There exists this tiny little nugget of information; a money saving tip that has run its course through the Budget Bride Rumor Mill and come out such: avoid saying the word "wedding" to your baker and save yourself a substantial wedding cake up-charge. Damn those bakers. How dare they? Taking advantage of us in all our desperate-to-fulfill-a-childhood-dream vulnerability. So what's a girl to do? Call it a "family event" and stick it to the man. Get the same cake for a fraction of the cost. Brilliant.
And now, a glimpse of brilliance (tbd) in action:
Setting: Helena's most highly recomended wedding cake bakery. Plot: A woman on a righteous mission. Enter: Me.
"Hi! We're having a family reunion this summer and we're looking for a cake." (Hand over magazine picture of dream cake clipped from a wedding magazine.) Mistake Number 1.
Response from baker: "Ok.... How many people do you need to serve?" To which my trusty sidekick (Mom) says "200? ... 250?" Really, Mom? Have you ever in your life heard of a family reunion that size? Large and obvious, Mistake Number 2.
And that was the moment. The moment in which my confidence faltered. My determination wavered. I felt her eyes on me. She knew. And just to make it clear that she knew, she slid the "Wedding Cake Price List" across the counter for my shame-filled consideration. No price cuts for me.
I had lied. One little white lie, and I couldn't handle it. But I was in too far now; owning the lie and changing my tune would surely be worse. So, squirming, I continued the pretense as long as I could until I found a way to excuse myself and run away.
The minute we were out the door I informed my Mom that we could not use them, despite their well deserved reputation, and that was that.
We will just have to look elsewhere. Perhaps another town even. The lie will haunt me.
From here on out, I'll bite the bullet and risk the extra charge. Besides, you're only a Budding Bride once. Who wants to pretend not to be, and miss her moment in the spotlight? Not this girl.
Mission: Incriminating.
The moral of the story? Be careful which corners you decide to cut. You may get the cake, but you have to eat it, too.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Revelation
(this blog is long overdue)
My plans have been all over the place. I have very distinct visions for my wedding. Vision(s) being the definitive word.
I want vintage.
I want flowy and ethereal.
I want neutrals.
I want grapes ... ?
I know, I'm obviously confused.
The problem is, that's just me. Confused. Scattered. Passionate - about a dozen seperate and opposite things. (A character trait that made choosing my wedding dress a distinct problem, but that's for another post.)
I mention vintage to my Mom and we both start dreaming of 40's style tea length bridesmaid dresses and a room full of hydrangeas.
I mention flowy to my bridesmaids and they start trying on strappy little summer dresses that, for a few days, I think I like.
I mention grapes to my Dad (who's cooking genius has landed him the job of reception menu overseer) and he starts spouting about Italian dishes and little bottles of chianti.
All wonderful things, sure. But cohesive, they are not.
And then finally ... revelation: Mediterranean.
A Mediterranean inspired wedding. More specifically, Greek inspired. Clearer yet, Athenian.
Each thought was just a shade off. Each element just needed a little refinement. Vintage? How about styles pulled from one of the oldest cultures? Flowy? I think so! Grapes - absolutely. But instead of grapes with red and yellow ceramic platters and peppy Italian music, we will have grapes flowing over a marble vase.
We will have to rebuild the dinner menu from scratch, but it's a small price to pay for wedding day clarity. For salvation from insanity due to wedding planning induced multiple personality disorder.
You may ask "Is she Greek?" And my answer to you is simply "No." But lay off me, would ya? I have dark hair!
In all seriousness, it's just a love of the culture. A love of their fashion. A connection with their way of life that started when I planted myself on a Greek island for three months. It's a sophisticated sort of casual. I can't think of anything better.
My plans have been all over the place. I have very distinct visions for my wedding. Vision(s) being the definitive word.
I want vintage.
I want flowy and ethereal.
I want neutrals.
I want grapes ... ?
I know, I'm obviously confused.
The problem is, that's just me. Confused. Scattered. Passionate - about a dozen seperate and opposite things. (A character trait that made choosing my wedding dress a distinct problem, but that's for another post.)
I mention vintage to my Mom and we both start dreaming of 40's style tea length bridesmaid dresses and a room full of hydrangeas.
I mention flowy to my bridesmaids and they start trying on strappy little summer dresses that, for a few days, I think I like.
I mention grapes to my Dad (who's cooking genius has landed him the job of reception menu overseer) and he starts spouting about Italian dishes and little bottles of chianti.
All wonderful things, sure. But cohesive, they are not.
And then finally ... revelation: Mediterranean.
A Mediterranean inspired wedding. More specifically, Greek inspired. Clearer yet, Athenian.
Each thought was just a shade off. Each element just needed a little refinement. Vintage? How about styles pulled from one of the oldest cultures? Flowy? I think so! Grapes - absolutely. But instead of grapes with red and yellow ceramic platters and peppy Italian music, we will have grapes flowing over a marble vase.
We will have to rebuild the dinner menu from scratch, but it's a small price to pay for wedding day clarity. For salvation from insanity due to wedding planning induced multiple personality disorder.
You may ask "Is she Greek?" And my answer to you is simply "No." But lay off me, would ya? I have dark hair!
In all seriousness, it's just a love of the culture. A love of their fashion. A connection with their way of life that started when I planted myself on a Greek island for three months. It's a sophisticated sort of casual. I can't think of anything better.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
procrastination
I'm currently sitting at the Red Atlast coffee shop wasting time on my fiance's laptop. I decided to "swing in" to kiss Justin (who is here, studying away) on my way home from my sister's baby shower (quick summary: I guessed the number of Jelly Beans in the bottle within one Jelly Bean and won a home fragrance set (mango!), I completed every word in the Baby Scramble in only a few minutes but the gift (Dog eat (Hot) Dog card game) went to my Mom's boyfriend's daughter, and I ate entirely too much fruit dip). A "drop by to say hi" idea has now turned into an hour and a half. An hour and a half that would be better spent doing laundry. The seventeen piles of laundry that are sitting on my floor. But as long as I'm here... a quick post won't hurt.
Today's good news: my Grandma Patty (my Mother's Mother) came across some votive candle holders from my parent's wedding the other day and is sending them to me. The best part? They apparently have a little stripe of purple on them. "Not quite aubergine," she tells me, "but it should do." How fun? Something pretty from my Mommy's wedding.
And now Justin informs me that he got a "head start" on the cleaning while I was at the baby shower. Started the laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and mopped the floors. What a stud. Perhaps a quick post won't be necessary!
The Bridal Fair here in Helena (which was largely a let down (why do I feel like there is no one in this town that can teach me something I don't already know from my bridal magazines?)) produced one very exciting nugget of information. A new Bridal Boutique was coming to Helena! And on display at their booth: quite possibly the gown I've been looking for. A vintage vision in ivory. Strapless, lace bodice, crushed silk skirt with just the right amount of delicate lace trimming the bottom, and a row of buttons down the back . Truly gorgeous. Regrettably, the booth was abandoned during the entirety of my oogling. So, without knowing where the new store was, who was opening it, or what designer I had just fallen in love with, we left.
The next day I tracked it down, drove straight to it and strolled excitedly up the steps. Disapointment. The doors were locked and the store was empty, save a ladder and a few painters tools. Since then, I've made several detours from my route to work to check for signs of life and, until yesterday, they had been fruitless. And then finally: lights! An open sign! Dresses in the window! And miraculously, I had two free hours.
Disappointment.
The gown of my dreams was on loan for the Bridal Fair and had just been sent back to the designer that very morning. Heartbreak. I tried on a few others while I was there, but nothing compared. And call me crazy, but I absolutely refuse to buy a dress I've never put on. So it's settled, I'll have to venture outside of Helena to find my dress.
My Maid of Honor, Emily Miller, and I have a roadtrip to Bozeman slated for Sunday the 8th. Let's hope my luck improves there.
Only 203 days to go....
Today's good news: my Grandma Patty (my Mother's Mother) came across some votive candle holders from my parent's wedding the other day and is sending them to me. The best part? They apparently have a little stripe of purple on them. "Not quite aubergine," she tells me, "but it should do." How fun? Something pretty from my Mommy's wedding.
And now Justin informs me that he got a "head start" on the cleaning while I was at the baby shower. Started the laundry, cleaned the kitchen, and mopped the floors. What a stud. Perhaps a quick post won't be necessary!
The Bridal Fair here in Helena (which was largely a let down (why do I feel like there is no one in this town that can teach me something I don't already know from my bridal magazines?)) produced one very exciting nugget of information. A new Bridal Boutique was coming to Helena! And on display at their booth: quite possibly the gown I've been looking for. A vintage vision in ivory. Strapless, lace bodice, crushed silk skirt with just the right amount of delicate lace trimming the bottom, and a row of buttons down the back . Truly gorgeous. Regrettably, the booth was abandoned during the entirety of my oogling. So, without knowing where the new store was, who was opening it, or what designer I had just fallen in love with, we left.
The next day I tracked it down, drove straight to it and strolled excitedly up the steps. Disapointment. The doors were locked and the store was empty, save a ladder and a few painters tools. Since then, I've made several detours from my route to work to check for signs of life and, until yesterday, they had been fruitless. And then finally: lights! An open sign! Dresses in the window! And miraculously, I had two free hours.
Disappointment.
The gown of my dreams was on loan for the Bridal Fair and had just been sent back to the designer that very morning. Heartbreak. I tried on a few others while I was there, but nothing compared. And call me crazy, but I absolutely refuse to buy a dress I've never put on. So it's settled, I'll have to venture outside of Helena to find my dress.
My Maid of Honor, Emily Miller, and I have a roadtrip to Bozeman slated for Sunday the 8th. Let's hope my luck improves there.
Only 203 days to go....
Thursday, January 29, 2009
the first "check" on my list
We finally got started. The planning and preparing process is officially under way.
Last night, my Mother, my fiance, my bridesmaid Cynthia and I spent an hour and a half addressing 100 cream colored envelopes and stuffing them with our (adorable, if I do say so myself) Save-the-Date magnets.
I believe my solution to the magnet:envelope size ratio dilemma to have been a stroke of genius. (Ok, so it may have been largely Mom's stroke, but nevertheless, genius.) Justin so graciously cut pieces of eggplant (the accent color for my mostly neutral wedding, if I have my way) cardstock into fourths (perfect size for standard "invitation" envelopes). Cynthia slipped two clear photo corners onto opposite corners of the magnet and affixed them onto the purple cards. Beautiful. Now the magnet won't flop around in it's envelope and I get to use a little more of my current color obsession: aubergine.
Meanwhile, Mom and I started the task of writing a hundred "Mr. & Mrs. Justin's Second Cousin Twice Removed"s. Mom is a pro. An envelope addressing machine. I, on the other hand, leave so very much to be desired in the envelope addressing department.
Within twenty minutes I had thrice written the same name twice, several times misspelled my Mom's co-worker's daughter's name, and once simply spasmed and scriblled across the apartment number. In hindsight, perhaps the glass of cab on an empty stomach was a poor choice.
On even the most succsseful envelope, however, there was still the issue of my handwriting...
My handwriting looks like that of a fifth grade girl who is trying desperately to emmulate the lovely ease of her grandmother's cursive. You know that girl in school who is socially awkward and a bit chubby? The one who is smart, but not brilliant, and works tirelessly at completing each assignment perfectly so as to stay on good standing with the one person in the class who seems to be her friend (the teacher)? The one who draws all the time but really isn't any good and thus resorts to practicing the handwriting of the girl who is truly creative? That's who's handwriting I have.
And yes, that girl was me.
Thank goodness for Justin, who is willing to marry me despite my "loser" beginnings.
Last night, my Mother, my fiance, my bridesmaid Cynthia and I spent an hour and a half addressing 100 cream colored envelopes and stuffing them with our (adorable, if I do say so myself) Save-the-Date magnets.
I believe my solution to the magnet:envelope size ratio dilemma to have been a stroke of genius. (Ok, so it may have been largely Mom's stroke, but nevertheless, genius.) Justin so graciously cut pieces of eggplant (the accent color for my mostly neutral wedding, if I have my way) cardstock into fourths (perfect size for standard "invitation" envelopes). Cynthia slipped two clear photo corners onto opposite corners of the magnet and affixed them onto the purple cards. Beautiful. Now the magnet won't flop around in it's envelope and I get to use a little more of my current color obsession: aubergine.
Meanwhile, Mom and I started the task of writing a hundred "Mr. & Mrs. Justin's Second Cousin Twice Removed"s. Mom is a pro. An envelope addressing machine. I, on the other hand, leave so very much to be desired in the envelope addressing department.
Within twenty minutes I had thrice written the same name twice, several times misspelled my Mom's co-worker's daughter's name, and once simply spasmed and scriblled across the apartment number. In hindsight, perhaps the glass of cab on an empty stomach was a poor choice.
On even the most succsseful envelope, however, there was still the issue of my handwriting...
My handwriting looks like that of a fifth grade girl who is trying desperately to emmulate the lovely ease of her grandmother's cursive. You know that girl in school who is socially awkward and a bit chubby? The one who is smart, but not brilliant, and works tirelessly at completing each assignment perfectly so as to stay on good standing with the one person in the class who seems to be her friend (the teacher)? The one who draws all the time but really isn't any good and thus resorts to practicing the handwriting of the girl who is truly creative? That's who's handwriting I have.
And yes, that girl was me.
Thank goodness for Justin, who is willing to marry me despite my "loser" beginnings.
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