Weddingbee Blog

Blanche, these are the scheduleds we had for last semester. Maybe next year you’ll find the ones for this semester.

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The day I turned 16, Aunt Flo grabbed me from school and took me to the RMV for my driver’s permit. I had my birth certificate, payment, forms filled properly—except I needed my social security card. So Aunt Flo rushed me home to get it. The problem then was that every important document in our house resided in an overflowing box organized by a system only my mother could understand. Shit, this system would confuse Dewey Decimal himself. Anywho, you can imagine I became a tad frustrated. My exciting rite of passage turned into crying with my mother on the phone. I eventually found the card and we zoomed back to the RMV a half hour before my Aunt needed to be at work.

Since that day I have been meticulous in the organizing of my personal documents. Of course…

Well, you can just see for yourself below.

Zeb and I planned to apply for our marriage license on our lunch break today. I checked the requirements on the website as to what we’ll need in order to apply: $24, our licenses, a bill with our current address and our birth certificates. I knew our birth certificates were in our fire box (hehehehe). I went to bed last night kicking myself for not readying all the documents in advance. I have to admit, I’ve been a lazy snatch ever since the invites went out.

You know where this is going, right?

Zeb woke me up this morning with a cheery, “our birth certificates aren’t in here.” Crap. For the record, Zeb’s was in there, mine however, was not. The problem is I assumed I had taken all of my documents with me in the move. I knew I had my passport because we went to England this summer. I’m in possession of my social security card. I can’t, for the life of me, remember the last time I used or needed my birth certificate. So I thought… no big deal, I’ll just run down to my parents’.

This morning I found myself rummaging through that same overflowing box for my birth certificate. Both my brothers, my parents, and hell, even my father’s paternal grandmother’s birth certificate are all in there… not mine.  My mom has a copy of it, but that’s not acceptable. Luckily, I didn’t call her screaming, crying, and freaking out this time. Thank the sweet lord of chocolate that I planned well in advance to obtain the marriage license. This would have sucked three days before the wedding. Also of note, with this incident, I believe the slow transformation into my mother is now complete.

I’m mourning the loss of my original birth certificate. I loved the dusty pink and sky blue colors on the thick paper. We go way back, me and my birth certificate, to a time where I secretly hoped I had a twin. I checked that thing twice a year to make sure I was listed as a single birth. What can I say? I was a Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen fanatic. Then again, it’s going to pop up right around the time I don’t need it anymore. That’s just how my and my mother’s luck rolls.

All’s well that ends well, however. I am now in possession of two, count ’em, two certified copies of my birth certificate, and one oochy-smoochy-love-you-so-much-oh-em-gee-we’re-freakin’-finally-doin’-it (and doin’ it and doin’ it well) marriage certificate. PROVIDENCE BRIDES(!!!), the Town Hall tells you that they accept cash only—they are dirty rotten online liars. Bring a checkbook!

Bee Tee Dubs: it’s probably not a smart idea to go to the Town Hall for your marriage license on the Friday before Valentine’s Day. Just sayin’.

WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!!!

AHHHHHHHHHH!