It's a bittersweet symphony - and there's no dress singing to me now

The lack of blogging over the last couple of weeks does not mean that nothing has been happening. In fact, Wedding continues to gather steam, albeit in a lovely ethereal type way. The most elegant rolling boulder you have ever seen, Wedding doesn’t go about its business in a steam rolling type fashion, it leaves no path of destruction. Instead she glides, almost floating above the earth leaving only a trail of liquid nitrogen and fairy dust in its wake. The motion can be compared to one of those marble-sphere water features, purposeful and yet peaceful.

Yes, it all continues to go smoothly. But like any well run production, Wedding is not dissimilar to that good old analogy of the graceful swan gliding along the river, so graceful and effortless to its audience, but paddling along like crazy underneath the water. At this point, and depending on the day, Wedding occupies probably about 55 – 60% of my brain capacity. Maybe 70% at times. For those of you who don’t know me that well, that’s quite a lot. It is really quite entrenched in my day to day life. My record run of consecutive ‘Wedding free days’ is probably about 3. Max. At a stretch.

Sometimes, it’s a great excuse for an escape from the less than satisfying activities offered by the daily bill paying facility – work. I imagine there plenty of brides to be out there in the same boat. Productivity is at an all time low. Not particularly bothered with reports, strategies or spread sheets, but in a way, Wedding in itself is really a research project. Everyone knows how important research is. It’s crucial really. Without it, we’d have badly planned, expensive, ill informed, uncoordinated weddings taking place all over the country. My employer doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, they take comfort in the fact that Wedding is on the horizon, assuming that its mere existence will be enough to keep me anchored right where I am without too much excess ambition, and definitely no scope for just pulling the plug. They are of the opinion that I “won’t be going anywhere” simply because I have a wedding to pay for.

Wedding to them, is like a form of collateral. A security bond that will prevent me from suddenly seeking alternative employment. They seem all too aware of the power of Wedding, and have assumed (pretty accurately) that a bride-to-be will think of nothing else but her impending nuptials.

It sounds bad. But before you suggest that I need to go to ‘life rehab’ I must stress that it’s not an all-consuming process. It’s like the marble sphere, purposeful and peaceful. And it might just be a quick look on the internet, a moment of insane spontaneous online bonbonniere shopping (I literally went all the way through to the checkout page) or a brief wedding related conversation. It’s not like every day is filled with intensive wedding planning. The planning has just simply reached a very complicated and labour intensive stage. It’s time for dress shopping.

OMG, dress shopping. It’s like a rollercoaster of emotion. Mostly exciting with a peppering of hope and optimism, but balanced with feelings of disappointment, anxiety and fear.  The search for ‘the dress’ that’s been years in the making in your imagination. My little wedding scrapbook which accompanies me to any wedding related appointment invites remarks such as “Oh, look an organised bride”, leaving me to question what the unorganised bride looks like and how many categories of bride there actually are. Anyway, ‘organised bride’ comes with a book that contains cut outs of gowns, cropped creations of tulle, beads and satin, flowers, cakes and miscellaneous.

But it never receives the attention it deserves. In my limited experience, the shop attendant does a quick initiation, sizing you up to the type of dress that they think that you want. Which is pretty hard when they’ve know you for 3 seconds.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I’ve tried on some amazing gorgeous dresses, and I’m sure if I was having 8, at least one would get a Guernsey. But I only get to choose one. It’s so shit. I’m not one of those people that have a definite and disciplined idea of things. I don’t have a favourite food – I like lots of food. Favourite movie? No. Don’t have a favourite. Colour? Well I like lots of colours. I can’t pick just one and call it my favourite. That wouldn’t be fair. In fact it would be impossible. I don’t have favourites. I like variety. And I like what I like. And I like it because I like it. I’m inherently ambivalent.

I dabbled in this kind of work back in my uni days. Women’s fashion. I know the qualifying questions that you’re supposed to ask, to get into someone’s psyche (a scary place in a world full of body dysmorphic disorders) to find out what they like about the item/dress/skirt etc but more importantly what they don’t like about it, so you can totter off and find them the perfect thing. It’s getting them to sell to themselves essentially with you only having to string a few buzz words together in any combination like ‘amazing’, ‘shape’, ‘gorgeous’, ‘tiny’, ‘stunning’, ‘length’, ‘proportion’ so on and so forth.

And so I stand, sometimes on a box, in front of a big mirror in a variety of gowns in varying shades of white and ivory, and stare blankly back at myself, and when we exceed the allowed time of awkward silence, I’m interrogated as to what I don’t like about it.

More awkward silence and blank stares ensue. I don’t dislike it. It’s just not my dress. Not much you can do about that. No amount of buzz words will change it.

“It’s lovely; I like it more than the last one I tried?” But that doesn’t mean I’m going to shell out thousands of dollars for something ‘nice’ that I could wear, if I was having 8 other wedding dresses. But even then, I might not. I’m really not good at this constructive feedback game. Because I know in my heart of hearts, that despite their best efforts and the exhaustive and repetitive process of squeezing in and out of layers of silk, lace, taffeta, and tulle, they just don’t have ‘my dress’.

You’re meant to get ‘that’ feeling, the one of knowing that it’s your dress. And that’s what all the brides say. But when you don’t get it, you start to question whether you ever will. So you go home, put yourself back together with some wine glue and start again, plan the next appointment, and get stupidly excited all over again. It's such an amazing, fun experience with a side of heartbreak. It's like going out for the most delicious, extravagant, expensive dinner and then walking out of the restaurant starving hungry, with an empty feeling and then you have to go to Macca's on the way home. A bittersweet symphony.

Bridesmaid’s dresses on the other hand has been a completely different story. A result of persistent research, searching for something which was a vague idea in my head, proved so so fruitful when one day just prior to wedding hour (lunch), I stumbled across the most stunning, perfect things that so honestly reflected everything I had been imagining and looking for without being able to verbalise.
The hardest thing about the BMD’s is coordinating times with a long distance MOH for a first try on, and the fact that they cost just slightly more than her own wedding dress (which we have since established will not be involved in any future benchmarking process due to a set of unique and uncanny circumstances!).

Other than that, it’s a win. Well a point on the board anyway. We still have to decide on the actual style, the embellishments and the colour. But what could be so hard about that? I’ll just pick my ‘favourite’ colour right? Uh oh.

The Blinker Effect

Nothing major to report this week on the wedding front. Or perhaps wedding is now so entrenched in my day to day that nothing really seems ‘interesting’ or newsworthy anymore. I actually opened up a new blog post a couple of days ago ready to go with an update. As I sat at my computer, the usually frenzied keyboard attack was not forthcoming, nothing had bubbled to the surface during the course of wedding related events in the last couple of weeks. Oh my. Could it be? I’m organizing the shit out of this wedding. And I’m doing it in a very relaxed, stealth like manner.

Even Fiancé followed up last night… “You haven’t done a blog this week.” Perhaps I’m internalizing. I guess we’ll find out. Or maybe I’m just coming to terms with the task at hand, and feeling quite comfortable with where we are at with it all, with most of the major things taken care of.

I’ve taken quite a ruthless, systematic approach to organizing wedding. I made a list, developed a budget, lobbied for funding, and then went about sourcing potential suppliers, with much success. It’s like a domino effect. Once you get started by locking in the venue, the rest flows from there. One by one, things get knocked over, ticked off the list.

For the most part, I’ve really just locked things in, paid the deposits and then moved on, there really is still a few details that may need working out. But I’m banking on it all coming together when the universe deems it a relevant time. There is a natural order of things.

In the last week I have found some potential bridesmaid dresses. This was a fairly big milestone for me having had something in my head but having no idea where I would find it. I shouldn’t have been concerned. Facebook showed me the way. I spent one whole day breathless with excitement and anticipation. I was chomping at the bit to get down to the stockist and whack 3 x dresses on hold immediately. That’s what I do. Make a decision, and act on it. Without a whole lot of consideration or rational thought. That whole concept of ‘sleeping on it’ is a foreign one to me, I much prefer spontaneous, immediate decision making. Let’s just say I trust my instincts. And life’s too short. And whatever other cliché you can think of to support my argument.

If MOH didn’t live 2 hours away, I dare say we’d have another thing on its way to being ticked off the list by now. It’s more than likely a blessing in disguise. Having to schedule appointments and lock in times with everyone forces me to have some time away from it and to “sleep on it” I guess. In fact, I’ve now slept on it for 3 nights. And I’m feeling slightly more calm about the situation. But I still want those dresses. Now.
Oh and I now also have a hair stylist. I based this decision on (another) recommendation, and the fact that she had a website. I felt that this gave her an edge over others I had contacted and allowed me to scrutinize her skills by looking at a huge range of images. Basically, I have a fervent appreciation of people who exhibit sharp business acumen, foresight and organization. She deserves my business.

But I do believe there is such a thing as being too organized! And there is a downside. That is that you live in fear of seeing something better and more perfect than what you already have. Even if you stop looking, being in the wedding realm, you are bound to be exposed to these things. Is there such a thing as wedding blinkers? Like horses wear when they are racing so the other horses don’t make them angry or put them off their game?

Many racehorse trainers believe that blinkers keep the horse focused on what is in front of him or her, encouraging him/her to pay attention to the race rather than other distractions, such as crowds. Or other wedding/bridesmaid dresses/flowers/hair stylists.

Yes, I’m definitely going to need some blinkers.

Especially when it comes to the wedding dress. I’m reluctant to fall in love with anything too early for this very reason. The blinker effect. I won’t, however, be leaving it to the very last minute! I heard of a bride this week who has just found her perfect gown, with 11 days to go until her big day. 11. Days. God, there’s that breathless, anxious feeling again, OMG I’m stressed FOR her!

I will not be faced with this scenario. I’ve already identified about 8 dresses that I have developed feelings for. Without even trying them on. Oh god. How am I going to pick JUST ONE?? Perhaps, we should’ve considered an Eastern style wedding where celebrations extend over 8 days. Then I could have 8 dresses.
So the approach to wedding dress is a matter of carefully considered timing. I need to take a measured, considered approach that leaves enough time for dress to be made if need be, and time for ample fittings – to keep up with the ‘shedding for the wedding’ activities – without creeping into the danger zone.

So the wedding ball rolls on, gathering momentum in a calm, collected and ladylike manner.

Ceeeeleebrant good times! Come On!

As the clock runs down from the 1 year mark, I have felt a shift in my planning from the light hearted, fun stuff to the down to business, serious end of the spectrum. Of course it’s still a relatively long time to go to the everyday human being on the street.  1 year. Plenty of time to get organised one would think. But it’s not long in Wedding Time. To put it into simple terms, a 24 hour day for the normal, everyday, non-bride-to-be would equate to approximately 3 days in Wedding time. They just go faster when you are going through something like this. Therefore, I now have less than 121 actual ‘Wedding Time’ days left before the ‘BIG’ day.

One of the reasons that we choose our date, was to allow enough time to organise the wedding WITHOUT having to stress or be stuck with a less than impressive list of suppliers/venues etc.  Granted, the planning still takes up a large chunk of my psyche on the daily but our (my) decisions are considered and well informed. I know that a lot of people have organized their own wedding in ridiculously short amounts of time, I don’t know why you would choose to rush it unless you were:
a) Pregnant
b) Close to having a Visa expire
c) Hoping to trap someone into a loveless marriage before they realized you were a complete psychopath.

But I digress. There has definitely been a shift in my approach to the planning at this point. It’s no longer a case of having plenty of time, it’s starting to get a little more serious than that.

I think the turning point was finally deciding on a celebrant. This has been an interesting one. For Fiance and I, it was really simply a matter of necessity and nothing more. We hadn’t really placed a lot of importance on the role of this person. For followers of Wedding though, it has been a pertinent point of interest. I remember it being raised by MOB when the idea of Wedding was only in its infancy. She had been speaking with my Nan about it. ?. It is now even, perhaps, in the lower echelons of FAWQ (frequently asked wedding questions). Which was, initially, hard for me to understand.

image courtesy of Blakeney Photography via www.mrbg.com.au

The intentions of interested parties, however, seems absolutely justified now that I have begun to dig a little deeper into the realms of Celebrantcy. It’s one of those subjects, where you only ever seem to hear the horror stories, only one of which I’ve actually witnessed.

Apparently the Celebrant at an Aunts wedding, had such a thick Scottish accent that no one could understand a word he was saying. Perhaps they should’ve all had a few drinks before the ceremony as, in my experience, the more intoxicated you are, the easier it is to understand the Scots.

At MOH’s wedding, there was a case of the old vow switcheroo, not that anyone would have known any different had it not been rectified by the Groom, but certainly not ideal for the happy couple!

I’ve heard stories of celebrants and even their Catholic counterparts forgetting the names of the bride and/or groom, using the ceremony to push their own agendas (religious or not), telling bad jokes and just generally being awkward and weird.

So, unless you actually happen to know someone who is legally entitled to officiate over a wedding and sign off on all the paper work, how do you choose? And why does it matter?

Our (my) initial thoughts were that it didn’t really matter at all. As long as they could speak that should be fine and I’d also prefer someone who didn’t resemble a troll so as not to ruin any wedding photos. After all, all they have to do is say “Hey, what’s up ya’ll? So you want to get married? That’s cool. Do you both want to get married? Awesome. Alright then, you’re married. Just sign here and here and off you go. Have fun kids.” Right? Then we can all go and have a drink, a bit to eat and a dance. Apparently, that’s not how it’s done.

My initial searches proved fruitless. The problem with these celebrant people, is that they all still appear to have real lives of their own. Which means that your wedding will have to fit in with things like family holidays, the unexpected success of other commercial business ventures, overseas trips etc. Being a celebrant is obviously more of a part time income supplement, rather than a full time career, making it difficult to find one that isn’t shit, that doesn’t have something better to do.

As with most of our (my) decisions thus far, this one was also based on referral. And it seems to be working out jolly good so far. Good people like working with good people, and since these people see hundreds of weddings each year, they are certainly more qualified than me to say who is proficient in their chosen part-time field, and who is not. So, on recommendation from our amazing DJ, who was referred from our amazing venue, I contacted Carla, a local Dunsborough celebrant. Although we are yet to meet face to face, it’s so far so good!

It wasn’t until Carla sent through some Ceremony and reading samples, that my attitude towards the whole thing shifted ever so slightly. During wedding hour (lunch) at work I began to read through the extensive materials she had emailed across.

Some of it was nothing out of the ordinary, the usual traditional stuff that you always hear at weddings, usually in the movies. I continued to read. Reading, reading, reading, sniffle, reading, tear, reading. OMG, this is good shit. Something hit me. It was the story of fiancé and I. Right there on the computer screen in front of me. “OMG, that’s it!” Such simple, beautiful words. And suddenly it all becomes a little bit more real and grown up. Less about getting a nice, shiny new ring and more about what it signifies.

It’s so easy to get lost in Wedding time, to get caught up in flowers and bonbonierres, that it’s just so refreshing to be smacked across the face with a big fat reminder of why you’re actually doing it all in the first place.

And so with that, without giving too much away (especially to my fellow brides to be), I’ll leave you with these words:

“One of the beautiful things about marriage is that whilst two lives unite to become one, you do not lose yourself in the other, you find yourself.”

Tear. Sniffle. Tear. 

It's business time - Dunno Part II

We love Dunsborough. So much so that every time we visit, we spend a great deal of time discussing when and how we can move there. This time I have decided I will become a full time writer. I’ll wake up early, walk the dogs along the beach, have an organically grown and locally sourced breakfast of berries and free range eggs, then I’ll head out to the balcony where I will spend the day ‘working’, overlooking the ocean. After a mid-morning nap.

Alternatively, we’ll open a wine bar/coffee shop that appeals to a gentrified crowd, sick of the young hooligans that now seem to have overrun similar ventures in town. Dean from Busso will not frequent our establishment. Preferring instead to loiter in and around the more ordinary watering holes where he feels completely at ease soliciting unsuspecting Perthites and other weekenders for money “for a set of boobs for this chick I have known for like 10 years. Well you know, I promised that I’d buy her a set of tits, so every time we head out, I ask people to help.” He explains, thrusting a middy glass containing a few measly bucks under our noses. We stared back at him in disbelief. I wanted to tell Dean that me and my friends didn’t speak bogan, or reveal to him that a good way to raise money was to get a friggin job, however being on unfamiliar turf, we chose instead to give him some loose change, hoping that he would be satisfied and scamper away, leaving us to pick up our jaws from the sodden carpet and pretend that never happened. But it just seemed to encourage him. What is that? When people have no comprehension of the fact that their presence is not required or desired? Dean went on to hassle our friends about why they were not yet engaged. The wench with the small tits piped up “OMG, I sell diamonds! I’ll do you a deal. I work at Garden City, come see me.” What? So you do have a job? Good on you for that. Obviously you don’t sell enough diamonds to buy yourself a pair of tits though.

These seem like the kind of people that might want to try and crash our wedding after party at castle rock car park with our DJ mate.

Anyway, if the wine bar thing didn’t work out, I’m sure we could find something else to do in town. There already appears to be a sufficient number of surf shops and clothing boutiques, bakeries and coffee shops. Our neighbours out at Dunsborough Lakes already had the mobile rock climbing wall business covered, so that was out.

After a particularly interesting cultural exchange whilst dining at Wise the previous day, when our French waiter served Fiance an interesting looking dessert plated in such a way, that the kitchen had described simply as ‘Viking Pussy’ and suggested that Frenchie use this expression when presenting the food. “My English is not so known but the kitchen people tell me that you might try this before. It is how you say – Viking Pussy? So I hope you enjoy.” He later was told what he had just said and spent the rest of the afternoon apologising profusely. “I’m sorry. Thank you for apologising me,” He said. Sooo, Fiance suggested that perhaps I could simply return to my university days and become a waitress. I could after all speak and understand English, which doesn’t appear to be a mandatory requirement in the industry but it can’t hurt.

Event coordinator? Wedding planner? A liaison for engaged Perthies getting married down south. Wedding celebrants seem to be pretty popular down here – how hard could that be? Yoga instructor? But my favourite is to become an artist and find a place on the Yallingup hills and wile my days away painting sunsets and writing screen plays. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem that i have no talent in either of those areas.

I guess it happens when you go on holidays. And that’s why we go. To escape to somewhere amazing that has the power to make you want to uproot your entire life and relocate there immediately. It’s a powerful thing.

One of the big pluses about Dunsborough for us, is the picturesque beaches, especially the one that, when the tide goes out, exposes the shallow sand bank and the many little ‘islands’ that can be walked out to. Especially handy when you have two crazy, overly sociable Staffys. Ingenious of us to walk them out there through calf deep water and then let them loose, water locked, so they couldn’t run away.

They loved it, frolicking through the shallow water, chasing the seagulls, forgetting the water and finding themselves in way too deep, sploosh! Jackson stopped every now and then to pluck a starfish from the shallow water or chew on a piece of seaweed. Until he spotted another dog on the beach that he thought he might like to say hello to. He stopped. He looked at the dog, then looked back at us, a plan formulating in his little pea sized brain. Pity he was surrounded by deep blue water. He looked at us again, then went for it. Swimming for his life, his stumpy little Staffy legs doggy paddling like they’d never doggy paddled before. Fiance sprang into Staffy rescue mode as little Jackson became less and less buoyant by the second. We’ll never know if he would’ve made it to shore or not, I think it would have been a miracle.

So, although it wasn’t an overly productive trip wedding plan wise, it re-established for us why we love the place so much and why we couldn't find a more awesome place to get married. It’s not hard to figure out why everyone who lives there is ridiculously happy and friendly. Figuring out how we can become a permanent part of the scenery is slightly more difficult!

8806 hours to go – Dunno Part I

Having just returned from a long weekend away in Dunsborough, where we will be married in approximately 8806 hours, all manner of emotions have begun to take over.  At the moment, it’s mostly genuine excitement coupled with an acute awareness at how fast 8806 hours will disappear. It’s really not a long time when you break it down like that, but it’s a hell of a lot longer than the event itself – and that’s what this blog is all about. Acknowledging the journey that we are on, and appreciating that it’s so much more than the 8 hours or so in which all this work, planning and insanity will finally culminate. THE. BIG. DAY. 

So, after lamenting the loss of Engagey and enjoying a short intermission in Wedding proceedings for a couple of weeks, I dragged out the awe inspiring pile of Wedding magazines gifted to me from MOH very early on in our engagement and packed them into the car, along with our two furry children and a milk crate full of booze, a sample size of Engagey’s most rewarding legacy.

We were Dunno bound. Not really with any major wedding planning activities in the pipeline, but for a short visit to recharge our batteries and to get the vibe of what the town and the region will be like for our impending nuptials. Frickin busy if this weekend was anything to go by. Better get those save the dates out sooner rather than later.

I had previously tried to make appointments with some suppliers that are already on the team, due to the busy time of year, I was only able to meet with one. The DJ. And he didn’t disappoint.  I suggested we catch up for a cold beverage or two just to break the ice, put a name to a face and have a more in depth conversation about what we wanted and what he could provide. We decided to meet at his place just between Dunno and Yalls (Yallingup.) The directions I was given were reminiscent of a wild goose chase/ treasure hunt and Fiance and I were filled with both intrigue and intrepidation at meeting a stranger in the middle of nowhere. Follow the yellow brick road and take the 2nd turn on the right after the gravel road starts, look for the rainbow valley sign on the fence then keep driving past the house of terrors until you see the white guitar on the fence, then follow it down to the surfboard cut in half that directs you to my studio. Fiance and I shared a nervous giggle, thankful that we had brought a 4wd vehicle for this little adventure.

The DJ greeted us warmly and welcomed us into his studio – a bush shack/shed surrounded by trees and only 7kms from the beach converted into his own little creative space. We entered through the kitchen and he led us into a room filled with intruments  and all his gear. He also had a special little semi sound proof room for his drums, cos “I’m a drummer – that’s what I do”. I literally tripped and stumbled over my words, as well as a set of bongo drums, taken aback by the amount of fun I could have in that room and clearly struggling to hold myself back from having my own impromptu jam session. Step away from the instruments. Fiance, knowing me and my penchant for creating magical entertainment all too well, instantly sensed my inherent desire to kidnap DJ, lock him in a cupboard and take over his studio for two or three days.

We spent the next half hour or so talking about options for our wedding, one of which included the offer of an after party in a nearby beach car park, at which DJ would bring along his ‘DJ mobile’ pop the roof and spin the decks well into the morning, suggesting that we could then walk back to town if we weren’t “too messy” or do a deal with the dunno taxi service and have people shuttled back to town intermittently as sunrise approached. We would just have to let him know a few hours beforehand so he could arrange some of his “crew” to get down there with generators and the like. “We’ll let you know…” Fiance and I responded, not wanting to upset the very musical, slightly eccentric apple cart.

He also suggested keeping the eating and other wedding formalities to a minimum in order to maximise time for dancing, everyone wedding supplier has their own little agenda to push don’t they! Hey, who knows – we might just turn the entire wedding into a dance party yet!

We lunched on the balcony at Wise Winery the following day, soaking up those famous views across to Geographe Bay and also the goings on on the lawn below as someone elses wedding was in the initial stages of set up. We wandered down after lunch to check it out a little closer and talk logistics. In doing so we were greeted by a man, resting on a speaker. “Are you thinking of getting married here?” he asked, beads of sweat forming on his brow seemingly from recent physical exertion, although I could only count one speaker having been set up. “We ARE getting married here”, I responded. “OK, cool…do you need a DJ?”, ah I see. “No, we already have a DJ, why? Are you a DJ?” “Yes, I’m DJ Damon. Who are you having?” We told him. “Wow, he is like the best  DJ in the region.” “Wow, that’s a nice thing for you to say of one of your competitors!” “Yeah he is like a real DJ. He’s awesome.” We went on to recount the story of our recent visit to the studio. “Wow, really? You went to his studio?!” We clearly didn’t realise the preceding reputation of DJ before our visit but we are now very confident that we have selected a quality addition to team Wedding, and he is sure to be a hit…if he can keep me away from his percussion.

Engagey...

Engagey… I miss you. You were only a part of my life for 4 months, but you were an all consuming force to be reckoned with. And I reckoned with you. You were reckoning. And I reckon I will look back on our time together fondly.

Engagey, you taught me things. Important things. Things I could never know had you not been in my life. Things about myself, things about others and things about things.

I have learnt that ‘over catering’ runs in the family. I seem to have inherited this little characteristic, exhibiting tell tale symptoms quite early on in the Engagey planning process. Being a proud owner of the ‘over catering’ gene, however, led me to discover that I could fit 41 cartons of beer into a Rav 4. No more, no less. One more carton and I think the Ravster would have had a complete meltdown and quite literally snapped into two.

I learnt who my most important allies will be for Wedding. No big suprises there. One of these allies will be a small bottle of Rescue Remedy. For Shiz.

I was able to hold off on the excessive pressure building as a result of Engagey up until about 3 hours before. Then the flood gates opened as I became a little withdrawn, confused, experienced a severe lack of concentration and perhaps became slightly irritable.

Then I learnt that I still need my mummy. One slightly shaky phone call to MOB and 30 mins later she arrives on the scene, armed with an abundance of wine and champagne and 2 seven layer dips. She was my rescue remedy until the champagne kicked in.

It’s probable that when Wedding finally arrives, I’m going to feel 300 times worse than pre-engagey with an overwhelming and unexplainable wave of paralyzing anxiety, but at least I’ll be able to recognize the signs early and grab a MOB and a MOH and self medicate accordingly.

Engagey will live on in our garden, so long as the Summer is not too harsh and I remember to water the herbs that once adorned her. But otherwise she is forever gone from my daily life.

But the sun has continued to rise and with it comes the whispers of something beautiful, something big. Wedding whispers, soft and sweet.

NBS - 'not being stressed' ta

One thing that many people associate with weddings is stress. Wedding stress, amongst other things, is the pre cursor to a bad case of bridezillaitis. However, Wedding stress IS NOT an inherent characteristic of all wedding plans. And guess what?? I’M NOT STRESSED. 

I’m relatively immune to stress as I know it at this point in my life. Being in a high pressure jobs for a great deal of my career, dealing with non-existent lead times, deadlines, deadlines and more deadlines.  Annnnnd Relying on incompetent suppliers for the most part to achieve said deadlines.

Mortgage stress? Well we don’t fit the technical definition but needless to say having to pay the mortgage isn’t the most favouritest part of my life. Sometimes having to think about disposable income and the way in which it is spent, can be stressful.

Stress fractures? Right at this moment (which is the only moment that you and I have FYI) the only repetitive stress of the foot striking the ground I’m likely to experience is through an impromptu interpretive dance fiesta. I performed one on the weekend and I seem to be fine.

Apparently there are 4 different types of stress that people experience:

Eustress – a good kind of stress that ‘provides immediate strength’. People experience Eustress at points of increased physical activity, enthusiasm and creativity. Comes in handy when motivation and inspiration are needed. Do you know what else comes in handy when motivation and inspiration are needed? Booze.

Distress – negative stress brought about my constant readjustments or alterations in routine. This may be acute or chronic. It doesn’t sound nice at all.

Hyperstress – occurs when an individual is pushed beyond what he or she can handle. This little chestnut is likely to result from being overloaded or overworked.  Could perhaps occur during and after an office relocation when you have endured weeks of the sound of cheap masking tape shrieking as it’s ripped from its little cardboard spindle, never ending email instructions on how to pack boxes,  left behind a 4th floor view over West Perth and Subiaco and found yourself in a red pimple of an office in a marketing ‘bunker’ with no natural light directly opposite ‘meeting room 3’ which may now be renamed the ‘Golden Palace’, ‘Yummy House’, or ‘The Miso Room’ due to the insistence of the admin girls to claim it as their lunch room when they are sharing a nice, aromatic Chinese lunch together.

Hypostress – is funnily enough the opposite of hyperstress. This occurs when an individual is bored or unchallenged, restless and unsinspired. Can’t say I haven’t been here before but with the recent distractions of post graduate study and pre-nuptial programs, this is definitely not a box that I fit neatly into.

Ahhhhhhh. So loving not being stressed.

The best part of Not Being Stressed or NBS as it will for here ever after be known, is dealing with the fact that everyone you know expects you to succumb. I don’t get it. It’s like your under this perpetual scrutiny of anyone who knows you going “oh. Yeah. Look out. Here she goes. She’s about to crack. Must be all the wedding stress”. Seriously people. Just. Back. Off. Phhheeewwwwww. I’m FINE. NOT STRESSED. Can pretend to be if that WOULD MAKE YOU HAPPY. But a combination of good planning, unparalleled organisational skills, an amazing support network, yoga and red wine protects my nervous system from such breakdowns.

And hey, I’ve totally been there. I have lived through ‘Bells Palsy’ amongst other things -  as most of my close friends would know – not an easy thing, and not an amazing thing, not a life threatening thing but not a fun thing, and not something you want to go through more than once,but, something that once you have had, know that its more than likely may strike again at some stage or another.

It’s basically a nasty little virus that attacks your cranial nerve, resulting in partial facial paralysis for a period of time. In my case, it was about 3 weeks. That’s 3 weeks of not being able to fully or even partially close my left  eye or even control or have any movement in my the left side of my face whatsoever. The cause is unknown, although, some might say as is the case with any virus it would be some issue with the central nervous system and the immune system succumbing to the virus and allowing the inflammation of a nerve that most of you wouldn’t even know existed. I sure as shit didn't.

Now I can say that I was in a fairly high state of stress when I woke up one day and noticed that my eyes were shutting at different speeds, that later on that day I had no feeling and no control over one side of my mouth and that even later on that night when the left side of my face completely ‘dropped’ and I thought I was having a stroke at the tender age of 28. I just wanted to go to bed, thinking that I just needed a good nights sleep but knowing that it was so much more serious than that.

Poor fiancé. Gorgeous fiancé, even then, knowing that something was at least visibly not right, would not tell me that I looked a little strange. Even when I screamed at him. I was stressed. He drove me to emergency – as luck would have it – on a Saturday night. Not ideal. We stayed there for a long time. I was prodded and poked and made an exhibition of to student nurses and doctors. All the while I would like to think I remained relatively calm, although I may have just appeared that way given my inability to control a whole one side of my face. At all.  I was diagnosed with Bells Palsy, given the essential survival materials (a course of steroids, some tape to tape my eye closed and some eye drops) and sent home to fend for myself.

I'm sure that even the usually unflappable fiance experience an extreme period of stress knowing that the girl he loved may be not as pretty as she once may have been, for an unknown period of time - maybe forever... He stuck by me. Unconditionally and without reserve. I'm an unbelievably lucky girl to have someone like that so entrenched in my life.

So my idea of stress is a relative and very real thing. Little things are not going to send me facially paralysed. Needless to say, I can be a bit of a control freak but only when I have some control.

Impending engagey allows me such a privilege. I’m not stressed because I’m organised. This does not go down well with other control freaks.

I think I may be a victim of superficial stress, that is to say, I can allow myself to become overly preoccupied with things that are beyond my immediate scope of control. Those things currently include:

- The weather
- The actions of other people
- The perception of my actions/organisational capability to others
- Sugar flowers (watch this space, this is another blog topic altogether)

All in all, I think the result of my current condition of NBS is dealing with the non-recognition of others of my actual level of organisation and their inability to deal with my competence and sensitivity to actual stress. As soon as I feel the slightest sensation of a tightening between the shoulders, a persisting eye twitch, a sore throat or a little bit of moodiness, I’m onto it. My health is of paramount importance to me.

If I’m actually for real stressed, the god lord and baby Jesus and friends will know about it. If I need help, I am not too proud to ask for it, and if I come to you with half of my face hanging off, I think for certain you would’ve already seen it coming.

Répondez s'il vous plaît

In the context of social invitations RSVP or Rsvp (or either of these with a full stop inserted after each letter) is a request for a response from the invited person. It is derived from the French phrase répondez s'il vous plaît, meaning "Please respond".

With Engagey looming on the horizon, I have currently received a number of replies to our invitation sent some weeks ago. However, the process has been enlightening to say the least and has led me to query to concept of répondez s'il vous plaît and its translation into modern day society.

I must say I was expecting a flurry of activity the minute those invites were hitting letterboxes across Perth and beyond. I had fiancé on standby to accept and respond to calls, text messages and emails with invited guests frothing at the mouth of the very thought of being thought of highly enough to have received an invitation.

To say the very least, we weren’t exactly overwhelmed at the response.

As it stands, we currently have 9 days until the date set for RSVP’s expires and invitations which have been ignored/not responded to will self combust in the lounge rooms, mail piles, on the refrigerators etc around the country leaving behind the stubborn stench of disapproval and a dirty brown stain. Emily Post (an American author famous for her writings on etiquette) will haunt the non responders, eerily reappearing every time a social faux pas is committed. She will loiter eternally in the gaping chasms that have become their social calendars, the ghost of etiquettes past ever present, urging them to respect the RSVP. “Anyone receiving an invitation with an R.S.V.P. on it is obliged to reply....", comes Emily’s haunting whisper.

Granted, RSVP’s are never really as important to you until it is your own function. This, added to the dilution and misinterpretation of the standard throughout time, have left the good old Répondez s'il vous plaît in left sitting in a stark shade of grey, snuggled right up next to negotiating roundabouts and opening the door for a lady. We’re all just a bit confused about it.

In some discussions on sending RSVP invitation to friends there is speculation that response ‘deficits’ can be attributed to those invitees who have misunderstood the RSVP as a request for reply only from those planning to attend.

Some highlights from the whole RSVP process so far include:

- The Man RSVP
Most of fiancés friends seem to have mastered the concept. They are kicking etiquette goals. Emily Post would hold them in very high regard. Especially when compared to the next group.

- The Referred RSVP’s
People who think it is acceptable to tell a fellow invitee that they will be attending without actually telling the actual inviter. These people have a serious issue with their ability to follow instructions and I would be surprised if they could find their way out of a paper bag let alone to the actual physical address of the function they have told a relative or friend of mine that they are/are not attending.

- The Social Media RSVPI didn’t send the invite on facebook so it’d be better if you didn’t rsvp on facebook but hey, you just did. I suppose I should be grateful that you’ve bothered at all unlike the…

- Non repliers
These people are either:

a) keeping their options open for a better offer
b) forgetful
c) rude
d) think they will surprise us by showing up on the night
e) firmly entrenched in Gen Y stuff and are not at all baffled by the concept, that just choose not to conform to social ideals and etiquette schmetiquette really
f) all of the above and I’m betting have never been through this process for themselves

I’ve had cause to contact some non repliers for other purposes during this time and sensing their desperation to completely avoid the topic of Engagey, have innocently queried “Did you get our invitation?” Their beleaguered response, “Yes, thank you. Insert passive non committal response here.” Insert raised eyebrows and eye roll here.

You know people, its fine. Sometimes you can’t make it to things. We know that, and we won’t be offended if you have other plans. We’d just like to know so that we can make adequate arrangements. It’s really that simple. Luckily, over catering features strongly on the agenda of both families, so should you continue to throw caution and the Emily Post Institute Guide Book to the wind, I’m sure we’ll have a spare cucumber sandwich and a copy of the 18th Edition of ETIQUETTE waiting for you.

Lowest prices ARE just the beginning...

Marriage is the union of two different surnames, in friendship and in love, in order to continue the posterity of the former sages, and to furnish those who shall preside at the sacrifices to heaven and earth, at those in the ancestral temple, and at those at the altars to the spirits of the land and grain. – Confucius.

That all sounds great. So what changes after you get married?

I’m not expecting a whole lot will change for fiancé and I in terms of how our relationship works. We already own a home together which we live in together. We already know how the other reacts to certain behaviors and the remedy for disagreements. These remedies are arranged on a sliding scale in direct correlation to the extent of the disagreement/ undesirable behavior. Eg. A slight raising of the voice precedes a visit to Bunnings for some me time. There really is nothing quite as therapeutic as a big shed filled with tools, nuts and bolts, paint and plants. It’s a place where I can be free from my troubles, distracted, in amongst the latest in DIY render or bathroom tiles. It’s a place to potter and think. I know that I’m not alone.

I considered this just yesterday as I found myself in my local Bunnings - the big orange and green beacon for troubled souls, seeking refuge from their reality, whatever that may be, seemed particularly busy and yet there was an eerie calm. Some patrons are there for a specific purchase, for others it’s a place of asylum.

source: http://www.bunnings.com.au/

This day I took particular comfort in the nuts and bolts aisle, not an aisle I frequent regularly, however, I thoroughly enjoyed the vibe and I think I’ll be back. I must’ve stood there for 20 mins, staring at all the different nuts and bolts, washers and wing nuts. Mind boggling. How can there be a need for all these different sized little bits and pieces, all manufactured out of different materials? It’s crazy. And it had certainly sent a fellow patron crazy. He was loudly muttering to himself as he sifted through the high tensile bolts next to me. I’m not sure if he was speaking to the bolts or to himself. Reciting his little Bunnings mantra.  

As I continued to stare vacantly, bolt-washed, a couple wandering up the aisle caught my attention. He – “I need something to do this to this part in the kitchen”. Her “What? How is that going to work?” Him “Don’t. Shut Up.” Her “What? Wait, I have an idea.” Him “Stop. No. Don’t you go getting any ‘ideas’.” Her “But it’s a good idea.” The Bunnings experience is not as enjoyable with a companion. It’s best as a solo activity.

I continued on my journey. I wandered aimlessly and yet with intent. Suddenly ‘remembering’ things that I needed and then becoming distracted by others on my way to find it. I noticed a lot of men with small children. I wondered whether they had escaped the family home voluntarily or whether their wives at home had somehow tricked them into leaving her alone. Maybe she had raised her voice and they had scurried to the car hurriedly, not knowing where they were going until they arrived, another soul drawn to the big orange and green beacon. I mean there were a lot of them. Bunnings should do a marketing campaign around this. Lowest prices ARE just the beginning… they are also keeping relationships intact all over the country!

Although we cannot predict the future, we can be aware of stories and advice from other married couples as well as a few assumptions thrown in for good measure.

I know that my surname will increase from 2 syllables to a whopping 4 in the process of changing from a 7 letter name to an unprecedented 12 letter name.  

I am acutely aware that Fiancés Pecs will more than likely turn into ‘moobs’ over time.

I know that we would be ill advised to go to sleep angry after we are married, that it’s all about compromise, that we need to keep the lines of communication open etc etc.

I can only assume that the number one question I will be asked by friends, colleagues and strangers will change from “How are the wedding plans coming along?” to “When are the kiddies coming along?”.

Marriage may change other things as well. But in my view it’s all about the solution. Problems will happen and squabbles will inevitably be had. It’s how you deal with them that counts. My pitch will always be for a little bit of space every now and then. Time to be an individual and perhaps practice a little bit of self development so you can go back to that relationship as a stronger, better and more understanding human being.   

And as I returned home from my jaunt to the local big orange and green temple, with 4 brand new bolts with washers to match, a ball of string, some dish cloths, and an attitude adjustment,  the world was again as it should be.

Walking on Wedshells

Being on the bridal train is a special journey. It’s nothing like any other train I’ve ever been on. It doesn’t smell bad and you don’t need to listen to your iPod the whole way and wear sunglasses in a vain attempt to avoid eye contact and, god forbid, conversation with other passengers. Being on the bridal train allows you to sit back and bask in your acquired situational narcissism, in the full knowledge that no one of the other passengers (who are not the bride) can do anything about it.

That’s right –I’ve discovered that a ticket on the bridal train is like a get out of jail free card, you can say or do just about anything pertaining to Wedding and no one has any right of reply whatsoever - even if they disagree. You might catch the occasional exchange of an eye roll or two in response to your idea but I’m yet to come across anyone brave/stupid enough to verbalise their disapproval/disagreement. It’s fascinating.

Back in the real world, my ideas are met with objections, disapprovals and disagreements on a daily basis. But the minute I step foot back onto that bridal train, a blanket of silence descends. I’m greeted with big cheesy grins and lots of enthusiastic head’s nodding up and down. Even when prompted “Do you think that’s a good idea?”, wary fellow passengers exclaim “Yes, sounds amaaaaazing!”, followed by the usual disclaimer “It’s your day, as long as you’re happy.” Translation: “Omg you can’t be serious, that sounds ridiculous but I can’t actually say that to you in case you have a mental breakdown and throw me off the train and I would like to stay on the train it smells nice so I’m just going to agree with you no matter what.”

This is fine, I enjoy being agreed with. It could be dangerous. Things may get slightly out of control. Something like this might happen:

source: http://au.tv.yahoo.com/four-weddings/galleries/photo/-/10090988/episode-three-photos/10092368/

All because everyone was walking on wedshells. What are wedshells? Well, they are special little wedding eggshells, and if you break one a little bridezilla escapes and comes and bites you on the face.

So why do people walk on wedshells? Here are some reasons that I have adapted from some material on borderline personality disorder, which is apparently not too dissimilar to being on the bridal train.

Walking on wedshells describes a sense of feeling it is necessary to maintain an abnormally high level of vigilance, or an unusually high level of caution in a particular situation. You may feel this state of vigilance is necessary because you hope that by being very careful in all that you say and do, their "crazy bridezillarish" behavior might be reduced or avoided.

Everyone walks on wedshells from time to time in order to preserve the peace in their lives. The question becomes, "how much walking on wedshells is good for me and those around me? When does it become dysfunctional and unhealthy?"

If you live with someone who is on the bridal train, walking on wedshells has probably become part of the ‘background’ of your life. During periods of peace and calm, you may find yourself anxiously wondering when the next storm will hit, knowing that it may be unexpected and totally out of the blue.

Like walking on something thin and fragile, you fear that a single misstep or mistake will cause the bridal train to derail. You watch your Bride for signs of approval or disapproval of your every word, every thought, every action, and every behavior.

It is important for you to realize that you are a sane person in an insane situation. You didn’t cause it, you can’t control it and you certainly cannot cure it. You are entitled to a little peace in your life and to your own reality.

So, how do you avoid walking on wedshells?

Speak clearly, calmly and slowly. Maintain YOUR version of reality, while being as validating as possible. Lower your expectations that the Bride is going to act rationally. It isn’t going to happen. At least not overnight.

All in the detail

Oh sorry, did I say detail. I meant retail. It's all in the retail. The retail detail. I refer, of course, to now famous Engagey and my so far rampaging spending frenzy. It's been fun so far. Some have chortled at my pre planning (it has been in a conceptualisation phase for some 2,064 hours) but it pays to be organised. Especially when you are ordering goods from Thailand, China and, of course, IKEA. And I have encountered a number of stuff ups which have given me grounds to be proud of my organisation. You must always factor in time to account for the stuff ups of others.

First it was cushion inserts from IKEA. Not feeling strong enough to make the trip to the store, I thought I would be smart and order online. Website shows 29 items available. Great, I'll take 20. I'll also take 8 stools, 8 chair pads, and a shit load of floating candles. Done. Now you would think the retail centre of the earth could sort their postage/online retail environment out. No, they have to call you back once they have calculated the specific postage amount, ask if you still want to go ahead and then take payment over the phone! Over the phone! pffft.

Once that little ordeal is finished with, I move onto sourcing cushion covers. This involves a trip to Spotlight, Big W, Lincraft to find the most cost effective way to get these suckers organised. MOB had resigned herself to the fact that her office would be turned into a sweatshop for a weekend while she toiled away cutting, sewing and stitching 24 cushion covers in three different colours yet to be determined. As my sewing skills show no further advancement past sewing on a button (and poorly at that), the only skill I could bring to the table/sweatshop was drinking and entertainment. "I'll bring wine!", I promised poor MOB.

In the meantime, IKEA calls back, they only have 1 cushion in stock in Perth. I can get them from Adelaide or I can wait. Finally, Adelaide becomes a relevant and useful place to me. If nothing else, at least I - all of us -  can take that away from this experience.

Yeah, Engagey has been well out of hand for some time now. People think house party and think - easy. Well, i guess it could be. Depending on how fabulous you wanted it to look. Think a few drink tubs and some party pies and sausage rolls - not that fabulous. Think cushion covers and stools, floating candles, solar hanging chinese lanterns, potted herbs in tin cans, punch, sangria, a cocktail on arrival, a new outdoor setting, a busy bee to prune roses and other shrubs, a homemade hanging system displaying photos, a menu of amazing homemade canapes', 30,000 candles, 30,000 jars for candles - getting slightly more fabulous. OK, so i didnt end up getting the outdoor setting and I held off on organising the Michael Buble and Norah Jones tribute duet. Yes, win for me.

Cushion covers arrived from Thailand last week, they took about 20 days to get here as they had to go through customs. Problem, only 15 out of 24 had made it. Uh oh. Won't panic have time. Stop and remind myself that they are cushions. But they are the orange ones that are missing and out of the three colours, I really wanted the orange. Oh well. Just before I started this post, another box arrives at reception. I have had everything delivered to work. There isn't too many days that go at the moment by that a parcel/package/box doesnt arrive for me. Our receptionist walks the box to my desk, dumps it and sneers "another dress?". No actually, its my M.I.A cushions covers! I've just opened the box. They are red. Not orangey red. FFS.

Perhaps it's destiny, the universe is speaking to me here. The orange lanterns I wanted from IKEA weren't in stock either. And the outdoor setting I found on Gumtree with the orange cushions was sold right out from under me. I'm thinking orange is out. So what exactly in universe not liking about orange? Let's find out what it could be.

Orange is a power color. It is one of the healing colors. It is said to increase the craving for food. (this could be it - universe knows about jenny). It also stimulates enthusiasm and creativity. Orange means vitality with endurance. People who like orange are usually thoughtful and sincere. Lady luck's color is orange. (This could be it also, Lady Luck and I both wore orange to an event once and haven't seen eye to eye since) I have been told that if a change of any kind is need in life, just burn an orange candle for 7 nights.

Orange Energy
While red is associated with fiery heat, orange is associated with the benign warmth of the sun. A dynamic color to be sure, orange offers a more thoughtful control than explosive red. Curiosity is a driving characteristic of orange, and with it comes exploration of new things.

Put some orange in your life when you want:
 - to spice things up when you feel time is dragging
 - to become more involved in something
 - to increase creativity
 - relief from things becoming too serious
(source: http://crystal-cure.com/orange.html)

Red on the other hand:

Red is the warmest of all colors. Red is the color most chosen by extroverts and one of the top picks of males. On the negative side red can mean temper or anger. In China, red is the color of prosperity and joy. Brides wear red and front doors are often painted red. Red is Tuesday's color. Red roses symbolize passionate love. Ruby rings should be worn on the left hand. Red is the color of Mars. This planet is known as the God of War.

Red Energy
Red is associated with fiery heat and warmth. It can also mean danger (burning).
Red is the color of blood, and as such has strong symbolism as life and vitality. It brings focus to the essence of life and living with emphasis on survival. Red is also the color of passion and lust.

Put some red in your life when you want:
- increased enthusiasm and interest
 - more energy
 - action and confidence to go after your dreams
 - protection from fears and anxieties

Red wins. Defo. Thanks universe.

Anyway, I think my rampaging spending spree is petering out. Recent and ongoing purchases are much more considered and rational. Ok well I'm getting there. At the weekend I took a visit to Bunnings (the other retail centre of the universe) in search of standing ice buckets and any other inspiration I could find. I did two laps with a basket, picked up some gardening gloves, went back for a trolley, 2 more laps. Found some standing ice buckets for $50 a piece. Put two in the trolley, walked up and down the aisle 10 more times, removed ice buckets from trolley, found myself wandering aimlessly through the nursery, had a quick chat to myself, and proceeded to the checkout with my trolley and my $1.95 gardening gloves. The sales assistant looked at me quizzingly "Is that it?" he says glancing down at my pink cotton glove purchase. I think I'd walked past him at least two or three times whilst doing bog laps of the store. He knew I was after something else and seemed determined not to let me out of the store without spending at least $100. Maybe thats a store policy. I don't know I don't think I've ever left Bunnings without spending at least that much. "Yes?" I replied. Yes, this is all I need. I'm cured. I'm done. Deco's are for the most part taken care of! For now. Nearly.

Disclaimer: Engagey guests may not actually receive a cocktail on arrival.

Jenny - along for the ride

I have this friend. Well, we're not really friends, perhaps more aquaintances would be a more accurate description of our relationship. Jenny comes in and out of my life. Sometimes she sticks around for a long time, with me for every bump in the road, every celebration, every waking moment, she's there. At other times, I won't see her for an extended period. She just goes. I don't know where. I can't say I'm unhappy when she's not with me but, at the same time, sometimes she is a big part of my life.

I've called her Jenny, Jen for short, after that annoying, chubby, red head girl on "Winners and Losers" who no one ever really seems to want around but she doesn't get it and clings on anyway. I get the feeling that some of the other characters keep her around for old times sake. It's easier to keep her around rather than go through the trauma of cutting ties and parting ways. I feel exactly the same way about my Jenny.

Except my Jenny isn't actually a person. She's a part of me. She's that flabby, subcutaneous layer of fat that resides between my skin and my abdominal wall.

Piss off Jenny, I hate you.

Needless to say, Jen's not invited to the Engagement Party.

Fiance doesn't like to acknowledge Jen's presence at all. Even when she's staring him right in the face, he pretends he can't see her. I know he can. He also doesn't like the fact that we've named her. Maybe that's because in his mind, she doesn't exist. Or maybe, in his mind, I'm not crazy. Perception is reality people. But my reality is Jenny is real and the time has now come again for her to pack her ugly little suitcase and catch the triglyceride train to burn town.

I'm sure I'm not the only one with a Jenny problem at the moment. I ran into another bride to be at the weekend who is already on a diet in prep for her Engagey. I, myself, recently bought a dress for my Engagey online, always a risk when you're unsure of the sizing and fit. And they only had the one size left. I got it delievered to work yesterday. It sat under my desk all day long, waited for me in the car while I was at the gym with Jenny, and then sat in my bedroom through dinner. I purposely waited until after dinner so I could enjoy what could have well may been my last real meal for sometime.

The moment of truth had arrived. Jenny and I apprehensively pulled on the dress. We all know that moment when the zip goes up, up, up and.........hope upon hope......closes. Phew. It fits. Jenny seems content. I'm happy. We have work to do but it's not a disaster.

Shedding for the wedding seems to be a common activity for brides in the lead up to their big day. So much so that there are now special "bridal boot camps" devised just in case you hadn't been tricked out of all of your money by everyone else in the world yet. If boot camp fails, there's always the cabbage soup diet, the lemon detox diet and a myriad of other high risk, low effectiveness ways in which you can rid yourself of your hard earned.

Jenny and I prefer the gym. And if your own Wedding can't motivate you to get your caboose on that treadmill / spin bike / step / yoga mat, then at least you will have a friend/aquaintance for life.

Rules of Engagement

Rules of engagement: In military or police operations, the rules of engagement (ROE) determine when, where, and how force shall be used. Such rules are both general and specific, and there have been large variations between cultures throughout history. The rules may be made public, as in a martial law or curfew situation, but are typically only fully known to the force that intends to use them. The ROE should comply with the generally accepted martial law. (Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

Rules of Engagement: A sitcom, starring David Spade, that debuted on CBS in 2007. Produced by Adam Sandler's Happy Madison Productions in association with CBS TV and Sony. Now in its 6th season.

Rules of actual engagement? There aren't any that I'm aware of.
Seriously, someone needs to come up with some real life rules of engagement that we can integrate into the day to day life of being engaged. We used to have tradition to lean on to give us a loose framework of how things should run. Since tradition went out the window, along with good manners, good morals, and the ability to merge in peak hour traffic and effectively use roundabouts correctly, we're all flying a bit blind. The intergenerationalism and multiculturalism that (i assume) are features of most weddings, mean that we are dealing with a whole variety of perceptions and interpretations of tradition and varying levels of attachment to this tradition.

OK, so as tradition has taken a backseat over the years (or so people would like to think) it is still very much at the heart of the whole idea of marriage. And it's not a bad thing people! Tradition is not a dirty word. As much as sometimes we dont like to admit it we, as humans, need rules. At least a loose bundle of the social fabric that allows us to interact on a daily basis. In the context of a wedding, its that foundation that the rest can be built on. The pizza base before all the toppings go on, the most essential part that if its not there, you dont have a pizza at all, you just have some tomato sauce and a bit of cheese really.

At the moment, I would say we are just in the process of understanding the recipe for the best dough in order to make ourselves the best base. As previously mentioned, I've already got a couple of toppings set aside ready to go, no cheese.

But i digress. The rules of engagement? where are they? I refer mostly to this engagement party caper which we are in the midst of planning.

Being engaged for some weeks now, a common comment of any wedding /engagement talk is, "who cares what anyone else thinks - its all about the two of you." This is simply not true. OK, so the nitty gritty of betrothal IS about us, but, in my limited experience, it's about balance, trying to keep everyone happy, and graciously accepting advice no matter how misdirected it may be! Its as if, getting engaged opens the flood gates to friends, acquaintences and absolute strangers alike to make outrageous suggestions of what, how, where, when and why. A colleague of Fiances (one I've never met or heard of) just the other day took it upon herself to suggest a song that should definitely be played at our reception, because she likes it and thinks it is a very nice song to be played at a wedding. Instances like this are now not uncommon.

I must point out at this time, that I have become a little (fiercely) protective of Wedding. It's ours and you can't touch it. However, we will share it with a select few.

Apologies for the incoherent and disjointed rambling today. I must explain myself and the reason for this particular post.

Engagement Party has arrived on the scene. We'll call it Engagey for short. Engagey is at this point not causing me to lose sleep, but is has been a bit of a chameleon. At this point, I'm a bit in love with Engagey as it exists in my head. How that is translating into real life is another story. But for the most part it's fun, exciting and

Engagegy is like Weddings little sister, the crazy, carefree one that is a bit of a basketcase but in an affable, easy going way. Wedding is a little more serious and uptight. Wedding could take a leaf from Engagey and vice versa. You can tell they are related but they are both distinctively different.

Apparently, it's not true Engagement etiquette to throw a party but according to "The A-Z of manners and etiquette" there are a few "important" engagement party rules and guidelines to follow including but not limited to:

1. No one should be invited to the engagement party that is not invited to the wedding. - Uh oh. Our Engageys first faux pas. Fiance we have a problem, there is no way we can have 3 soccer teams at Wedding. We are more than likely not abiding by this one - not a good start. More so, Engagey is a good way for guests to lavish gifts upon us and impress us with their cordiality. There is still time for them to fight it out for a spot in the top 80 or so for Wedding.   

2. Guests are not expected to bring gifts to an engagement party, but if they do, open them in private or after the party. Don't forget to send thank you notes.   Oh yes, by all means they are not expected to bring gifts, but it WILL help secure a place in the aforementioned top 80. And if we dont like the unexpected gift, no one will know cos we'll open it in private and each mark down a score out of 10 which will be considered as a part of a total score for the evening.

3. The bride's father is the first to invite the guests to raise their glass in honor of the bride-and-groom-to-be. The guests will drink a toast to the happy couple. The couple do not drink at this time. - Sweet baby jesus. I'm actually reading these for the first time just now. Looks like we're going to need a comprehensive set of notes to know when and where and under what circumstances we are able to sip our drinks. Sounds like fun.

The groom-to-be says a few words, then offers a toast to honor his bride-to-be and her family.

After his short speech, other guests may propose toasts to the couple and their parents. 

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. 

Traditionally, the parents of the bride host the engagement party, but there aren't hard and fast rules.

Alternatively, the bride and groom can host it themselves, or a friend or other family member can undertake the hosting duties.

It is not good engagement party etiquette to ask your bestman or matron of honor to host the engagement as they will have other parties to host, don't forget the Bridal Shower and the Bachelor Party.  - oh yeah, we won't be forgetting thoooooooosssseee.

6. The style and size of the party depends on your budget and what you prefer. It can be a formal affair with printed invitations and reply cards, a casual backyard barbecue, or anything in between.

Typically, engagement parties are a cocktail event or casual in nature since you want the happy couple to be able to mix and mingle throughout the evening with family and/or friends.

7. For those with especially long engagements, engagement parties are held one to three months after the engagement, and/or about a year before the wedding.

For others it can be held any time more than six months before the wedding.

Well, i asked for it! Geesh. Looks like there are some rules in place. There is no reason you should feel obliged to have a party to celebrate your engagement. its not a requirement, but if you do choose to do so, there are an extensive set of guidelines and etiquette that come along with it. Now is anyone else as confused as me?

Bugger it, screw you etiquette, its all about us anyway.

Wearing Juanita

The venue was the foundation for the rest of my planning. Most wedding chitter chatter with any girl usually includes the peppering of basic, predictable questions vaguely along the lines of dress, hair, colours etc.
"Do you know what kind of dress you want?" Depends on the Venue/time of year etc. "Flowers?" Are seasonal.  "Do you know what you will do with your hair?" Depends on the dress, which depends on the venue..so on and so forth you get the picture. I mean all very well and good having all these amazing ideas but, for me, its a case of being able to understand what, why, when, where and how it all fits together which means having the venue organised complete with a date to match! Now that we have that, we can move on!

And boy did I move, a week later I had a photographer, a DJ, two florists, a potential hairdresser and half a celebrant. They are the basics covered off. I'm guilty of it on occasion but I've gotta say, I'm not a huge fan of leaving it until the last minute. Luckily, I still have 657,000 minutes left to organise the rest of it.

MOB was excited about dress shopping. We kept it on the down low and organised an appointment (last minute) to try on a couple of sneaky wedding dresses. It was a special MOB moment. She's seen it all before when MOH was planning her wedding but I knew she still had some mother of the bridely tears left in her. It was my duty to extract them.

One of the things I'm still struggling with on the whole dress thing...is the names. Do we HAVE to give them a name? They are not people. I want to wear MY dress, I dont want my dress to wear me. So, wow, I tried on some really amazing gowns. With really shitty names. I'm sorry I don't care how beautiful she is, I'm not wearing Juanita. I'm also not wearing Bernadette, Tallulah, Delilah, Dakota, Brooklyn or Jezabel. Jezabel!! Seriously, I would be more than happy to wear JLK3349 in white. Bad news is that this little marketing palava is widespread. I'd call it an epidemic, but it's more than likely pandemic. Like most industries, its seems to be a case of, someone started doing it so we should do it too.

It would be OK if I was allowed to name the dress. In fact maybe someone should get out there and tell these designers and boutiques this little pearl of wisdom. You can have this beautiful gown, its yours, you can even name it, if you want to. I would love to name my own dress. Like when I eventually have children, I'd like to name them too. Its not like the midwife or whatevs is going to deliver the baby, clean it up and hand it to me and go "Congratulations! Meet little Latishia!" noooo, take it back, I want one with a better name.

Anyway, I tried on over 10 dresses. It was tough going. And still no tears from MOB. I was starting to panic. The consultant assured me that we still hadnt pulled out the big guns, if all else failed we could stick a veil on, the veil turns on the waterworks apparently.

But then, a vision in white, i emerged from the fitting room, stood on the box and walah. Finally. Get the woman a tissue, get me out of this thing and lets get out of here! Mission accomplished. Made MOB cry and figured out what I dont want. A few weeks on, the idea of what i do want becomes more and more clear. But I haven't even started thinking of names.

The 'W' bomb

Yeah, the 'W' bomb. Shit yeah. I mean venue shopping. We are going venue shopping. Married couples express heart felt well wishes to us upon our imminent departure, describing it as a 'special and exciting' adventure! Up until now it has felt like diving head first into a pool in the middle of winter. An empty one. But we are finally on our way. We've taken a week off work. We had originally planned to spend this time in Broome, then Langkawi, then Koh Samui, Koh Phangang, then Dunsborough. Turns out our last plan was our best plan. I was kind of half thinking that this might be THE holiday that I'd come back packing a few extra carats on the way home. Turns out my proposal clock was a few weeks out. Perfect timing however for venue shopping.

Our first appointment was booked for 11am Monday morning. Unfortunately, ongoing Bridal Party invitations and ancillary celebrations continued into the most part of Sunday night. Monday morning consisted of some excitement, mostly counteracted by one and a half hangovers and a great deal of grumpiness. Not the ideal start to a three hour journey down south.

Fiance and I had previously indulged in discussions, albeit fanciful, on proposed wedding locations in our pre engaged state. Some of these discussions prompted by MOH (at home with the kids dreaming of exotic locations for her next holiday - and excuses for such holidays, our yet to be conceived wedding at the top of the list). MOH dreamt of the South West, Bali or perhaps Thailand. To be honest there weren't too many places that we fancied in Perth. Maybe all the Perth wedding venues are overdone and just didn't rate on the we-want-this-to-be-special-relaxed-and-not-keep-us-in-debt-until-we-are-60 meter. I had done some preliminary research into our options pre proposal, somehow though, when the actual proposal came, we already had our favourites.

The benefit of hindsight is a benefit that can neither be overlooked or ignored, but one thing that each and every one of my pre-Fiance friends attest to upon their first impressions of now Fiance is that he was 'so chillled out', a nice way of them saying that he was my perfect complement, what they were really saying was that he was like the alkali to my acid, a neutralisation of my neuroticism - they hoped. He has and continues to be.

This, in turn, led to our inherent investigation of a region which we knew we replicated what we stood for as a couple. Every time we took that trip down south, and it had not been often, we instantly felt at home.

And so, stubborn hangovers subsiding for the most part, we arrived into Dunsborough. Here is a map for those playing along at home who are unfamiliar with the South West WA.

The region is breathtakingly beautiful and has everything you could ever really hope for, magnificent coastline with plenty of surf breaks, an abundance of wineries (massive, big, medium, small, and 'boutique'), trees, fresh air and really bloody nice, down to earth people. A weekend for us in Dunsborough equates to a week of yoga, 3 massages and 2 facials. Very relaxing.

We (me) had shortlisted 5 potential wedding venues, all wineries in between Dunsborough and Margaret River all vying for that top spot. No prize for second. First cab of the Rank was Wise Winery, an ammaaazing spot just out of Dunsborough heading to Eagle Bay. This place has the WOW factor as you drive along the narrow, windy, tree lined roads, turn into the driveway of Wise and the landscape opens up with views across Geographe Bay to the coast.

"Wow." Fiance and I said in unison as we drove towards the winery restaurant for our meeting with the function manager and a spot of lunch. There is NO point basing a decision on location alone. Food and wine is of the utmost importance. I would rather have the reception in a hole that had been carved into the ground as long as we were surrounded by people we loved, and we could serve those people really great food paired with the plying of equally great wine. As chance would have it, Wise happens to have both of these things as well as spectacular views and a certain ambience. Fiance called it early. And we hadn't even sampled the wines. Cellarrrrrr dooorrrrrrrr. I love Cellar Doors! From that awkward moment of approaching the bar, the fact that you start to feel tipsy after just one or two small tastes of wine, down to the amazing and interesting people you can sometimes meet. Add the 'W' bomb to this and the cellar door at Wise turned into an hour and a half long pow wow with the lovely lady behind the bar.

The 'W' bomb is something that most people can relate to and usually want to talk about and share their perspective and experience with you. If that person also happens to be standing behind a bar pouring wine, then that is my idea of a good, useful conversation. After twigging onto this, I opened many a conversation over the 2 days with "We're getting married/we're looking for wedding venues/we've just gotten engaged and....." I would recommend doing this even if you're not getting married/engaged/venue shopping just to see what kind of freebies you get offered. We eventually tore ourselves away from Wise, with a bag full of discounted goodies as well as some handy hints and tips from a seasoned local. 

After checking into our accommodation at Smiths Beach, Yallingup, a quick survey of the facilities and the size of the restaurant, this was discounted as a venue (even though it hadn't originally been on the shortlist).

Onto the next venue, Clairault.

'W' bomb worked a treat here too. Couple of complimentary vino's later, we called it a day for venue shopping, with plenty to talk about over dinner. I had a captive audience in Fiance as we dined at the Cape Wine Bar in Dunsborough. Amazing Food. Check them out next time you're in town.

http://www.thecapewinebar.com/

Day 2 Venue Hunting: first port of call was Vasse Felix. We dropped in early and without a pre-arranged appointment but the staff were more than willing to be of assistance and spend as much time with us as we needed. Really good coffee and a really enthusiastic chat were highights of this short visit as we departed for Margaret River for some brekkie. We had two more venues on the list, both just out of Margaret River. And both didn't come up to the mark, we didn't even bother with the cellar door! So, we quickly narrowed it down to two. Vasse Vs Wise. And decided to be fair and compare apples with apples, we had to go back to Vasse Felix and sample their wares.

Cellar door before lunch is always a cracking idea. Again, amazing service, super knowledgable and another perspective on the region and weddings in general! These guys really laid it on for us. Complimentary sparkling and some nibbles preceded our astounding main courses. This was going to be a touuuugggggh decision. Luckily we had a three hour trip back to Perth to mull over it. In the end it came down to a flight of stairs and a couple of km's really. By the time we were at the Canning Bridge, it was pretty much locked in. Wise has it by a whisker.