to face my problems, but that resolving them instead of quelling them by watching television left me with ample time to have...a life! *gasp*

I left behind an artificial cosmos where the things that matter most are the heft of your bank account, the firmness of your thighs, and the number of notches on your bedpost. I've since discovered a world where dreams really DO come true: a world where I can breathe underwater, discover new career paths, achieve the athletic goals I've always dreamed of, and even find a new love.

One of the first aspects that united Mr. T and me was the fact that we both shunned televisions. Among his many admirable traits, Mr. T has not had a television for almost 20 years! What kind of person would live without a TV for almost two decades, you ask? The answer is: a cultured, educated, nature-loving, athletic, romantic man...You know, they don't call it "boob tube" for nothing!

I am convinced that our relationship's incredible strength is due in large part to the absence of television. (Warning: Sap alert!) While other couples watch the Today show in the mornings, Mr. T and I go for a run on the beach. While other couples dine on take-out while watching sit-coms, we cook together and talk about our day. While other couples watch the evening news, we lay in each other's arms and discuss a future together. While other couples watch sports on Sundays, we spend the day rock climbing. (Sappy? Don't say I didn't warn you!)

If this isn't enough to convince you to decrease your tube-time and increase your life-time, consider this: "If there is no television in the bedroom, the frequency [of sex] doubles," says sexologist Serenella Salomoni, whose team of psychologists interviewed 523 Italian couples about how the tube affected their sex lives.

How's that for a motivating factor?

Not my brightest moment

2007-01-12T18:52:00.000-08:00

"Honey, I think the garbage disposal's broken," I whimpered, staring dejectedly at the brown muck that was obscenely backwashing into one compartment of his two-sided sink. Mr. T got up from the dinner table and came to my rescue. He fiddled with the disposal's on/off switch, stuck a chopstick down the drainage hole, ran some water, and determined that the culprit was a clog in the pipes under the sink.

We emptied out the shelves below the sink and a somewhat grumpy Mr. T placed a large pot under the pipes he was about to disassemble. He muttered his dislike for dirty sink water as he unscrewed the hinges on the pipe. I stood by the sink, feeling useless but ready to help when needed.

Upon unscrewing the pipe's hinge, a gush of brown muck splashed into the pot. Mr. T held it in place as I watched the water drain out of the sink. The pot was filling fast and we could tell that the volume of water still in the sink was larger than what the pot could handle. Mr. T turned to me with a look of urgency and said, "I'm going to pass the pot to you and I need you to empty it and give it back to me."

Happy to help, I gave him an energetic "OK!" and got into a crouching position to receive the slimy cauldron. The exchange went great, with Mr. T holding one hand to the pipe to stop the gush of water while I retrieved the pot from under the pipes. I stood up and very efficiently poured the smelly liquid into the other (unclogged) compartment of the two-sided sink.

Suddenly, from under the sink came the most painful, tortured "Nooooooooooo!!!", followed by a putrid flood of biblical proportions. Time stood still as the brown water covered my toes and my brain tried to comprehend what had gone wrong.

Mr. T stuck his head out from under the sink and looked at me with a combination of disbelief and despair in his blue-green eyes. He sat in a puddle of muck and shook his head.

Apparently, all streets lead to Rome. Or, in the language of kitchen sinks, all sink compartments lead to the same pipe.

"I thought you'd empty the pot onto the patio," he said, his voice deadly calm.

All I could say was: "Umm...Oops?"

Santoooooooos!!!

2007-01-11T09:17:00.000-08:00

Note: Original title "I now understand why some men have affairs" was changed at the request of a good friend.

One of the activities we enjoyed during our vacation was a tour of the local jungle and Mayan ruins on horseback. Mr. T and I arrived at the horse ranch at the same time as our excursion companions, a middle-aged Florida couple.

From the moment they got out of the taxi, we could tell we'd be in for a treat. The woman - I think her name was Rhonda - was a dumpy, post-menopausal, transplanted New Yorker with the most nasal Queens accent I've ever heard (think Fran Drescher without a sense of humor). The shorts she was wearing made her butt look larger than those of the horses, and with the amount of jewelry and makeup she had on, she looked like she'd be attending the gala dinner on the cruise ship they arrived in.

The man - named Santos - was a Cuban-American with a thick dark mustache, hairy chest, and friendly demeanor. He was generally attractive (in a Latino way) and in good physical shape for a man his age. Little did we know that before the end of the jungle tour, Santos would live up to his saintly name.

The horses were brought out to us and Mr. T and I quickly mounted our docile fillies. While we fiddled with the reigns, we heard a loud wail. Unfortunately, it wasn't coming from a jungle creature, but from Rhonda.

"Santos!!! Oooooo...You're going to pay for this! I've never ridden a horse before!" she exclaimed as the wrangler presented her with a tired-looking mule. Mr. T shot me an "it's going to be a looooong ride" glance and I giggled at Rhonda's petrified face.

We all coaxed her onto the mule, explaining that the animals were very tame and wouldn't do her any harm. She whimpered and grumbled as she got on. Once atop the mule, she exclaimed in her nasal voice: "Santooooooos!!! If I can't do Jazzercise tomorrow, you're going to pay!!!"

The wrangler led us through the jungle, outlining the various species that inhabited the dense vegetation. Unfortunately, Rhonda's plaintive wails scared away all but the mosquitos.

"Santooooooos!!! How do I tell the horse to slow down?? It's going too faaaaaaast!!", she yelled as the mule trudged wearily along the mossy path. "Santos!!! If I can't walk tomorrow, you won't hear the end of it!!"

Santos, meanwhile, wore a pained look. I don't believe he uttered three words during the entire ride.

About 45 minutes into the tour, we stopped at a watering hole supposedly used by the ancient Mayans for bathing. Rhonda slid off her mule, helped by Santos, the wrangler, and the tour guide. Mr. T and I could hear her nasal moans as she gripped onto the patient mule's neck. As soon as Rhonda placed her feet on the ground, the mule let forth a torrent of urine and I almost fell of my horse laughing at Rhonda's disgusted face.

Once off the mule, no power on Earth would get Rhonda back in the saddle. She declared that she would be happy walking the rest of the way. She and her mule walked side by side as our horses trotted gleefully back to their stables.

After dismounting, our group headed over to a Mayan hut to learn how the local villagers live. As we examined the palm and twig structure, we heard Rhonda nasally exclaim: "Santooooos!! Take a picture of me with my horse. I simply must tell all my friends that I rode a horse!"

Mr. T and I peered through the hut's door just in time to see Rhonda posing proudly next to the droopy-eyed mule. I wonder if any of her friends will have the nerve to tell her that she rode a donkey.

Not quite "9 1/2 weeks", but...

2007-01-09T16:10:00.000-08:00

There's nothing better in this world than good food and good sex. I'm sure that 99% of you would agree with me. With that in mind, I suggested to a friend who runs a B&B that we should offer an aphrodisiac cooking class for the Valentine's day weekend featuring the culinary talents of "yours truly". After all, I did seduce a certain Mr. T through the stomach...

I was excited about exploring the viability of this venture, but then real life took over right before the holidays and I had to put my culinary fantasies on hold. Well, my friend just contacted me to announce that there is a huge interest in the cooking classes!!! Not only do they want me to do the Valentine's day class, but they also want me to give Mexican cooking classes on a regular basis at their hotel!!

I am thrilled beyond words!!! Nothing spices up my life like a new challenge. I'm doing the happy dance!!! :) :) :)

Deep thoughts

2007-01-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

Coordinating a wedding is like flying an airplane: You experience long bouts of boredom punctured by brief moments of sheer panic.

Mom-zillas

2007-01-06T20:52:00.000-08:00

As I was driving to today's wedding I received a phone call from a very charming prospective client. We briefly discussed his wedding plans and I explained my range of services. He seemed quite pleased with what I had to say and had a reasonable budget, all of which made me extremely happy. Until...

"We're going back home tomorrow", said the groom.

"That's o.k.," said I, trying to downshift and make a U-turn all with one hand while sounding professional on my cell phone. "I will send you more information via e-mail and we can then set up a formal phone meeting to discuss your wedding plans."

That's when he dropped the bombshell.

"Actually, you'll be dealing mostly with my mother and my fiancee's mother during the planning process because they live in Mexico."

I almost drove off a cliff.

"Um, I don't think I'm available for that date." I mumbled.

"But we haven't determined a date yet!" said the confused groom.

"Oh...um...Right, well...I'll send you some information soon. Have a good weekend!!"

I hung up as fast as I could, trying to control the waves of nausea that developed at the thought of having to work with not one, but TWO Mexican wedding mothers! No amount of money is worth that type of torture!

The thrill is gone

2007-01-05T18:48:00.000-08:00

The first wedding of the year is tomorrow, but gone are the excitement and anticipation previously associated with coordinating an event involving a dozen vendors and hundreds of guests.

When I started my company just over two years ago, I lived for the moment when my team's efforts came together flawlessly and the dream the clients had been envisioning for many months became a reality. I worked tirelessly on the day of the wedding, feeling almost as excited as the bride and groom, and I glowed upon receiving appreciative comments from guests and clients. My work complete, I would climb into bed feeling proud and satisfied because I'd touched someone's life in a positive way.

Two years later, the good performance and uplifting acknowledgements are still there but the work no longer feeds my spirit. I now climb into bed after the conclusion of a wedding feeling thankful that yet another event is over and I don't have to deal with that particular drama anymore. Planning weddings has become tedious, boring, repetitive, and uncreative. I developed a hard, crusty shell of cynicism as I realized that many couples place more importance on the color of their flowers than on the meaning of their union. They stress out over the most insignificant items and blame me for not meeting their unrealistic expectations.

I see my wedding planning job merely as a way to generate much-needed income, but most of the time it leaves me empty inside, yearning for my true calling. The problem is: I am not sure what that calling is. What I am certain of is this: I don't want to be in the same place at this time next year. I want to find the passion in my life, rekindle the flame that pushes me out of bed in the morning and keeps me awake late into the night.

Inertia, complacency, and fear are keeping me from moving forward. Leads keep arriving in my inbox, my vendor team has become strong and trustworthy, and I've automated the wedding planning process to make it easy for my clients and I to navigate. Faced with this scenario, I am forced to listen to a voice inside my head that asks: "Why would you throw away a good thing?"

I must agree that this voice has a point: I've worked hard for over two years, putting in countless 14-hour days and sacrificing most of my weekends to build a stable source of full-time income that now requires only part-time attention.

Many would consider me fortunate, since I have the opportunity to search for my true calling while still putting food on the table. However, this might be the very thing that's holding me back. When I started my company, it was out of a burning need for independence, autonomy, and freedom from the financial and emotional oppression of my marriage. Am I the kind of person who must find herself in dire circumstances before rising to meet the next challenge? I pray that I am not.

All I know is that the thrill is gone, replaced by apathy and fear of failure. Writing about it is cathartic; reading my own words reduces the dimensions of my quandary into manageable proportions. I've re-made myself several times already: from Human Resources manager to magazine editor and then to wedding planner. It is time for me to step into the magic phone booth and re-emerge as my new identity...As soon as I figure out what that new identity is...

Going, going, gone...

2006-12-20T16:27:00.000-08:00

I guess I can't really complain about a year that started with an ugly divorce (is there any other kind?) but ends with me floating in a turquoise ocean in the arms of my true love...

And so it is that we are off to greet the New Year the best way we know how...Lounging like lizards in the sun. I wish everyone a holiday season full of food, sleep, laughter, amazing gifts, and positive thoughts for the future. See you in 2007!!

I'm dreaming of a green Christmas

2006-12-19T07:18:00.000-08:00

I had been putting off blogging about Mr. T's Christmas present for fear that he would read my blog while on his business trip and discover the surprise. Now that he's on his way home from Chicago, I can safely write this post.

I normally don't consider myself a talented gift-giver. My brother has always been the "thoughtful" one in the family, coming up with creative ideas like giving Sarah Brightman CDs, only to discover concert tickets inside the jewel case. You know, those cutesy "ahhhh" moments...

Not me. I've always been more practical: A sweater for mom, a shirt for dad, a jacket for brother. While I was married, the ex would throw temper tandrums if I didn't get him what he wanted (apparently, he was 54 going on 7...), so I stopped trying to surprise him after my second failed attempt.

Of course, you can imagine my excitement when I came up with the perfect Christmas present for Mr. T!!! And a great part of this gift is that it was also a gift for me! (After all, isn't getting stuff for yourself what makes Christmas shopping bearable?)

When I was married, I always wanted a garden but the ex never "allowed" me to have one (he controlled the money, blah blah, long story...). When I decided that I would not be staying in the marriage, I stopped thinking about a garden because I knew I would eventually be moving out.

When Mr. T came into the picture, I told him about my gardening dreams and he lovingly and generously opened up his back patio for me to revamp. He took me to a gardening store, where we loaded up with beautiful plants, pots, soil, and everything I needed to transform his unkept patio into a lush paradise. I worked hard to revamp the small space in the Spring, spending countless hours potting, trimming, and watering our lovely roses, freesia, and fuschias.

Two months later, a record-breaking heat wave combined with a nine-day trip to Europe killed most of the plants. So much for my dream garden. Check out what was left!

(Donations for the fern's burial can be sent via PayPal.)

Mr. T had been bemoaning his dead garden for several months now, and I kept telling him we'd get around to it after the Winter frosts. But then it hit me...That could be the perfect Christmas gift! So, look what I did! (Yes, that's the fern in the lower right-hand corner, pleading for mercy.)

Because Mr. T and I travel a lot and his patio gets blasted by the harsh So Cal sun all day long, I wisened up and decided to go low-maintenance this time. As soon a he left on his trip, I dashed over to Cactus King and acquired the most fabulous succulents and cacti on the planet!! I had always dismissed these plants as thorny, ugly critters, suitable for inept novice gardeners.

Yes, they are thorny and ugly...But apparently, I am also an inept and novice gardener. Touche.

I am now fascinated by these hardy, alien plants. One looks like a warty lettuce. Another one resembles a pre-historic tree. There's a lovely aloe that brings back memories of the Mexican countryside. While Mr. T's patio might not be the lush rainforest paradise we once envisioned, I am LOVING the funky look my new green friends add! What do you think?

Past, present, and future

2006-12-16T19:55:00.000-08:00

Can you be transported from the womb to old age in one day? If so, then today was the day it happened to me.

It all started this morning, when I finally completed my Open Water Diving certification. This was my final chance to get certified before Mr. T and I go on our dream vacation, so it was now or never!

Due to bad weather and high surf at the beach, we ended up diving at Mission Point, a calm, sandy inlet. As I waddled into the cold water, it was apparent that the visibility was disturbingly low. Because I had to get one more dive in before my trip, I popped my regulator into my mouth at my teacher's request and began my descent.

As the pressure of the water squeezed the wetsuit to my body, I looked around me and saw...NOTHING! A cloud of silt surrounded me, enveloping me in a claustrophobic cocoon. I tried to control my breathing as a feeling of paranoia overwhelmed me. I couldn't see my instructor or my companions anywhere, I couldn't even see my hands in front of me...I was completely alone!

I felt the ebb and flow of the currents rocking my body as I remained suspended in the murky depths. I became hypnotized by the sounds of my own breathing, a tinny inhalation of compressed air followed by a rumbling exhalation of hundreds of bubbles. For a moment, I envisioned myself inside my mother's womb: unseeing, constrained by the tautness of her tissues, and conscious only of her rythmic breathing. It was an intensely discomforting sensation...

A few seconds later, a hand grasped mine and broke me from my reverie. My instructor started to guide me through the darkness and I clutched his gloved hand, thankful to leave behind the feeling of aloneness that had sent shivers down my spine. I swam blindly next to him for what seemed like a couple of minutes, and then...LIGHT! We surfaced from the murky depths with gratitude and recovered from our unearthly experience.

"How long were we under?", one of the students asked.

"Ten minutes," responded the instructor. Ten minutes??? We all agreed it felt like two minutes...What had happened?!?!

My diving experience completed, I headed home. While walking my dog around the neighborhood and pondering the morning's unsettling experience, I caught sight of a flashy red convertible coming down the road. Driving it - with the top down in 50 degree weather - was a lovely old lady in her 70's wearing a large white hat. Our eyes met and she gave me a radiant smile as she drove past.

At that moment, I realized I had just seen my future. I have struggled with an unfulfilled passion for convertibles since the age of nine, when I dreamed of one day owning a WV Rabbit. My love for hats dates back even farther: from the age of two I would refuse to travel on airplanes or attend special family occasions without wearing a hat. But it was the smile, the glorious, happy, radiant smile of someone who is at peace with her life, which cemented our unspoken bond.

I smiled back, joyful in the knowledge that I don't have to wait forty years...I am at peace with my life today.

Manifesting

2006-12-13T14:23:00.000-08:00

A few nights ago, waiting for Mr. T to get home, I shared with my friend R. that I really had no desire to make dinner.

"I'm going to visualize Mr. T taking me out to dinner," I told her via I.M.

"Great idea. I'll help you visualize. Now, what kind of food do you want?", she asked.

I considered her question carefully. Visions of aromatic vegetable curry, cool raita, sweet chutney and perfumed basmati rice filled my head.

"Indian," I declared.

"Oh, yum! O.K., Indian it is!" R. agreed.

A few mintues later, Mr. T arrived and noticed I hadn't made dinner. "Let's go out for dinner," he suggested.

Wooohooo! My first visualization had become a reality! All right, so maybe I helped the Universe along by not actually making any food...

I asked Mr. T where he wanted to go to dinner. He seemed indecisive, and knowing his tastes, I started listing his favorite Italian restaurants. I didn't even think of mentioning Indian because he's not normally in the mood for it.

"Let's go down to P.B.; there's a little restaurant with good vegetarian food," he suggested. Letting go of my Indian visualizations and deciding to focus instead on enjoying a night out with my boyfriend, I happily agreed and settled back to enjoy the short drive.

We pulled into a small shopping center, and Mr. T pointed to a restaurant. "There, that's the restaurant I was telling you about."

STAR OF INDIA

I'll be darned...

It really is YOUR life...

2006-11-13T12:36:00.000-08:00

I've watched "The Secret" twice since my last post and already I'm noticing a difference in my attitude, my focus, and the situations that unfold around me. The funny thing is, nothing in the film is really NEW to me...I've heard it all before throughout my life, both in spiritual teachings ("Ask, and ye shall receive" and "Ye have not because ye ask not") and in colloquial sayings ("Birds of a feather" and "Like attracts like"). I've sat through courses on quantum physics and have read books on taking control of your destiny. I've even successfully applied some of the concepts to my daily life for "small" things (the type and color of car I wanted, finding a good parking spot, etc.)

What makes the information different this time around is the fact that I feel strong enough and mature enough to TAKE RESPONSIBILITY for the changes I want to see in my life and the consequences that result from my decisions. Some people go through life as victims, blaming everyone and everything for their circumstances. I've looked down on this type of person my entire life, but just 30 minutes ago I realized that I used to be one.

From this moment on, I take control of my life, my actions, my thoughts, and all consequences. Watch the movie, read the book, look into the concepts...You might think it's a bunch of hokus pokus or you might find it life-altering, depending on how ready you are to take responsibility for your choices.

The Secret

2006-11-11T07:07:00.000-08:00

Last night I watched a movie on quantum physics which claimed that the Universe has endless opportunities and blessings available to those who are able to accept this concept and effect a paradigm shift. According to "The Secret", these universal truths were kept hidden from all but the most priviledged minority and were the backbone for the creation of great wealth, stunning discoveries, and admirable personal development through the centuries.

Not one to dismiss an opportunity to improve upon my life, I've decided to wholeheartedly embrace the idea that limitless opportunities are available to me if I know how to ask. It's no coincidence that I came across this film while finding myself at a professional crossroads and, after watching it only once, I've already eliminated much of the fear and hesitation that was preventing me from pursuing my dreams.

The first step in the right direction is to be thankful for what we already have, as this creates a positive mindset and helpful energy. Without further ado, here are:

"Twenty Blessings I'm Grateful For"

1. I am in great health and my body is strong and self-healing.
2. The education I received opens doors for me every day.
3. I know what it's like to truly love a man and I have the opportunity to make him happy every day.
4. My family is supportive and loving; they allow me to be independent and make my own decisions.
5. My true friends love me just the way I am.
6. I have an intelligent, loyal, and loving dog who's my constant companion and friend.
7. I've been given a second chance at love, independence, and happiness and I'm making the most of it.
8. My job supports me financially, while allowing me to work flexible hours and develop other talents and passions.
9. I am able to walk, run, climb, swim, cycle, dance and perform any physical activity that I choose.
10. My brother looks up to me and admires my achievements and intelligence.
11. I have several trips overseas planned for this coming year and have visited 14 countries in my lifetime.
12. My apartment is warm, functional, affordable, and has breathtaking views of the ocean.
13. I have a new car.
14. I speak three languages.
15. I have a talent for cooking, writing, and learning languages.
16. I have a closet full of nice clothes and enough shoes to go a whole month without repeating a pair.
17. I have a wonderful laptop computer.
18. I am constantly coming up with new projects and ideas and I have the energy and determination to see them to fruition if I so choose.
19. I have taught myself to be resilient.
20. I've learned to listen to my inner voice and trust my gut instinct.

What are you thankful for?

D-day, part II

2006-11-08T17:34:00.000-08:00

I awoke Tuesday (divorce signing day) 100 miles away from city hall and lacking a car to get me there. (If you're asking yourself "Why?", here's the abridged version: T. is lending me the money to pay for my new car while I sell my old one, but he wasn't able to make the wire transfer before the cut-off time on Monday, leaving my new car hostage at the dealership for one more day. I was in the U.S., the divorce signing was in Mexico, and as a Mexican citizen I can't drive an American car south of the border, so I couldn't borrow his car. End of story.)

With no private means of transportation, I resorted to a four-hour trolley and bus ride. I've always loved the "people watching" aspect of public transportation, and Tuesday's assortment of trolley-riding misfits didn't dissapoint.

A man in his 40's with hairy ears boarded the trolley and sat down across from a woman reading an election handbook. He looked at her with a smug, triumphant expression on his face, and it was only then that I noticed the "I voted" sticker proudly adhered to his saggy puke-green polyester suit. Hairy had the look of a little boy whose teacher placed a gold sticker on his forhead for good behavior, and as he sat looking out the window, he was probably imagining how his electoral selections would change the face of state politics.

I left Hairy alone to his musings and focused on a boy of about sixteen, daredevilishly "riding" the trolley without holding on to the safety rails. A mop of black hair sat atop his head and a dark peach fuzz adorned his upper lip. He was obviously very proud of this sign of impending manhood, and I grimaced as I thought of the faux pas we make as adolescents. Peach Fuzz was the stereotypical "geek", from his less-than-stellar attempt at a mustache to his white socks and black lace-up rubber soled shoes. He wore a white polo shirt buttoned all the way to his neck. Clinging to the boy like a marsupial to his mother was a backpack the size of a VW bug. Not only was the backpack strapped around his shoulders, but it was also secured by a chest strap AND a waist strap! His puny 90-lb. frame jerked back and forth as he struggled to remain balanced amidst the accelerations and decelerations of the trolley and the weight of his backpack. His fists clenched, he stared straight ahead, determined to dominate the serpentine beast in whose belly he was travelling. Sci-fi, anyone???

Upon reaching the transit center, I exited the first trolley and boarded the one which would take me to the bus terminal. I sat down next to a window, and Hairy sat down next to me. He mumbled something in an ill-fated attempt at conversation, and when I said "Pardon?", shyness overtook him and he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

Thankful not to have to carry on a conversation with Hairy, I turned my attention to a most lively character. The gentleman in question was about seventy years old and he wore shocking shiny red sneakers. His blue jeans were cinched high on the waist by a black leather belt, and around his neck hung a necklace of large amber beads and an elaborate silver dragon the size of my hand. He had four dramatic silver rings on each hand, one on each digit except his thumbs. An unkept grey beard reached to his chest and his eyes were hidden by polarized John Lennon-type glasses. On his head perched a red baseball cap (surely chosen on purpose to match the sneakers) with a large marijuana leaf stiched on the front. The strangest thing about this man was that, although his choice of apparel and jewelry made him stand out, he was actually impecably groomed, as if he had worked on the outfit for a long time.

Then I realized someone might be watching me. What were they seeing? They were observing a 30-year old woman nervously clutching a Starbucks coffee cup in one hand. The way she picked at her cuticles betrayed her nervousness, although outwardly she might have seemed bored. They would see her fidgeting with her Virgin of the Pillar necklace and would erroneously assume she was religious. She appeared tired, a result of the nightmares that had repeatedly awoken her during the night. Looking at her, nobody would guess how life-altering her day would be.

D-day, part I

2006-11-08T08:49:00.000-08:00

I am free. I am legally divorced. I am a single woman. I can put the past three nightmarish years out of my head.

Except, I can't. I keep having crazy bad dreams every single night; dreams in which my drunk ex-husband is grabbing me and won't let go; dreams in which he messes something up and the divorce papers don't go through; dreams that make me wake up screaming, my heart pounding in my chest and my breath shallow and agitated.

I'm starting to get worried, as this is not normal. On the surface, I am fine: happy, optimistic, determined, very much in love. Sub-consciously, as my dreams can attest, I am obviously a wreck.

The man made my life a living hell - with my permission - for three years. I have no love left in my heart for him, yet I also don't want to hate him. Hate is unhealthy and conducive only to bitterness, illness, and stagnation. I want to forgive and forget, move on to the happier life I am creating for myself. So why is my sub-conscious not letting me?

Am I really going to have to take this to a therapist? Or will time heal my emotional wounds?

Cavemen

2006-11-06T22:22:00.000-08:00

T. had a bad day today and crawled into the "cave" of Martian vs. Venutian fame. Am I the only woman who finds it incredibly annoying when men don't want to talk about their problems? I've learned not to press him for information when he's going through a rough patch, but this does nothing to alleviate my anxiety over not being able to help.

I feel like I just can't say anything right. His need to be alone with his thoughts makes me feel like it's my fault at some level, like I can't offer the love and support he needs to feel better and overcome the obstacle.

The only thing I can do is remind myself that I am not at fault. He will crawl out of his cave sooner or later and be the sweet, loving, supportive man that he usually is...Sooner or later...But the bed is so cold without him in it...

Some people should just stay home

2006-11-05T10:15:00.000-08:00

The mother of the bride's shrill nasal voice over the telephone made my head hurt. "...And another thing," she rambled, nearing the end of her list of complaints. "My son-in-law and SEVEN of his friends got speeding tickets just after crossing the border. This is so unfair, it's like they were out to get us! You KNOW this is bad for tourism, I'm going to warn my friends never to go to Baja again!"

I rubbed my temples and spoke slowly, my tone of voice clearly communicating my frustration. "Martha, were these people speeding?"

"No!!! Of course not!!" She replied loudly. "Well, um...OK, fine, they were going over the speed limit. But still...We're American tourists, they shouldn't be giving us a hard time, we're going down there to spend money."

Nice, very nice. It is precisely this kind of "holier than thou" attitude, mostly perpetrated by ethnocentric first-time American travelers, which has tarnished the image of Americans visiting foreign countries. I suppose that, according to these obtuse individuals, only locals should get cited for breaking laws in tourist meccas like Orlando, Miami, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, because visitors are there to spend money and support the local economy. Try telling that one to the cops!

Is it only in third-world countries where these folks feel protected by the almighty Dollar? Would they issue the same complaints if cited in Munich, Paris or Tokyo?

People who support this mindset should do us all a favor and stay home. Not only are they showing a blatant disregard for the laws of a country that welcomes them with open arms, but they are tarnishing the good name of their fellow Americans.

Here comes the bridal rant

2006-11-03T09:43:00.000-08:00

One of the most neurotic brides I've ever met got married this past July. Although she hired our services to book vendors for her destination wedding, she claimed she couldn't afford our coordination package for the day of the wedding, at a cost of only 3% of her entire wedding budget!

The bride drove us crazy with her ridiculous requests. I believe a total of 86 e-mails were sent back and forth debating the high and low points of buttercream vs. fondant cake. The issue of what color and texture of ribbon would go around said cake also caused the bride many sleepless nights. She demanded orchids on a carnation budget and vacillated for months on the music for her ceremony. We deal with nervous brides every day and are trained to calm them down, but this girl was in need of psychiatric help.

I think my assistant, a patient and motherly figure, summed up our frustration best:
"OK, one more e-mail from this woman and I swear...I'll...I'll...I'll shoot myself!"

We did everything possible to please the bride, and as her wedding day approached and her neurosis reached a fever pitch, I sent her the following message in hopes of giving her a little perspective:

"Jane, one suggestion from a seasoned wedding veteran: Don't sweat the small stuff. The vendors will be on time, your guests will arrive at the location safely and on time, your wedding will be beautiful and a lot of fun...But ONLY if you relax and enjoy your day. Your guests are there to see a happy bride starting a new life with a happy groom. If you fret about the small stuff, you won't be happy and your guests won't have a good time. A positive attitude allows for positive energy, which in turn helps everything to work correctly. This is my advice, I hope it helps."

I heard nothing more from her on the wedding day and knew that all my vendors had arrived on time and had done their job as requested. Three months later, I contacted her to inform her that her video was ready, and she let me know that the classical ensemble played "Here Comes the Bride" as she walked down the aisle, instead of "Pachabel's Canon" as requested.

If you consider that her wedding took place in a Third-World country, she changed her mind about her ceremony music 25 times, and she had nobody coordinating the vendors on the day of the event, it is a miracle that this is the only thing that went wrong. I always inform my clients that weddings in Mexico are NOT about perfection. They are about unique locations, friendly service, delicious food and fun, fun, fun!! Most couples would look back and remember the great food, the fun atmosphere, the love of their guests...You know, the stuff that really matters at a wedding. Not her!

She sent me the following e-mail:

"In the future, you should let people know that you don't think the ensemble can follow instructions...in order to have the correct song played as I walk down the aisle on the most important day of my life. There is no dollar value that we could have placed on that. It was my wedding day."

OK, news flash to all you brides out there: Your wedding will NOT be perfect. No matter how much money you spend. No matter whom you hire to coordinate the event. No matter how many YEARS you spend planning, and cutting out pictures from magazines, and discussing your wedding in online forums. SHIT HAPPENS.

Ask anybody, rich or poor, and they'll tell you of at least one detail that went wrong on they wedding day.

If it is the most important day of your life, shouldn't you be focusing on the IMPORTANT things, like:
* Telling your groom how much you adore him.
* Thanking your friends for attending your wedding.
* Basking in the joy of family.
* Being thankful for having food, drink, family, friends, and a man who loves you despite your neurosis.

These are the things that you cannot put a price on...Not a thirty-second piece of music that was not only appropriate for the occasion, but which not one of your guests realized was incorrect. If the blessings in your life are opaqued by the wrong song being played as you walk down the aisle, your priorities are all wrong. I feel sorry for her because life has obviously not taught her to be thankful for what she has.

Just a click away...

2006-11-02T08:47:00.000-08:00

My boyfriend and I met through an online dating site.

There, I've said it. I don't find anything wrong with that, but most people's reactions have made me realize that online dating is still a very misunderstood venture. I've received comments like:
"But...you're pretty. Why did you have to go online to meet someone?" and "Weren't you afraid you'd meet a deranged lunatic?"

Actually, I didn't have to go online; I chose to go online because I live in a town where most men sport huge mustaches, have beer bellies held up by giant gold-plated belts, and spend their nights getting drunk in cantinas. As for the probablity of meeting a deranged lunatic, I figured I had already been married to one, so what were the odds of that happening again?

I will agree that some people have had awful experiences with online dating. My friend R. went on a date with a guy who was more interested in computers than in women. I believe his exact words were: "Hu hu, my server rocks, hu hu..." Think Beavis meets the Geek Squad.

Then there was Clingy Chris, who after three dates decided that the best way to impress my friend was to emulate every detail of her life. She was training for a marathon so he started running. She wanted to travel to Cambodia so he started looking for plane tickets. She only ate organic food so he emptied his fridge of conventionally grown produce and meats. He called her all day long, every day, and had planned out their dates for the next twelve months. All this, after only three encounters and a few e-mails and phone conversations. Into every life, a little deranged lunatic must fall...

I'm sure you have friends with online dating horror stories, and you might have some first-hand experiences, too. However, I like to think that most people looking for a mate online are like T. and I: honest folks whose lifestyles don't revolve around "the singles scene" (bars and nightclubs) and who socialize with a close groups of friends who are mostly married, and therefore don't have many opportunities to interact with interested singles of the opposite sex.

What convinced me to go online in search of love (apart from the chilling prospect of spending the rest of my life with a beer-guzzling, pot-bellied Mexican macho) was the realization that many of my wedding clients had met in cyberspace. They were all lovely, good-looking people with careers, ambitions, and fun lifestyles. If they could do it, why couldn't I?

I sat in front of my computer and a few clicks later, I was in control of my love life. Online sites make dating easy: Simply read the profiles and determine if the person fulfills your requirements.

Too short, too tall, too fat, too skinny? Move on.
Spends his free time playing video games? Don't think so.
Dreams of one day venturing outside North Dakota? Next.
6'4", Ph.D., world-traveling, rock-climbing vegetarian? DING, DING, DING...We got ourselves a winner!!!

If you or anyone you know is looking for love online, know that there's hope. The person of your dreams (or a deranged lunatic) could be just a few clicks away.

What's grosser than gross?

2006-10-31T13:22:00.000-08:00

In an effort to make my car presentable when I turn it in at the dealership today, I decided to vacuum it for a change. I have a dog, I live on a dirt road on the side of a mountain in a town where it never rains, and I incessantly cart wedding decorations up and down, so you can imagine the state the interior of the car was in.

As I contorted myself to reach stubborn dog hair caught beneath the driver's seat, the vacuum hose made a strange noise. I retrieved the end of it from under the seat and found a business card being sucked in. When I turned off the machine, the card fell to the floor. I picked it up to find out whose it was.

"The Dolls" Massages
We come to your house
Only for discriminating tastes
(To one side, a graphic image of a scantily clad woman in a sultry pose)

As a slow "Eeeeeeewwwwww..." escaped my lips, my mind went back to the many times when my husband had taken my car because he didn't want to put unnecessary mileage on his.

I'm not sure whether I should feel insulted by his vulgarity or relieved that in one week he will legally and officially be out of my life forever. We didn't have sexual chemistry and he suffered the physical woes of many 50+ men, but I NEVER thought he would stoop that low! Ironically, when I asked for a separation he accused me of cheating. I was appalled that he would even suggest that, but now I realize that he was just projecting himself...

Damned if you do, damned if you don't

2006-10-30T17:55:00.000-08:00

I detect a slight panic in my mother's voice as she recounts over the phone the conversation she had with my father. "I really don't understand him. For years we've been spending more than we earn, and we're up to our necks in debt. Yet he continues buying things we can't afford and justifying his actions by saying that he deserves to buy nice things." She pauses to sigh before continuing. "I've asked him how he thinks we're going to pay off the credit cards and he always tells me that he'll be dead in a few short years and his debt will be eliminated."

My father's macabre solution to his dire financial situation chills me to the bone, yet for my mother's sake I muster a weak laugh and tell her that he'll live to be 90 and will be shopping for designer clothes until the day he dies. Her next words surprise me, as I am not accustomed to being seen as an adult through the eyes of my parents.

"I told your father that I admire your decision to continue working even after you have children," she states.

I'm taken aback and think, You do? Wait, you're the woman who, throughout my formative years, hammered into my psyche the importance of devoting yourself entirely to your husband and children. Didn't you advise me to find a husband that would support me so I could stay home and look after the kids?

My head is spinning. I manage a soft "Uhh...Thank you..." before she continues.

"Look at me now," she laments. "He and I decided together that I was going to raise the kids and he was going to support the family, and now I'm almost 60 years old and I have nothing: no career, no paying job, no savings, no future. Who's going to hire a 60 year-old woman? Nobody!"

Her words transported me to November 2005, when I had been privy to this debate while still (unhappily) married. Seated with my parents at a restaurant, I listened in disbelief as my father praised my independence and said that my husband was very fortunate to have a woman who wasn't a financial burden. My mother sat looking at the tablecloth, frustration, pain, and helplessness distorting her elegant features. I was torn between basking in the rare praise my father was bestowing upon me and defending the sacrifice made by my mother three decades earlier, when I was born.

It is ill-advised to contradict the temperamental patriarch of a Hispanic family, especially with the intent of pointing out that he is backtracking on his own teachings and beliefs. Therefore, my mother and I sat in meek silence while my father lamented his situation as the only breadwinner in the family. "I've had to live my entire adult life knowing that if I go down, I drag all of you down with me. That's a difficult burden to bear."

My urge to defend my mother overcame my fear of my father's irrational temper, so I calmly suggested to him that her decision had been in accordance with the cultural tendencies of their generation. Emboldened by my observation, my mother added in a thin voice, "I did what was expected of me, and it was a decision we made together, in case you've forgotten."

While my father blinked in disbelief, she went on, her voice gaining strength. "Not only did I raise the kids and keep house, but I've also managed the finances of the family business for over a decade, never charging an hour's wage. Do you understand how hard it is to watch you make business decisions I don't approve of, knowing that even though I have no say, my lifestyle will be impacted?"

My mother's last sentence summarizes everything that was wrong with my marriage and validates my desire to never again depend completely on a man. While I don't understand women who choose to have children only to abandon them in day care while they chase high-powered careers and materialistic lifestyles, I am equally baffled by women who sacrifice all semblance of autonomy and self-development for the "greater good" of the family.

Is their sacrifice really doing the family a world of good? Does the husband benefit by knowing that "if he goes down, he drags everyone down with him"? Does the wife benefit by not putting her emotional, physical, and intellectual needs first? Do the children benefit by having role models that are displeased with the parts they were assigned to play?

But most importantly: Is there a happy medium? Can a woman be a supportive wife and a devoted mother without putting herself in last place? Also, what roles do culture and society play in this monumental lifestyle choice?

Ode to coffee on a lazy Sunday morning

2006-10-29T08:26:00.000-08:00

His words still haunt my mind to this day, though they were spoken with good intentions almost four months ago.

"Maybe you should give up coffee."

**shudder**

He said it with my well-being in mind, concerned about the short and long-term effects of caffeine on my body. He might as well have been suggesting that I donate an eyeball to science. I experienced a full-fledged fight-or-flight response, torn between passionately arguing the benefits of coffee or fleeing with my brand new deluxe coffee maker under my arm. My breathing became shallow, I experienced heart palpitations, and a feeling of anxiety overwhelmed me.

Because the coffee maker was brewing my drug of choice and I was still in my pijamas, I decided to stay and make my case. The adrenaline rush I experienced compensated for the lack of caffeine in my system, and I took a deep breath to steady myself.

For a moment, I considered ennumerating the health benefits of coffee ("Ummm, it keeps me from falling asleep at the wheel and crashing into oncoming traffic?"), launching into a passionate speech about java's place in history ("The Mayans drank it, it's in my genes! Yes, I know my roots are in Spain, but I was born in Mexico, damn it!"), or, as any good addict would do, denying my dependence ("I can quit at any time...I just choose not to.")

Instead, I decided to hit him where it hurt. "Would you give up chocolate?" I asked, fighting fire with fire. His eyes widened, his pupils dilated, his hands gripped the counter. Nothing more was said as I smugly poured myself a cup of coffee and triumphantly padded out of the kitchen in my furry slippers.

My love affair with coffee began before I was old enough to drink it. I awoke every day at dawn to the ruckus made by my father as he ground fresh coffee beans and pounded the previous day's coffee grinds from the espresso machine's filter holder into the trash. To this day, my father drinks two espressos (is the plural of espresso "espressi"? Like "biscotti" is to "biscotto"?) at 5:00am before sitting down to meditate. I can't get my hands to stop shaking or my mouth to stop yacking after two espressos, yet the man can sit cross-legged for an hour to explore his subconscious mind. After dinner, while most people enjoy a cup of herbal tea to calm the body and spirit before bedtime, my father soothes his nerves with yet another espresso. Twenty minutes later, he's sound asleep. My hero. :)

My first taste of coffee came in the form of a clandestine sip from my father's favorite espresso cup while my mother wasn't looking. The shock of bitterness quickly gave way to a complex bouquet that stayed on my tongue and perfumed my nostrils. It wasn't long before I was ordering an espresso alongside my father at restaurants, and another coffee lover was born. To the amazement of most people, I have always shunned sugar, cream and milk. We are a rare breed, us coffee purists.

I treat my coffee maker the way people with emphysema revere their oxygen tank.
*When I went off to college in Switzerland with my best friend, the very first thing we purchased for our dorm room was a coffee maker.
*When I rented my first apartment after college, the first item to grace my kitchen counter was the coffee maker.
*When I lived with my brother we didn't have furniture, but we had a $350 coffee maker.
*When I got married, I registered for a $700 coffee maker (which nobody got for us).
*Whenever I move to a new home, the first item out of the moving boxes is the coffee maker.
*When I left my husband, I took only my clothes, shoes, and coffee maker.
*I was invited to a country cottage recently, and I took my coffee maker with me.
*The first gift T. gave me was a coffee maker.

When my dog pounces on me in bed, indicating that another day is dawning and she simply must greet it with a celebratory pee, coffee serves as the carrot on the stick that gets me out from under the warm sheets. Please don't ask me what transpires in the mornings between the time I wake up and the moment I have my first sip of coffee, because I have no recollection. I refuse to be held responsible for anything I say or do during this haze. Coffee acts on my day like the scene in the "Wizard of Oz" where Dorothy opens the door of her displaced black-and-white house and steps into a Technicolor world.

I believe drug addicts call this feeling a "high".

Yet, I am not an addict. I can quit at any time...Really...I just choose not to. Now, excuse me while I go for more coffee.

Coincidence or divine intervention?

2006-10-28T18:26:00.000-07:00

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit it, but at thirty years old I did something this past week that I had never done before in my life: I bought a car. While I had been considering the purchase for a few months, the actual transaction was effected in a matter of minutes. Some will call what happened a coincidence, others will recognize it as divine intervention. You be the judge...Here's what happened.

I've had many cars in my lifetime, starting from when I was 16. But cars were always bought for me, first by my parents and then by my husband. This time, however, the decision was 100% in my hands for the first time ever. I waffled for a few months, undecided between a larger, more expensive yet less-fuel efficient model and a smaller, more affordable car that offered better gas mileage. I drive well over 350 km (210 miles) each week, so in a sense my lifestyle made the decision for me.

(cue Yanni New Age music) I truly believe that the Universe has vast and limitless opportunities, and that everything we want is within our reach if we know how to ask for it. With this in mind, I set out towards the car dealership with the specific brand, make, model AND color of my ideal car in mind. What makes this story EXTRA-SPECIAL is the fact that in the country where I live, dealerships are alloted a very small number of vehicles per month, maybe two or three cars of each model. Buyers wait many months to get the right color or model, and must give a large deposit to even be considered for the waiting list.

Being an unbridled optimist, I told the Universe that I wanted a 2007 silver Honda Fit, the equipped version (EX) with manual transmission. I arrived at the dealership and told the saleslady ONLY that I wanted to buy a Fit. She sat me down and after checking her computer, told me that unfortunately she only had one Fit in inventory. She said: "I can put you on a waiting list, because right now the only Fit we have available is a 2007 silver-colored EX version with manual transmission."

Holy Cow, someone up there really IS listening!!! I rest my case. No further questions, your honor.

When I told the saleslady that the car in question was exactly what I wanted, she seemed baffled by her good luck. She asked when I could return to give the deposit that would hold the car while it was readied for me, and she nearly fell off her chair when I pulled $1,000 in cash from my purse and plunked the bills on the table. What a rush!!! (No wonder some rich people are capable of committing murder if their wealth depends on it...The power trip and the reactions you get from people are intoxicating!)

While some people think I'm insane to be talking to the sky, I have just demonstrated that the sky is listening. Be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it. My car will be ready on Thursday. :)

Take a moment...

2006-10-27T18:25:00.000-07:00

A fall sunset as viewed from my front door...I am so blessed.

Nightmares every night? What's going on?

2006-10-27T17:57:00.000-07:00

Over the past week I've had enough bad dreams to last me a lifetime. I told my acupuncturist that I had been waking up feeling tired and she immediately asked me if I was having very vivid dreams. "Vivid" is an understatement...

Last night I dreamed that I was asleep and was awoken by a noise coming from the kitchen. I grabbed a butter knife (?) that was sitting on my bedside table and slowly made my way to the kitchen. Waiting for me there was my ex-husband, weilding my huge chef's knife and saying he was going to kill me. I fought with him and woke up (for real this time) with a pounding heart and heavy breathing.

A couple of nights ago, I dreamed that I was driving in my SUV. The road had curves and I was managing just fine. Then, my pijama pants flew into my sun visor and got caught there, obstucting my view. I couldn't slow down and the car kept going faster and faster. I kept trying to look between the legs of the pijama pants, which kept flapping in my face. Suddenly, I saw a wall of solid rock rushing up to meet me and in the instant before I hit the rock wall I saw my life flash before my eyes. I saw maybe 10 flashes in what seemed like one second, and I felt myself exhale, knowing in my dream that I was about to die. I woke up with my heart pounding once again.

A few nights ago, I dreamed something so horrible that I screamed in my sleep and woke myself up. I can't remember what the dream was about, but the anguish and fear remain fresh in my mind.

What is going on? Will this ever stop?

My name is P. and I'm a procrastinator...

2006-10-27T16:43:00.000-07:00

I don't know why people knock procrastination. I consider it not only perfectly healthy, but also absolutely necessary! How would I get my laundry done, my floor swept and mopped, and my sock drawer organized if I didn't have to find excuses to put off what I SHOULD be doing?

Last night I promised myself that today I would answer all e-mails and voice mails, as well as pay all pending bills. Well, it's 4:39pm and I've swept the floor, asembled a corner cubicle for my home office, put together a shelving system for my bathroom, moved my files and office supplies from my office to my apartment, sent a box of books to my brother, had lunch, bought an apple pie, ate an entire bag of chocolate-covered raisins (ugh!)...All of this, without managing to return a single e-mail or voice message.

I think I should apply reverse psychology to myself: If I increased the annoyance factor of sweeping the floors and cleaning the bathroom, maybe I would find myself answering e-mails in order to avoid housework.

Friends

2006-10-26T22:29:00.000-07:00

I just got home after sharing a bottle of fine wine and some equally high-quality time with my close friend A. Hightlight of the evening: She and her husband have started trying to have a baby. She's struggling with the concept that she might lose her identity and become one of those mothers we all fear becoming; the type that talk only of diapers and feedings. I assured her that her identity was in HER hands and her child would adapt to her lifestyle. I think I'll give her a book I read a while back, titled "The Mask of Motherhood". I was struggling with the same issues when I was trying to conceive and this book helped me change my perspective.

And speaking of conceiving, I received the most unexpected e-mail today. It was from P.M., a girl I met online while we were both trying to conceive with "older men". She and I shared so many qualities, among them our love for older men (both husbands were 25 years older than us), our adoration of dogs, our culinary talents and our crazy sex drives. Our paths diverged after a few months of friendship: She became pregnant and had the darling baby girl she always dreamed of. I stopped TTC and focused on my job and on trying to keep my marriage afloat. It was never clear who failed to return who's e-mail, but we eventually lost touch.

My life went bonkers shortly afterwards, I left my husband, filed for divorce and started a new life. This was 8 months ago, and I hadn't heard from P.M. in at least that same amount of time. Today I got an e-mail from her, and upon answering, I learned that her husband has left her with the child. I cannot begin to imagine the heartache she is going through, having to raise a child on her own.

Her reality brought to light the biggest blessing of my life so far: I did not get pregnant with my ex. This was my "Get out of jail free" card and I will never again question the existence of a God. He/She was and is watching over me. I received a second chance at life and I intend to make the most of it.

All's well that ends well

2006-10-23T20:20:00.001-07:00

If I had known how quick and painless the divorce hearing would be, I wouldn't have ruined my manicure! We got to city hall and the ex and I met with the social worker for all of 7 minutes. He asked if we were both in agreement to the divorce and inquired if there was anything we wanted to clear the air about. We said yes to the former and no to the latter, signed a paper and were told to return in two weeks to sign the divorce certificate!

The ex and I were civil to each other, but I almost kicked him in the shins during the hearing with the social worker because he was being his usual annoying self. I'll give you an example:

The social worker asks us to place our right thumbprint on the document we were signing. The ex asks "Why not the left one?". The s.w. explains that in order to maintain a standard, the law requires all people to use their right thumb. The ex asks "What if you don't have a right thumb?" The s.w. patiently answers that if you don't have a right hand, the law allows you to use your left. The ex (you would think he's five years old by the intellectual level of his questioning!) then asks "Well, what if you don't have hands?" (I'm about ready to kill him at this point). The s.w. replies that in that case, the big toe on the right foot would be used. At this point, OF COURSE, the ex gleefully inquires "What if the person doesn't have hands or feet?"

AAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!

At that point, I was ready to kill him and I could tell that the s.w. wasn't amused, either. We quickly signed the document and were ushered out so that our witnesses could sign as well.

Fast forward six hours, and I am now sitting in T's room as he installs the lighting and walls for his new closet. I went with him to the store last week to choose the shelving for the closet, and he made a point of asking me what shelving I wanted and how many shoe racks I would need. Hello!!! I LIKE HOW THIS MAN THINKS!!! Nothing puts me in a good mood quite like watching my Colin Firth look-alike boyfriend weilding power tools as he builds the closet that will someday house my prized shoe collection. All's well that ends well...

Nerves of steel? More like oatmeal!

2006-10-23T13:02:00.000-07:00

I am a nervous wreck and time seems to be playing tricks on me. I've been sitting at my desk for amost an hour, trying to find something useful to do in order to make time go by more quickly. My divorce hearing is in one hour and I am petrified of what they are going to ask.

I will be so relieved when I am in T's arms tonight, far away from all of this. But for now, I sit here and try not to imagine worst-case scenarios. I wonder what the case worker will ask. Will he wonder why we want to get divorced? Will we tell him the truth? Should I say that it's because I can't stand the sight of him, or because there was never any sexual chemistry? Should I mention his frightening temper or his tendency to blame me for any obstacle life put in his way? What about his rudeness to waiters, his habit of lying through his teeth, his conviction that everyone was determined to make his life miserable? Would it be rude to mention that he is unable to procreate and demonstrates no talent or desire to please a woman in bed?

I've chewed my fingers to the bone and still have 13 minutes to kill before I have to leave. I will make sure to have everything packed so that I can go straight from the hearing to T's house. I will need a big, strong hug from him to put this anxiety behind me. He sent me a funny e-mail saying that he was looking forward to dating a single woman. :) I keep forgetting I am still married, and I am thankful that he has the patience and understanding of a saint.

Divorce hearing

2006-10-23T07:06:00.000-07:00

I am pleased to announce that after much drama and red tape, we are finally moving forward with the divorce. Like my mom said, if they make it this difficult to divorce for a couple with no kids, no property and a mutual willingness to separate, can you imagine the turmoils that couples with more obstacles have to go through?

If the entire process hadn't been so frustrating, it would have been comical. Not only were we asked for five different documents on five different occasions, but when I was asked for an updated wedding certificate, I was told that they needed it to prove that we hadn't divorced somewhere else. I felt like shouting at her: Do you REALLY think I would be going through all this if I were already divorced???? %^&*#@

I will spend the morning visiting vendors and cleaning my office, all the while waiting anxiously for 2:00pm to roll around. As soon as the hearing is over, I'm off to spend a few wonderful days with T. A well-deserved break after a crazy week, wouldn't you say?

Eight giant trash bags later...I'm halfway done

2006-10-22T20:21:00.000-07:00

The deadline for vacating my office is October 31, but I hope to be out of there sooner than that. Now that I don't have an assistant and I've reduced the number of weddings I'll be working on next year, it makes perfect sense to move my office back to my home.

I've come full circle, but I'm a LOT wiser now than when I started. It's hard to believe that I started working from home, with little more than a computer, a phone, and a burning desire to increase my self-esteem and gain some autonomy over my controlling and opressive husband. I charged a whopping $450 to coordinate my first wedding, secured 12 clients my first year in business, and never looked back. I started my company in October 2004 (exactly two years ago!), and had my first wedding in June 2005.

The success of my company only helped to highlight the failure of my marriage. My husband, distraught in the knowledge that my financial independence would allow me to slip loose from his strangling grip, became even more controlling and maniacal. However, all his efforts proved useless, and on February 13th I informed him of my decision to leave. My first night alone in my new apartment was February 14th - Valentine's Day - and while I went to sleep with feelings of anxiety and uncertainty, I awoke to a future as bright as the mid-Winter sun.

But, back to my office...Between mid-2005 and early 2006 I became overwhelmed with bookings. Unfamiliar with the market offerings and eager to capitalize on this opportunity, I took just about any client that would hire me. Before I knew it, I was over-committed and under-staffed. I quickly hired an assistant wedding planner followed by an office manager.

Both women were essential in the survival of my business through the 2006 wedding season, but first one and then the other departed my employment for personal reasons. What still shocks me is that in both cases, I had been searching for a way to fire them when they came to me with the news that they were quitting. God works in very mysterious ways, but it's nice to know that he's watching out for me.

As the 2006 season came to an end, I was faced with two choices: I could continue working like a crazy woman, spending every single Saturday and most Sundays working to pay for an office, utilities and an assistant, or I could downsize and work from home, thereby enjoying more free time and only a marginally less affluent lifestyle. On their deathbed, nobody ever wished they had spent more time in the office, so I made a decision to return to the comfort of working from home.

The challenge now lies in emptying out an office where three women had previously worked long hours. I have six jumbo garbage bags full of recycling materials, plus several bags of trash and six or seven boxes to bring home. My darling T. helped me pick out a desk for my home office and I am very excited about setting up my new work space.

"My big fat Latino/Jewish wedding" meets WWF

2006-10-22T07:32:00.000-07:00

I found out last night from my DJ that I still had some issues to deal with concerning B and R's nightmare wedding (see "The wedding from hell is upon me"). Here's the skinny on what transpired that night (hahaha..."skinny" and the bride was about 250 lbs. *ahhh*). Keep in mind that I had already left for the night, after working a 15-hour day for the ungrateful creature.

11:00pm Two female guests, one from the bride's side and one from the groom's, decided to start yanking each other's hair out on account of a (surely repulsive) man they were both attracted to. When the male guests on both sides realized that the women were starting a cat fight, testosterone (combined with gallons of cheap tequila) surged through their veins to their (underused) brains, and they joined in the battle. Soon, there were approximately 20 people involved, between those who were fighting and those who were trying to break up the brawl.

11:10pm The security guard called the cops, who quickly arrived (go figure, normally they take ages to arrive on the scene of a crime) to split up the feuding sides. While the guests composed themselves, the police told the musicians to stop the music because the wedding was over (keep in mind that the clients had booked everything until 1am). The musicians, obeying the police, packed up their equipment and departed.

11:30pm The DJ was packing his things when he was approached by the groom and instructed to play a particular CD. Intimidated by the 6'6", 300 lb. groom, who moments earlier had been swinging his fists like an enraged gorilla, the DJ meekly agreed to play the music.

11:45pm The mother of the bride (who, by the way, looked like a cheap Spanish hooker in a flamenco dress three sizes too tight and a bosom that started at her throat and ended at her belly button) demanded to know where the band had gone. The DJ explained that they had left when the police had told them the wedding was over. The mother was furious and told the DJ to contact the group. The DJ said that he had no way of getting in touch with them, and the mother left, foaming at the mouth.

If the protagonists didn't look like overgrown apes (and that's just the women! You should've seen the men!), this would have all the makings of a movie. Fighting at a wedding...Does it get MORE romantic???

(Note: I don't think the group was wrong in departing, but they should have told the couple. If the police said the wedding was over and told the group to stop playing, they would have been going against the officer's orders by continuing to play. I will need to find out from the group why they departed without telling anyone. If I get any money back from them - which I highly doubt - I will refund it to the couple. However, if I have to choose between upsetting my vendor, who didn't do anything wrong, and upsetting my client, who was at fault for the mishap and treated me like crap throughout the entire planning process, is it really difficult to guess who I'm going to side with??)

It was the perfect evening for a wedding...

2006-10-22T07:18:00.000-07:00

P and S got married yesterday (such a cute couple!). My last wedding of the year went well, and not only did I get rave reviews, but I also got great interest in my cooking classes for next year!! I can't wait to get that started!

The bride looked beautiful, tall and voluptuous. The groom looked handsome and very serious. The weather was FABULOUS, warm but not uncomfortable. What a relief, because two days earlier we had Santa Ana winds kicking dirt up all over the valley.

Because the bride worked in the photo industry, they had more photographers than many movie stars! I hope they send me a couple of pictures.

As usual, I had to battle with my vendors and solve a few glitches...The DJ kept playing the music he wanted instead of what the groom had brought. The waiters and the kitchen werent' communicating properly. A guest with a food allergy ate something she shouldn't have. I got less plates than I should have. But, overall, it was a success and I don't think the clients noticed these small bumps in the road.

So...Put a fork in me because I'm D-O-N-E with weddings for this year!!! Nine weeks without weddings, how exciting is that!!

Last wedding of the year!!!

2006-10-21T07:30:00.000-07:00

I can't believe that the madness of 2006 is finally coming to an end. It all started in February with a shotgun wedding...I'm not joking, the bride was four months pregnant and the mother was in a frenzy to get her daughter properly wed before anyone other than family members discovered the proverbial bun in the oven. The bride wore purple, it was bitterly cold, I had separated from my husband about a week earlier, and after he officiated the ceremony he got sloshed on tequilas.

The rest of the year is a whirlwind of weddings, big and small, lavish and budget. Most clients went home happy, some were less than thrilled. I was taking my clients' displeasures very personally, until darling T. reminded me that in any service-oriented business, there will always be a small percentage of clients that will not be satisfied, no matter what you do.

This observation made me reflect on my hotel years. During management meetings we would review the latest quality control surveys, and no matter how hard we tried, there was always a small percentage of guests who were weren't able to please. Back then, it was only a number. Now, they are actual people and this is "the most important day of their lives". *sigh* I had to learn to build a thick skin and realize that as long as I was doing my best, a person's unrealistic expectations were out of my control.

I cannot believe I actually did over 30 weddings this year. "Burnt out" is an understatement. I'm doing at the most 12 next year (already have 10 booked!!) because there has to be more to life than work.

Does anyone find it a wee bit ironic?

2006-10-20T18:25:00.000-07:00

My job is to make weddings easy for people, yet I'm having the most difficult time getting divorced! Is there such a thing as a divorce planner? Ah, yes...They're called lawyers.

So, I've been in city hall a total of about seven hours over a period of two days. Our documents have been reviewed five times, and after each evaluation I am told that we are missing another document. I run back home and return to provide the document, and upon review of the stack of papers, I'm told that yet another document is missing. This has happened four times now!! I'm sorry, is this some sort of game??? Because I'm certainly not having fun!!!

Apparently, the bureaucrats could care less that I have a job to attend to. Their job, from what I can tell, is to make sure that nobody gets married, divorced, or registered. You would think they were doing us a favor, the way they look down their noses at us "common folk".

The ex-husband was there, looking as defeated and derranged as ever. One day he says he's moving to New York, the next he informs me he's staying in San Diego. I don't care what he does, as long as he signs the divorce papers and stops giving me a hard time. He's smoking more than ever, and looks about 60 years old. Revenge is sweet, considering I look about 27!! I really would not like to reach my 50's in the shape he's in: divorced, lonely, chain-smoking, alcoholic, neurotic, overweight, with unhealthy habits and thoughts, broke, and with a very stunted outlook for the future. YECH...THIS is the man I was married to for almost 3 years???????? WHAT WAS I THINKING???

I compare him to T.: sweet, caring, warm-hearted, considerate, doting T...I still have to pinch myself when I'm with him to realize that it's not a dream, he's the real thing. He's the man I always envisioned myself with, but never thought I was good enough for. Yet, he loves me, with all my flaws and baggage. And I love him, with his quirks. Thanks to him, it gets a little easier to get out of bed each day...Unless he has his strong arms wrapped around me, in which case getting out of bed is the last thing on my mind!!

Wedding magazines: the insanity continues

2006-10-20T18:17:00.000-07:00

I just received the latest edition of a leading bridal magazine. The darn thing took up most of the space in my mailbox, has 528 pages and weighs about 15 lbs.! Now, this is not a once-a-year publication where they try to cram twelve month’s worth of information and ads into one edition. This monster comes out EVERY TWO MONTHS!!

I had always thought, and I’m sure you’ll agree with me, that the purpose of periodicals was to shed light on new information and analyze recent trends. Using this logic, and considering that I just received a 528-page bi-monthly magazine, one would think that the wedding industry is ablaze with groundbreaking research and discoveries in the world of nuptials. Sadly, nothing could be further from the truth.

I decided to count the number of pages that had actual editorial content. After all, the magazine boasts an editorial staff of 18, between executive staff, department directors, editors and editorial assistants. What I found convinced me that, just like Playboy, nobody “reads” wedding magazines for the articles.

Out of 528 pages, 101 were dedicated to “editorial content”. This is less than 20% of the magazine! However, I am using the term “editorial content” quite loosely here because out of these 101 pages, 75 were full of not-too-cleverly-disguised plugs for assorted wedding industry products and services! I found page after page of beautifully photographed flowers, invitations, china, dresses and jewelry, most with a minuscule blurb by the magazine describing the product and giving the (exorbitant) price and vendor. This is tantamount to calling a Playboy Playmate’s statistics “editorial content”.

This leaves us with a whopping 26 pages of groundbreaking information, including such intellectual gems as:
“For our first dance, we want to do a rumba like we’ve seen on TV dance shows. My parents think we’ll look tacky. Will we?”

Apparently, it doesn’t take a deep intellect to plan a wedding…But deep pockets sure do help!

The Bridezilla Syndrome

2006-10-20T18:15:00.000-07:00

I dread being asked by women what my line of work is, because almost invariably my reply is greeted with a gush of enthusiasm: “Oh, you’re a wedding planner! You must have the nicest job on the planet! Just imagine, you get to work with people during the happiest period of their lives! You’re so lucky!” While I cringe, their eyes glaze over as they envision wedding gowns of white tulle and crystal tiaras sparkling in the moonlight. Men, meanwhile, usually look at me in silence with the pity reserved for a lost dog standing bewildered on a highway.

While I agree that I have the good fortune of helping couples plan their nuptials, most people don’t realize that far from being the happiest period of a couple’s life, the wedding planning stage is among the most stressful. Upon announcing their engagement, family, friends, co-workers, perfect strangers and the media pile unrealistic expectations on the already frazzled couple, who has just taken the gigantic and overwhelming step of deciding to spend the rest of their lives together. No pressure, right? It’s not surprising, then, that tens of thousands of couples each year decide to elope rather than face the daunting challenges of planning a wedding.

The brave souls (in particular, the bride) who decide to go forth with the planning process suddenly find themselves plunged head-on into a world of products and services they are unfamiliar with, but which they are expected to make decisions about with the equally ignorant advice of two over-zealous mothers, a heavily mortgaged father, seven irritated bridesmaids, and an ever-increasing collection of wedding magazines and books.

The stress of making decisions, coupled with the power of authority that comes from saying the magic words: “I am a bride”, turns thousands of normally serene and well-intentioned young women into “Bridezillas”. This term, which brings to mind a fire-breathing, building-stomping green beast with a white veil and three-quarter length silk gloves, paints a very accurate picture of the behavior some women are capable of if they don’t get their way. Nothing short of perfection is allowed on the big day, according to the glossy magazines that are the playbooks of these demanding brides.

Enter the wedding planner, who plays the role of event coordinator, friend, surrogate mother, four-star general, and psychologist when everyone else has deemed the bride to be one sandwich short of a picnic. Other than neurosurgeons, I don’t know of any profession in which so much emphasis is placed on flawless performance and so much “irreparable damage” is caused to the client if the professional in question makes a mistake. It can take nothing more than a wilting tulip or a tilted cake for a bride to utter those five soul-shattering words: “You ruined my wedding day!”.

Yes, it’s true: Hell hath no fury like a woman determined to have the perfect wedding.

Finally, the wedding from hell is upon me

2006-10-13T20:55:00.000-07:00

After two failed attempts to get myself fired, the wedding of B and R is finally upon me.

I curse the day I picked up the phone and accepted a meeting with the whiney bride and her sorry dishrag of a fiance. (Actually, they weren't even formally engaged when they started planning the wedding. Can you say "desperate bride"?)

I assured them that I could create a perfectly nice wedding for 200 guests with their $25,000 budget. Little did I know that their idea of a nice wedding included three different types of live musicians, thousands of dollars worth of flowers and an elaborate buffet. I learned my lesson: From then on, my first question has to do with budget and my second with expectations.

The bride's demand for my time and attention became overwhelming, to the point where I told her in no uncertain terms that her service expectations were incompatible with her financial capabilities. I thought I would get fired, for sure...But it didn't happen. They backed off a little and I was able to continue the planning process.

About a month before the wedding, as I was trying desperately to patch holes THEY had created, my assistant informs me that B is INCENSED because I hadn't returned her call. She's threatening bloody murder, so I send her an e-mail explaining what I'm trying to do to fix the problems that she and her family have created. I tell her that if she "has had it with me", as her e-mail so boldly exclaims, I would be delighted to discontinue work on her wedding. I assured her that all vendors would arrive at the time hired, and she could pay them their balances on the day of the event. She could also come by my office to pick up her tons of alcohol and she could deal with the entire wedding herself. If this was not in her weekend plans, then she had to let me and my vendors fix the problems they had caused, and had to stop giving us a hard time. Problem solved, they were sweet as can be from then on.

The mother hates me, but that's ok because I hate her, too. She blames me for everything that goes wrong, from her guests getting lost to the skies threatening rain. If only I had the power to control rain...I would let loose a deluge that would inundate her wedding and reception...

So, tomorrow is W-day, and I start work at 7:30am. I won't be done until at least 10:30pm, if I'm lucky. Ahhhh, nothing like working a 15-hour day for an unappreciative, whiney, spoiled brat and her uppity parents. The joys of wedding planning never cease to amaze me.

The "perfect" crime...

2006-06-19T05:52:00.000-07:00

If one more person tells me how fortunate I am to be working with couples as their weddings draw near, I swear I will barf. Most people equate the engagement period with over-flowing feelings of love, excitement and joy. What outsiders don't seem to understand is that overshadowing these glorious emotions is a grey cloud of hysteria, anxiety and a media-imposed pressure to have the perfect, most unforgettable and original wedding ever planned.

It is a crime to pair the words "perfect" and "wedding" in the same sentence. Something's bound to go wrong when you bring together a dozen vendors, the unpredictability of Mother Nature, two pushy mothers, a penny-pinching father, a fed-up groom and a neurotic bride hell-bent on one-upping her best friend's wedding. I can think of a slew of words that would describe this most uncomfortable of scenarios, but "perfect" is certainly not among them.

Don't get me wrong. I love to plan events and I get a thrill each time I coordinate a wedding. What needs to change, for the sake of everyone involved in the wedding-planning process, are the unachievable expectations heaved upon the bride the moment she and her fiance announce their engagement.

Who is responsible for setting these ridiculous standards of success? I blame the media for starting the wedding paranoia avalanche. Open any thick, glossy, ad-packed wedding magazine and you will be bombarded with words like "perfect", "unforgettable", and "original" constantly repeated throughout the 300+ pages of the publication.

Phrases like "the most important day of your life", "the event your guests will be talking about for years to come" and "the big day" are purposely weaved into every article to create glaring feelings of imperfection and need that can only be temporarily subdued by purchasing the items prominently displayed in the magazine. Acquiring the latest trend in over-priced wedding gowns, purchasing the most novel wedding favors and choosing the "perfect" wedding bands are all activities that give the bride a false sense of accomplishment...And keep the bridal magazine industry's pockets lined with cash.

When the effect of finding the "perfect" dress and the "most original" favors wears off, the bride turns her unbridled neurosis to the ceremony and reception. In the next few posts, I will share a few unforgetable stories of brides going off the deep end in their insatiable quest to have the "perfect" wedding.

Wedded bliss???

2006-05-14T16:18:00.000-07:00

Why somebody would spend tens of thousands of dollars on a six-hour party to celebrate a union that has a survival rate of less than 50% is beyond me. But fortunately, most love-struck couples don't share my cynicism when it comes to weddings. Otherwise, I'd be out of a job.

Don't get me wrong: I'm a big proponent of marriage-done-right, with all the stability, support, self-esteem and love that it provides. But I contend that it's marriage which should be celebrated, not weddings.

Honestly, getting married is a piece of (wedding) cake. It's the "being married" bit which poses a challenge to most people...And here's why:

Getting married is about:
choosing colors,
selecting a delicious meal that will be served to you,
spending hours on your hair and makeup,
wearing an expensive white dress, and
being twirled on the dance floor.

Being married is about:
compromising on the color of the walls, couch, car and just about everything else,
having to cook meals (while the baby cries, the phone rings and the dog rummages through the trash),
not having enough time or energy to even find your lipstick,
wearing jeans every day because you haven't shaved your legs in a month, and
twirling a mop on the kitchen floor (while the baby cries, the phone rings and the dog rummages through the trash).

And trust me, the outlook is just as rough for men...

We all agree that a wedding is a celebration of true love between two people.

I say: if these two people can stay together and love each other after years of burnt meals, hairy legs, widening mid-sections, unrestrained flatulence, repetitive arguments over vertical vs. horizontal positioning of the toilet seat, snoring and numerous other less-than-flattering human traits...Then by all means throw a party, because THAT'S true love!!!