9: Single Digits

A single-digit number of days stands between me and the end of my single days.

That can't be right.

10: Ketubah

(A small preview of the ketubah, which in
real life is more beautiful - and BIG!)

Yesterday, I went to get our beautiful ketubah framed. The ketubah is very special; it was a gift from some of my sweet coworkers, and was custom designed by our artist friend Christina of C. Mattison Illustration. Obviously, this document matters a lot to us, symbolically and physically.

So when I had to hand it over to a guy at the framing place, and he was my age but basically toothless and kept wiggling his finger in his ear, mining for wax as we spoke… well. I was nervous.

“It’s our wedding contract,” I said protectively, placing myself between the ketubah and Toothless Ear Wax Man. “It’s very important to us. It’s called a ketubah—”

“I’ll getcher done,” he said, finger thrusting again into his ear.

I wanted to walk out right then with the ketubah, rather than abandon the poor innocent wedding document. I felt odd, leaving her in the grubby hands of this disinterested man. But no place else in town could handle that big custom framing job on a quick enough time frame, “guaranteed.” Thus, I handed over our ketubah and left, feeling nervous. 

My misgivings continued to mount: He didn’t even know what a ketubah was! He didn’t care! HE MIGHT GET EAR WAX ON HER!

Today, I got a call that the framed ketubah was ready—earlier than expected. I went in to get it, feeling the lingering trepidation.

Toothless Ear Wax Man was not there. Instead, a brusque middle-aged woman, efficient but not warm, was behind the framing counter. I handed her my receipt, and she went to get my order. She brought out the large, now-heavy framed ketubah, and brusquely peeled off the tape from the crisp brown butcher paper to reveal the handiwork below.

“It’s beautiful!” I said, relieved, when I saw it.

“Yeah, that’s good,” she said, re-wrapping the butcher paper. She matter-of-factly checked me out, handed it over, and then as I turned to heft the ketubah and heave it out of the store, she cleared her throat.

“Hey,” she said, still abrupt but with a kind twinkle in her eye. “Uh, ‘mazel tov.’”

I looked at her, the efficient stranger at the framing counter who knew what this paper-wrapped item was and why it was so important. Suddenly, I could tell my memory of getting this lovely ketubah hastily framed in Mississippi was going to be far sweeter (and way less waxy) than I had previously thought.

“Thanks,” I said, meaning it, and carried our ketubah out to the car.

To The Butthole Who Tore Up My Lawn

To The Butthole Who Tore Up My Lawn:

When I heard your engine revving and tires spinning in the middle of the night last night, I already found you annoying - and back then, I thought you were my strange new neighbor, getting caught in your own lawn.

View from the front yard

When I woke up this morning, and was dragging my trash and recycling to the curb, I saw what lawn you actually tore the crap out of last night. It was mine.

What. The. WHAT?!

This would have been annoying any given day of the year. But let me spell out for you why this was particularly bad timing, Butthole:

1) I'm already not having a great month

2) The fiancé is not here, so at seven in the morning, there's no one I can just feel comfortable going ahead and waking up to say "Some Butthole tore up the lawn! Please help me with this!"

3) I'm moving soon - which means that if this had happened a few weeks later, it would have been someone else's problem, AND it means this might get factored in to my deposit return assessment, and if you cost me one dime off my deposit you are going to get smacked SO HARD BY KARMA

View from the backyard
(Seriously, doesn't do justice to the damage)

4) Because of the reasons detailed in #2 and #3, I had to roll up my sleeves, get a rake and trowel, and do the best I could pulling the yard back into some sort of recognizable yard-topography. You must have a REALLY BIG truck, Butthole, since these tire marks were massive and made actual MOATS AND RIVERS in my yard. I bet you have a really small Something Else.

5) We all know I'm not afraid to stab some vanilla. I would never stab a person, but if I ever found out who you are, well, I make no promises about Really Big Tires Belonging to Buttholes With Really Small Something Elses. Those things? Those things sound very, very stab-able.


So.

I will probably spend the next month glaring at every big truck that drives down my street... wondering if it's you, Butthole. Good thing I finally get to visit the fiancé tomorrow, or I'd really think this whole month had it in for me and all the ones I love!

May your tires rot and your Small Something Else be laughed at, frequently.

With disgust,
Beth

I Stabbed The Vanilla

In order to ease a little tension and bring some sweets to a group of friends (all of us rallying together to demand a better week from the universe) I decided to make a batch of wedding honeymoon cookies.

I pulled out the vanilla extract, and found that the top was stuck. I mean, stuck. I tried everything - the grip-twist-opener, hot water, cold water, smacking the top - nothing was working. There was no one else to ask for help. I was SO FRUSTRATED.

So I got a steak knife, stabbed the vanilla bottle, and calmly poured the extract from the newly-forged hole into the batter. I did in front of all the other ingredient containers, so they would know not to mess.

Stress relief achieved. The cookies were pretty good, too.

You'll Want To Read These! (But You Can't. Yet.)

Wedding Themed Movie Nights.

Reaching A Decision Regarding My Name.

My Last Year of Filing Taxes As A Single.

Guestzillas.

These are all blog posts that I have started, but have yet to finish, because HOLY CANNOLI. Not to sound like a broken record, but working full time + volunteering + packing up a townhouse + planning a cross-country move + selling stuff on Craigslist + managing pets + WEDDING WEDDING WEDDING PLANNING  x (being halfway across the country from the fiance for almost two months now) = if I don't put remember to breathe on my list, I will probably start turning blue.

But I WILL finish those posts.

Hopefully soon.

In the meantime - I'm going to go to bed. Because it's almost midnight, and I have to be up in six and a half hours, and get some sleep is also on my list.

xoxo

The Itsy Bity Cider

Dear Everyone,

Sorry about yesterday's mostly-happy-but-mildly-panicked freak-out. I'm calmer today. Could well be the whiskey I added to my mulled apple cider last night, and the subsequent excellent night of sleeping.

More soon. In a sweet calm voice.

Love,
Beth

Here Are Some Of The Things Freaking Me Out, RIGHT NOW

You never think you'll have nightmares about things like tables
and table linens and plastic chairs. But you will. Oh, you will.

There are a few things - like, good things, mostly, but OMG things - freaking me out right now.

In no particular order, a sampling of the Currently Freaking Me Out List:

- In less than a month, if someone calls me "Mrs.," they will not be wrong.

- I'm having nightmares about things like missing dresses, unpaid caterers, too-few tables, hangry guests, more and more and more surprise bills.

- Per instructions from my amazing friend who is helping with decor, I just spent $200... on candles. I never thought I would make that much of a candle investment, in my entire life.

- Let alone keep up with the items on my list, I can't keep up with ALL THE LISTS I SHOULD BE MAKING.

- I haven't seen that dude I'm supposed to be marrying in a month and a half (which will be remedied soon, fortunately) and I'm kind of used to being on my own again and that's freaking me out, too.

- There are STILL people who have yet to RSVP, one way or the other. I now have guilt over any wedding to which I did not properly and promptly send my response. Karma, y'all. I'm sure I deserve this.

- I am also 100% sure I am forgetting something really, really important.

- W-Word aside, I have a lot of furniture I should be selling, boxes I should be packing, planning I should be doing, writing I want to be doing... but most days, if I can manage to get my work done, check off one or two W-Word to-do items, take care of the pets, maybe squeeze in a social visit or call, and not walk into things more than three times or use made-up words more than twice in the course of a day... well, right now a day like that is chalked up as a WIN.

All in all? THIS IS ME RIGHT NOW:

Journeys & Destinations

Here's where the rehearsal dinner will be!

With just over a month to go, it was time for one last trip to W-Town. So the WSMs, the Chuppah Master, and I hit the road early Saturday morning.

First stop: Lunch at the Rehearsal Dinner Venue. The MOG & FOG met us at the Italian restaurant where they will be hosting the rehearsal dinner. It was a lovely visit, a lovely lunch, and we were able to compare notes on other items on #TheList.

Bonus: Delicious Italian foods means that the rehearsal dinner will fit right in with the "our wedding theme is carbs" plan.

Second Stop: Scouting Out the Venue. With a new floor plan in mind and our Chuppah Master on hand for the first time, we cast new eyes on the ol' venue and made a few important decisions.

This is how I make the fiance jealous.

Third Stop: Donuts. Again with the carbs. Also, this particular donut shop is D's favorite. How could I pass up the opportunity to have my friends snap a picture of me, enjoying-but-also-regretting enjoying one of those babies without him? (His reply when I texted him this photo: "My favorite person eating my favorite donuts? No fair!" Aww.)

Fourth Stop: The Open Bar. That's not the name, of course. But loyal readers will recall the tales of the not-actually stabby gay bar that is now our second home in W-Town. This time, no one's pants hit the floor. This time. (It was earlier in the day. And anyway, we'll be back.)

Fifth Stop: Night Lighting. We ran back to the venue right as it was closing, just to see what the lighting-at-dusk situation would really be. Good news: it'll work.

So much for small ice cream.

Sixth Stop: Sushi and Gas Stations. No, don't worry, not sushi in a gas station - sushi and several gas stations. Yeah, we actually stopped a couple of times on the three hour drive back home. (Luckily, when all the passengers have to pee frequently, none can judge.) Chuppah Master-R wasn't that hungry when we stopped for sushi, so he decided to just get a little ice cream. Lesson learned... there's no such thing as a little ice cream at that sushi place.

The trip was good, and the time with friends was even better. As WSM-D sweetly and astutely observed, these moments are what we'll remember. Maybe even more than the blur of the wedding day. Sharing jokes in a car. Stopping embarrassingly often to pee. Revealing a few secrets. Laughing.

The journey, even more than any destination.