"Wedding Magic" is a Thing, Right?

Dear Karma, take note: I expect the day itself
to go well and be 100% free of dogs peeing on me.

It's one of those weeks where it's feeling like this wedding just might not happen.

No, no, there's no drama going on with D and me (sorry, as I know that'd make for a more salacious post). It's not the marriage that is being threatened. It's the universe refusing to play nice on this whole already-a-hassle logistics phase of planning a major event.

To wit:

- Out of the six caterers and bakers I have reached out to thus far, only two have called me back. One to say that they're taking a company vacation the week of our wedding. I have already pretty much decided to work with a baker I like here, and risk transporting the goods a couple hundred miles away. That IS an option for the cake course, but would be harder to pull off for the dinner... CALL ME BACK, CATERERS.

- We ordered Save the Dates a month ago... which still haven't arrived in anyone's mailboxes. The fiance has been quite diligent about calling and hounding the mailing service. They keep pushing back the delivery date: "Oh, well, because of the package you picked, it takes up to 12 business days." After twelve days: "Oh, actually, that package can take up to 22 business days." What. The. AITCH. They're also really awesome save the dates, and I'm afraid some Buzzfeed addict found them and is gonna Photoshop out our faces and use them as their own...

- Also, looking at the big picture: according to all but one of the dozen or so planning timelines I've glanced at, I am approximately one year behind in my wedding planning. The one that says I'm only about a month behind has been printed out, highlighted, and tossed into my car for frequent, crumpled reference. The eleven others claiming I'm a year behind have been cursed and given the stink-eye.

But, um, weddings are like theater, right? I just keep thinking about that breaking point in the rehearsal process. You know, that night where everyone is supposed to be off book but no one knows their lines, and the set's not built, and no one is buying tickets and the costumes aren't done and you're beginning to fear that this show is doomed and you're going to wind up with a bunch of naked actors on a bare stage fumbling the text to a nearly empty house. You're having the actor's nightmare every time you close your eyes. It's all gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Then, suddenly, it all comes together. The stars align, the set goes up, the actors get their act together, and you have a show. We call it "theater magic."

So, like - "wedding magic" is a thing, right?

Meet the WSMs. (Or: Planning. Partying. Pantsless - Wait, What?!)

A lot of folks planning a wedding decide to leave the actual nuts-and-bolts "planning the wedding" part in the capable hands of someone called, aptly enough, a Wedding Planner. We don't have a Wedding Planner. But we have something even better.

As theater people, we are absolutely aware as to who really knows how to run a show, be the calm in the eye of the storm, and make sure silly actors are where they are supposed to be right when they're supposed to be there.

That's why we have secured not one but two Wedding Stage Managers.

WSM Sandwich.
(More on where this was taken momentarily. Get ready.)

Scott and Diana are co-WSM'ing this wedding, and thank goodness for that. They balance each other well, and spending this weekend doing some focused planning with them, including a visit to the venue, solidified the wisdom of this WSM selection. They are united but not unanimous in their visions, often offering two often totally-different perspectives and ideas, then agreeing on whichever one (or fusion of the seven) makes the most sense.

Also, they are hilarious, and smart, and not afraid to kick butt when necessary. Be warned, y'all.

This weekend, the fiancé was busy with a benefit performance - conveniently taking place about a mile from the wedding venue. So the WSMs decided a road trip was in order, and an otherwise potentially-unproductive weekend for me was transformed into an epic road trip, featuring Three Ps:

Planning.

Partying.

And a total stranger getting Pantsless.

Here is the nutshell version: We hit the road Saturday morning, stopping for lunch along the way, learning some fun new catchphrases (the weekend's big winner "heinous crotches," a line from the play Diana is currently directing) and arrived that afternoon at the venue. Thus began the Planning portion of the trip. We assured the front desk girl we weren't weirdos, wandering around taking pictures, measuring things out with our feet, and sketching out potential seating arrangements. Then we proceeded to be weirdos, wandering around taking pictures, measuring things out with our feet, and sketching out potential seating arrangements.

Sadly meh cupcakes.

From there, we segued from Planning to Partying with some sugar (like you do, when no alcohol is readily available and/or you have to drive), picking up some cupcake samples from a local bakery. Other than getting these cupcakes (overall assessment: good not great, icing was yummy but cake was dry), it was a major strikeout on the cake front. One bakery we liked is closed the week of the wedding. Another's prices were astronomical. Two others went out of business recently, and three more didn't return my call.

ANYWAY. We stopped in for a quick visit with the MOG and FOG, grabbed some dinner, went to the benefit show, and went to the cast party afterwards.

But before the cast party Partying portion of the evening, there was the unexpected and unforgettable Pantsless incident.

After the show, the fiancé had to take pictures and help with strike. So, naturally, we found the nearest bar so we could have a drink and hang out until he was free. The nearest bar had no clear signage, other than the all-important one which read OPEN. We dubbed it The Open Bar* and while it was a little dark and had kind of a stabby vibe, the drinks were cheap and the bartender was flirty and we all felt good about it pretty quickly.

Other patrons were feeling even better, apparently. This became shockingly clear about half an hour after our arrival. Scott, who was seated opposite Diana and myself, suddenly changed his expression, clearly seeing something of note. He stage-whispered with urgency:

"That man. At the bar. Just took off ALL OF HIS PANTS."

Trying not to all look at once, we all looked at once. Sure enough, dude at the bar had dropped his pants and his underpants to the nasty floor, and was looking expectantly at the bartender, who was looking anywhere but at Pantsless Man. The photo of the three of us grinning above was taken shortly thereafter, because we knew we needed to preserve and document the moment... but didn't want to take pictures of actual pantsless strangers.

This is what wedding plan looks like for everyone, right?

Special thanks to the MOG  & FOG for hosting the extra houseguests this weekend. And Pantsless dude for making it all the more memorable a planning weekend.

*PS We are totally going to open an establishment called The Open Bar. As soon as we get through this wedding thing.