Tulle, Twinkle Lights and Train-Length Veils: A Consolodated History of how Weddings Changed my Life

Like a million other little girls, I've dreamt of my wedding day all my whole entire life. Ever since I've known what a wedding was, I've been thinking about mine.

I can remember sneaking out of my bed when I was a little girl, early in the morning to play wedding with my Barbies. I only had one Barbie wedding dress that was kind of flat and ugly, but fortunately I had Cinderella Barbie's detachable poofy skirt to go over it and give it a nice ballgown look. I also had one veil that was tragically, the kind with the elastic headband that went across their forehead. But hey, Barbie can't not have a veil on her wedding day. Top that off with her glittery plastic shoes (that had a nasty habit of getting sucked up in the vacuum cleaner) and Barbie was set!

Her bridesmaids were various other Barbies, and unfortunately their dresses never matched, but which ever Barbie was the bride never seemed to mind. I only had one Ken doll and a Prince Charming doll, so they swapped off being the groom. The groom's tux was splendid; it was a glittery black number with a pale pink tuxedo shirt and shiny black shoes. Because I had twenty-something odd Barbies and only 2 Ken dolls, Ken and Prince Charming were the most brazen polygamists on the block. They each had several marriages with all of the Barbies.

And much like their TLC counterparts, they all lived in one big, pink Barbie Dream House. No, really I had a Barbie dream house that was cotton-candy pink with a neon blue textured roof. It had a front patio, a downstairs sitting room, a kitchenette, an upstairs bedroom complete with jacuzzi, and it even had a functional elevator. Barbie and Ken often consummated their marriage(s) on the pink plastic twin bed.

And of course, these frequent wedding ceremonies were always attended by their parents. My mom's retro Barbie and Ken doll always happily filled these roles; dutifully making the trek down from their cases in the upstairs closet. Vintage Barbie had interchangeable heads with different hairstyles, so that was always fun and in no way horrifying whatsoever to a young child. But she had wacky blue eyeshadow and the snooty look a true mother of the bride ought to have. Vintage Ken just complacently drove the pink Cadillac convertible.

I can distinctly remember doing this everyday of my adolescence until it was no longer cool to play with Barbies. So I packed them up and put them in the closet. But I never stopped loving weddings.

I can remember very, very distinctly the first wedding I went to. It was my piano teacher Michelle's wedding. She was Jewish, and she and her husband had a traditional ceremony, complete with the Chuppah, the Yarlmukes, and the stomping of the wine glass. It was the most exotic thing I had ever seen at eight years old. When they lifted them up on the chairs, it was wild. I was wearing a blue and cream floral print dress with dyed-to-match shoes and I was in heaven. I can remember the bride walking down the aisle, her veil being lifted, and the reception.

I was down at IU, miserable and majoring in journalism. I literally woke up one day and decided I wanted to be a wedding planner. I was never one to waste time when I wanted something, so I dropped all of my journalism classes, signed up for event planning classes, and set out with stars in my eyes. I didn't have a clue what I was doing...at all.

When I began working for my catering company, we used to cater to a facility downtown called the Mavris Arts and Event Center. Mavris is absolutely beautiful. Sealed hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, wooden beams wrapped with twinkly lights. It's right in the heart of downtown, so when you go outside or look out of any of the windows, you have a spectacular view of the city skyline. I can distinctly remember one wedding reception that I worked. It was a Saturday night, in the summer. Late June. the weather was sublime. Not too hot or humid, a slight breeze, and the night sky was full of a million billion stars. We took the trash out and I lingered outside for a minute. The dumpsters at that place are against a large brick wall, and you have to walk on sort of a sidewalk/ledge to get to them. If you lean up against the wall and look out, you have just a perfect view of the whole city. I took a deep breath of the summer air, and I was at peace. Everything was so wonderful right at that moment, and I never wanted it to end. And I knew. I knew that this was my city, and this was my calling. To plan beautiful weddings in Indianapolis, the city I loved. I've never had such a moment of mental clarity in my life. This is what I'm meant to do and this is where I'm meant to be. I never wanted that feeling to go away.

And so I will sit on my laptop late, late at night when I should be studying and sleeping, and look up venues in downtown Indianapolis. I'll research catering, linen companies, and bridesmaids dresses. Even though I don't have a boyfriend, I'll plan my wedding like it's coming up tomorrow. Because I love it. I love it all. Wedding stuff is like crack to me; I get bride magazines in the mail, I watch all of the wedding shows on TV, I belong to TheKnot.com. If any potential suitor knew all of this, he wouldn't run, he would sprint in the opposite direction. Because some girls are like that. Some just want to get married just to have the wedding. So that's why I plan. "Those who can't wed, plan," said Jennifer Lopez in The Wedding Planner. But it all just makes me so happy. Weddings make me so very happy, and that's all I need. All I need is to be happy with what I do and I'm set for life.

So that little girl who played with Barbies, the young girl, wide-eyed at her first wedding, and the ambitious college girl in the city are all rolled into one. It's a journey everyday, and I wouldn't change a minute of anything. It's nice sometimes to be reminded of why I'm where I am today.

It's another lovely summer night. I take one last breath of the summer air, and go back inside. One day, it will be my day. But until then, I'm alright.

Life can be grand. But only if you follow your centerpiece, buttercream, and champagne dreams.    ;)

Keep Holding On, Cause You Know I'll Make it Through

I just don't know anything anymore. Casey Anthony, like OJ, proved that only in America™ can you murder a member of your family and get away with it. A slut murdered her baby, yet a jury says she didn't do it. Rod Blagojevich has bad hair, is a bad liar, and is going to jail forever, perhaps. What the fuck? Jose Baez is licking his chops and cracking his knuckles with excitement. Casey Anthony winks at the cameras and that twinkle in her eye says, "got you good, fuckers!!!!" The world has ceased to make sense.

I'm angry, I'm jittery and nervous. I'm not hungry but I eat anyways. I don't know what's wrong.

Actually, I do. I'm just scared shitless of everything, and I don't want to let go of the people I cared about in the past. You know who. Well, not You-Know-Who...not Voldemort. Never mind.

I know I mean nothing to him at all. AT ALL. But he meant something to me and it's so hard to let go, really. It's a daily struggle. Wait, who am I talking about? Either/or.

I know there's supposedly a point to everything, and everything happens for a reason, but what the FUCK?

I just don't understand it right now. I know that refutes everything I've ever spewed in my writing, but right now, at 3 AM, nothing makes sense. I hate the whole world, and I want to throw things until they break. I hate whatever fates exist in the universe for bringing me to him and falling for him. What was the point?? Just to throw it in my face at 1 AM in a parking lot of a Mexican restaurant? All of that for that kind of humiliation? I don't get it. Everything hurts. It feels like being punched in the gut a million times, then no one helping you.

And E? I don't get him, either. I don't understand him as a person or understand why I spent three goddamned years of my life pining after him. I don't understand falling in love with a person only to never speak to them again. I know that was my choice, but he brought me to that decision with his own actions. I don't know what hurts more, to love someone and not be able to be with them, or have loved and lost? It doesn't matter, I guess.



I have so much anger pent up towards E. I really, really do. Three fucking years of my life I gave him. I loved him absolutely unconditionally despite all of the shit he put me through, and all of his many emotional problems and problems otherwise. I never once, EVER wavered in my devotion for him. I was there every time he needed me and more. Every time he asked me to, I drove my ass all the way to Bloomington. If he said "jump", I said "how high?" All I ever wanted to do was be with him. For real, not just between his sheets at 4 AM. And he could never give that to me. And then to add insult to injury, he fucked my friend. After I'd been nothing by loyal and kind and caring and loving to him for three. Fucking. Years. I know he never asked for it, but A) that's not the point and B) I loved him with all of my whole heart, and I wouldn't have done anything less for him at the time. I guess that's the point, you're supposed to see the beauty in a sea of ugly. But I don't want to. Right now, I just want to be hateful and childish and throw a pity party for myself.

And Trick...well, I don't really have anything to say. Well, actually, I do, but most of it is an illogical argument that I don't care to state. I liked him so much, and it seriously hurt more than he'll ever know that I made an ass out of myself by telling him I was in luuurve with him, and for him to just stand there and mumble awkwardly. I mean, what did I expect him to do? Throw his arms around me in a fit of passion and declare his undying love for me right back? HAHAHA, no. Why on earth would he do that? He has a girlfriend he never talks about is perfectly happy with. My bitterness is like a lemon wedge; small, but still there. But why should I be? I liked, I lost. Move on, right?? Except it's not that easy, cause I really liked him a whole lot. It hurts not only that I don't get to see him anymore, but that he doesn't really care that he isn't seeing me, either.
That's the very worst part.

What matters is these men I keep falling for that let me down like a stack of bricks. I don't understand what I did to deserve it. I look at other people who are happy and wonder why I'm not good enough for that. Why do I continually get shit on when everyone else gets to be happy in love with rainbows and butterflies? All I have is a cold and a billion guys who want to send me pictures of their man business. Fuck that.

EE is the only man I trust. And he's a stuffed Disney animal.

...................I'm fucked.