Weddingbee Blog

It almost didn’t happen. It was kind of sort of not really like those movies where the girl falls in love with the perfect guy, only to settle for the d-bag, but then at the end realizes there is something way better in the other. Of course, there are some bumps along the way, and it seems like the universe is against that perfect pairing. That’s how I’d kind of sort of not really, though, describe us stumbling upon our painfully perfect, smile-and-literally-say-hello-every-time-I-drive-by-it wedding reception venue.

I wanna grow old with you

I scheduled our first appointment to check it out and had to cancel. The second appointment was canceled by the coordinator. I almost didn’t book the third appointment because I was about to settle on Rachel’s Lakeside. To tell you the truth, I was so damn over looking for venues. The dollar signs made my brain hurt. I kept saying “all this money for one night” over and over in my head. I have a confession, though: I didn’t think I could afford this place. I booked the appointment, like I had for Atlantic Beach Club, kind of wanting to see a venue that I knew I couldn’t afford. Hey, we all play those wedding games (wedding dresses, anyone?). By the way, these games, they get you into trouble. Big BIG trouble!

I shall now set the story up for you. It’s a good one.

Kitty

Zeb works at a liquor store. We’ve got more alcohol in the house than two fridges, a keg-o-rater, and a full bar can hold. He drinks the designer beer, Soco, and whatever else, except the vodka. That’s mine—hands off, mister! Methinks this was a conspiracy on his part to not go to the appointment the next day. We had been venue hunting for a month. The last venue we went to the girl gave him sex eyes while the hamster wheel in her head barely stumbled along for over an hour. For the record, your reception appointments normally take less than 30 minutes. I think he might have been a little scarred. So the night before, he drank the better part of a liter of vodka. (WTF? That’s my job!) Needless to say, he wasn’t in the best condition to be sitting in a moving vehicle for 20 minutes.

Sara and I get the front seats, and he sprawls across the backseat, moaning…we laugh at him. At the top of our street, he exclaims “Turn the car around!” and runs into the house. Once we get there and I stop the car for the valet, he shoots out of the car before I have the opportunity to put it in park. Sara and I laugh. We grab our bags and gingerly make our way to the front desk. I tell the nice concierge man that I am here to see—“WHERE’S YOUR BATHROOM!?!” Zeb frantically runs up to the counter and cuts me off mid-sentence. I pretend to not know who this man is while dying of embarrassment, and Sara laughs. So as we are waiting for the appointment, we begin to laugh, and he sits down. We laugh at him while I feign anger. Sara and I marvel at the beauty and perfection of the hotel while he drags behind us green faced. Oh, we were a sight for sore eyes…We booked the place, though!

WHAT PLACE? WHAT PLACE?!

The fabulous Providence Biltmore. OMG OMG OMG! SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEL!

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