Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Day 93: the bride gene (some not-so-girly thoughts)

So tonight, I decided to go to my favorite chillout vegan restaurant (FYI I’m not vegan, it’s just tasty and healthy). I brought along my notepad and a pen.  A few sips into my rooibos tea (that's fun to say, try it) and I’m writing away like mad. It was great. Five pages written in long hand of just flushing out whatever was on my mind.  And after the waitress interrupted (politely) to take my order I suddenly found myself tuning into the conversation of the three girls at the table beside me.  They were discussing the upcoming nuptials of one of the girls at the table. 
Girl 1: So have you booked everything?
Bride to be: No, and I’m freaking out! It’s, like, next year! I should have this stuff figured out at this point. I still don’t have a photographer.
Girl 2: Oh my God, I totally understand. When we were planning that was my biggest stress! Everything and everyone just books up sooo fast.
I look over casually and see that they are three thin, gorgeous blondes with the average age of 23 years old. I'll say that again: 23.  (Why does this still surprise me?).
OK. I do not possess the bride gene. (Not to be mistaken with the marriage gene…it’s the “bride to be” gene we’re talking about here).  I tried it on for size in my very early twenties because my older sister was getting married and suddenly all talk at the house was about ‘the wedding’.  So I would find myself asking questions to my friends and family (and my boyfriend at the time, no kidding the poor guy thought I was gonna marry him) stuff like:
I wonder what we will choose as our opening dance song?
 Or
 Do we want classic wedding portraits or freestyle photography? Or both?
 Or
What Sandals resort will we honeymoon at?


(I think back and laugh. Who WAS that girl? Me?!)  As the fun/stress/drama of my sister’s 450 guest big fat Italian-Portuguese wedding took over all of our lives that year, I slowly got fed up of the whole wedding day fantasy.  Yawn-a-rama!
Singing at weddings as a side job around that time didn’t help matters much either. We’re talking Italian and Jewish weddings, if that gives you any idea of traditional ceremonial glitz.  The first few times I would look at the dresses and hairstyles and find it so nice. I would get teary eyed when the bride danced with her father as I sang some sappy song.  And after about a season (yes, there are wedding seasons) I was just muttering under my breath OK, just throw the fucking bouquet so we can all go home now, damn it.   It felt like the Groundhog Day movie. One cookie cutter wedding after another.  Sure there were some couples who really looked in love, and went out of their way to make their party original with bells and whistles…but there were also the times I got hit on by the drunken groom on my way to the ladies room.  Soooo…you see, it’s all a faded, sparkly mish mash of wedding nightmare to me.
The ironic thing about all this, is that people tell me (often) that I should become a wedding planner. True, I could probably plan a decent wedding with 5 phonecalls and one email… But I just don’t see myself asking the rhyming questions: What’s your wedding theme? And do you have a color scheme?  
When I worked in high-end fashion, I once tried on an elaborate evening gown.  It was this sexy beaded, floor length, white slip dress. It had a very daring low back.  And it fit me like a glove (that never happens).  I remember coming out of the change room and stepping onto the pedestal for the three-way mirror.  I really liked it. My two awesome Franco gay co-workers gasped: “Oh. My. Gahd! You AVE to get married in dis dress. It’s magnifique on you. Oh my gahhhhd! Buy it right now!”
See THEY thought: pretty white dress = wedding.
I thought: pretty white dress = wish I had a Hollywood party to attend.
I dunno. It’s just not something I think about. And I will (and do) get excited for friends and family who go through it. And if they ask me for input I give it (I know a lot of people in the wedding business).  I’m seriously not mocking it. I'm simply explaining that it is just not something I think about for me.  Hand me a bunch of peonies, a dress I feel pretty in, and have me wed to some amazing guy in some old house…that’s sounds great.  And that’s pretty much it. Even BBQ will suffice, really.  
Or not. Whatever.

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