Weddingbee Blog

To make up for my indecision and teasing, and the fact that I don’t have the time/patience to commit to a real art project, I bring you Pretty Collage of Wedding Inspiration!

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… someone who knows how to get dressed.

Dear small but loyal readership,

As usual, I need your advice. I don’t know what to wear.

This is a problem that has long plagued me. I am known in certain circles for walking around in knee socks, slippers, underwear, and a sweatshirt, because I can’t figure out what pants to wear and clothes are overwhelming. I may have even video chatted with my former roommate to show her the awesomeness of this outfit. Okay, I was only wearing one sock. Even two socks were overwhelming.

So you can imagine what it’s like to try to figure out what to wear for my stupid wedding. Which isn’t stupid at all, except for the part where I have to wear nice clothes for it.

Outfit number one:
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I may have mentioned moving recently, puppies, and perhaps even getting married in my last couple of posts, and all of this is a good intro to the same thing:

I always want to do things first.

That is to say that I am always the first to want to do things. Occasionally Fancee will mention something that is technically her idea, but it seems that if I participate in the actual carrying out of the plan, then I am the one to take the blame for it being my idea for years to come.

Case A, in which Fancee mentions something that I get blamed for in all relevant future situations: the dog.

Fancee: Hey, let’s go to the Heifer International festival out in Sterling next weekend! By the way, we’ll pass that dog shelter with those puppies you keep ogling online. Maybe we can stop and play with puppies!
Me: Maybe that’s a bad idea, but I love puppies, and I only want a real adult dog, not a puppy. This seems like a safe idea.

We stop and visit Sterling Animal Shelter. We meet “Luna” and I spend the next two days obsessing over her. I go back Tuesday morning. She is sitting next to me staring at me as I type this. Her name is Daphne now.

Fancee: Well, I don’t know why you decided we should stop at the animal shelter, everyone knows that wouldn’t be a good idea for you. By the way, did I tell you what your dog did today?

Case B, in which we discuss moving in together:
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So in my last dress post, I talked about our first bridal shop experience and how we left empty-handed. After a couple of days and after looking some more at the pictures we took, I was glad I hadn’t bought either of the dresses that I had considered. Even though I liked them and they looked really nice, they weren’t quite *me*. That said, I wasn’t sure what would be “me”, or how to find it.

When Fancee’s dress arrived at David’s Bridal and we planned a trek up to pick it up, I realized that I wanted to try on some of their dresses! I didn’t like the idea of getting a dress from a chain—especially a chain of dresses named after some man who will probably never wear one of his dresses— but I did like a lot of the dresses on their website, and I definitely liked their prices. I also liked the idea of being able to try on a dress and compare it to Fancee’s dress to see if it clashed horribly. Yes, I was trying to get over the “two dresses is weird” thing.

So this was the dress experience I was looking for. I tried on a ton of dresses – pretty ones, laughable ones, ones I considered, and even one that I took off before I left the dressing room. Here are some of them! Please forgive the facial expressions, which are more of a reflection of my relationship with the camera than my relationship with the dresses (or the photographer!).
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Okay, so the last time I talked about dresses, I had decided that I wanted my own consultant to bring me dresses to try on, and that it would be a fun experiment, and that I, of course, would not want to wear a dress for our wedding.

Let’s back up a little and talk about this whole thing where I’m a lady in love with a lady: when I first started to really come out, to myself most honestly, but to other people too, I remember being surprised that it still seemed strange to me that women would kiss women, and men would kiss men. I know this is controversial to say, so imagine how controversial it was to feel that, to feel like two women kissing was like magnets with their wrong ends facing each other, when I was a woman wanting to kiss women. The place I really got over that feeling was at a folk festival, where we were surrounded by all kinds of families, and it struck me that they were just families, not “lesbian” families.

But the thing about two dress weddings (I’m sorry for saying this!) is that it still felt the same to me.
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I admit that, in my family, I am known to be a hypochondriac. I’m not sure that my ailments are as imagined as my family members seem to believe they are, but fine—most of the time that I think I am dying, I am not, in fact, dying. That said, I have been suspecting for awhile that I have what is referred to as “The Six Month Disease”, and evidence continues to point to its existence, this illness raging in my body.

Symptoms of the Six Month Disease flare up every, say, 6 months – hence the name. Very complex, as you can see. Some such symptoms include:

• Wanting big life changes
• Creating big life changes
• Whining about what changes one could make in one’s big life
• Begging for cute things

It should be noted that much of this occurs within the context of one’s intimate relationship. I may have been infected long before my current relationship existed, but it is only in the past couple of years that it has been pointed out to me that I have this disease.

Let’s review:

November 2007: I joined roller derby.

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As you probably saw in my little floating profile, my affianced is currently jobless, and thus health-insurance-less; my job provides health care coverage for spouses and domestic partners. Obviously, we want to, and plan to, get married (yay Massachusetts!), but we want to have the whole big party for the actual wedding rather than just going to town hall, and if domestic partnership will suffice for these purposes, then it is good enough for us.

One Thursday in February, Fancee and I took the dog for a walk, had some breakfast, and then drove in to Cambridge town hall. There are only three places where you can register a domestic partnership in Massachusetts: Cambridge, Provincetown, and somewhere else that I can’t seem to find online (does anyone know the answer to this?). Here we are at City Hall in Cambridge:

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So sometimes life gets in the way and I can’t write nice things about my life or our wedding.

Today, lucky you, is not one of those times.

Tonight, I would like to talk about hair. Unfortunately, I do not have as many pictures as I would like to show you my many fabulous hair experiences, but I will do what I can.

In the internet wedding blogging world, everyone talks about hair. They show their hair up and down and in a ponytail. Here are three pictures of me with my hair up, down, and, um, swept to the side?

Uh, spunky, right?

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When Fiancee Seahorse (hereby referred to as Fancee, because she is fancy and I don’t want to call her Miss Seahorse) and I finally decided we were going to do this whole big wedding thing, the crafty possibilities were thrilling to me. I spent a good chunk of time investigating different projects online, including, of course, invitations and Save the Dates (or STDs if you are cool enough to know the wedding lingo). I should probably be done being amused that the first thing people generally send out about their monogamous, hopefully-forever relationship is called the same thing as a venereal diseases, but to be perfectly honest, I still giggle a little every time I reference STDs in a wedding context.

So we started where every crafty bride starts: Etsy. Here is some of what we were looking at:

Invite from ellothere (source)

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Two years ago last April, I played a three- or four-letter word (I can’t remember which) on Scrabulous (remember the good old days?) and got 39 points. Yes, over 30 points with under 5 letters. And then-coworker-and-that’s-all Seahorse typed in that little chat box, “I would be mad, but I’m smitten.” And while that’s not quite where it all began, that was the point where it switched over from “maybe she likes me and maybe I like her, but maybe we’re just friendly happy coworkers” (tee hee, coworkers, yeah…) to “Whoa. She likes me. Do I like her? I think I liker her. Uh, now what?”

What I mean to say is that I commenced freaking out a little bit, which I expressed by not responding to her increasingly frantic emails (“Did you get my message? Uh, how embarrassed do I need to be the next time we see each other?”) and not calling her, despite her sending me her phone number.

I danced around her messages and implied, with more subtlety than I thought at the time, that the feelings were mutual. The next morning, I got a haircut and very carefully planned my outfit for the next day, when I would see her; I even ended up wearing makeup. It was a Sunday and it was a big fundraiser walk for our organization. I crutched around like a rock star and pretended that I didn’t know exactly where she was the entire day. I knew exactly where she was.
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Hello fellow bees!

I am SO excited to be here! I’ve been reading Weddingbee for a little over a year now and mused at some point that it might be nice to join you all—and now here I am!

I’m marrying the most wonderful woman (yes, woman!) in just about four months—I suppose we’re really hitting crunch time! She says to tell you all, “I’m here, I’m queer, and I’m totally getting married!”

A little about us: we met at work almost three years ago, didn’t talk at all for the first couple of months of coworker-dom, and then finally broke the ice when I overheard her talking about roller derby and told her she should come to the roller derby prom with me. In true awkward first-date fashion, I followed up with this email:

“Will you go to prom with me? Check one: Yes__ No__ Maybe__.” She said yes. It was her first prom!

That’s me with the Mohawk and her with the flower. Isn’t she pretty?

And things got better from there!
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