August 31, 2006


An apt visual metaphor for a bride midst wedding planning — last Friday in the early evening, Adair and I pulled up in front of Douglas's office on a busy Broadway corner so that we could ferry upstate the parcels of weddingalia that had been shipped to him. As I was crossing the sidewalk to load several boxes into the Jeep, I stepped over a subway grate.

WHOOOOOSH! Marilyn moment!

Yup - I was standing on 20th & Broadway with my skirt airlifted to my navel, panties (at *least* they were a tidy, fetching boy-cut number) fully exposed to the gaping passers-by, and unable to make any sort of gesture toward modesty, as my arms were entirely laden with a case of prosecco, several gross of cross-shaped cocktail picks, and two dozen disposable cameras.

There was absolutely nothing I could do but laugh, and thank the kind stranger who sank to his knees to retrieve the camera box that had tumbled off the stack. At least I think that's why he sank to his knees. Come to think of it, he *did* thank me back. Hmmmm.

Anyhow, overburdened, exposed, and laughing my unmentionables off. Par for the course until October, I'm thinking.

Posted by Kat at 05:53 PM

August 30, 2006

Les Fleurs du mal.

From the message boards at online bridal-fetish emporium The Knot:

"It depends on your budget (of course - doesn't it always??) but I've read that you should spend about 8% of the total amount on flowers. So, if you're having a $10K wedding, you should try to spend about $800."

Brides, hons, sweetiepies — the millisecond that *anyone* (and I don't care if it's your wedding planner, a pal, a random interweb bridey-bot, or yo own sweet mama on an iron lung) tells you that you SHOULD TRY to spend X% of your own personal lucre on anything you don't personally give a big porky damn about, you may feel free to stick your fingers in your ears, loudly sing the first showtune that pops into your head (I swear by Cabaret or Guys & Dolls), and/or run away from that person as fast as your little pedicured feetisies will carry you, because clearly that person does not love or care about you AT ALL.

Okay, maybe your Mom does, but she still needs to shut the heck up.

(Why yes I *did* in fact order 400 Black Bacarra roses and 50 black mini calla lilies wholesale online today, thanks for asking.)

Posted by Kat at 11:05 PM | Comments (0)

Mr. Smoove regrets.

Girl, Smoove Will Not Be Able To Attend Your Wedding
By Smoove B — Love Man

"Girl, while it has been almost two years since we broke apart, not
a second goes by that you are not on my mind. As I have written
many times in my column, the thought of you spending time naked
next to this other man has caused me nothing but pain.

...Why, then, would I receive a letter asking me to attend your
upcoming wedding to this man? This man who is no good for you.
This man who can only get into one tenth of the hottest clubs I
can. This man who you admit focuses only on heart-healthy dishes,
while I had seduced your body and mind by creating the most
sumptuous dishes known to this world. Is this how you want to

...Also, I have decided to write my response to you in this column,
as there was not room on the reply card to say all that was in my
heart, the heart that has been breaking ever since you left.

...It was a pain that was too much for even Smoove to bear.

Smoove wept..."


Posted by Kat at 01:47 PM | Comments (0)

August 29, 2006

Today's maritally-related literary punch to the gut.

Courtesy of the luminous Mrs. Paige Casey.

To My Dear and Loving Husband
by Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were loved by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me, ye women, if you can.
I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Yum. Just...yum.

Posted by Kat at 10:23 AM | Comments (0)

Lord knows, it would be the first time.

The most amusing path down which my nuptially-related Googling led me this evening: The John Hughes Movie Jukebox. Because all of a sudden, marital bliss seemed entirely contingent upon our locating the instrumental Dream Academy version of Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.

How in Hades did anyone plot a wedding before the Interweb existed?

An extra dram of prosecco to anyone who can hook a frazzled Bridey up with an mp3 of Robyn Hitchcock's "So You Think You're In Love" for the purposes of post-kiss recessing. Danke. Seriously.

[Update: The ever-smashing Miss Adair Iacono is hooking us up with the Hitchcock. Dear, your tipple awaits.]

Posted by Kat at 12:00 AM | Comments (0)

August 28, 2006

Only a turd in a gilded spray.

right_morgane.jpgDateline Sharon Springs, and a bucolic Saturday afternoon spent re-splining the church's screen door (that'd be all Douglas, as I'm mildly allergic to spline), and de-baubling some cheap-chic candelabra so as to more efficiently spray paint them gold for wedding reception centerpieces. Morgane the whippet enjoys a rare off-leash romp in our meadow across the way, and in keeping with the physiology of her breed is little more than a blur - save for when she brakes, squats, and solidly excretes dead center in the street.

It's not a poop-scoopin', leash-law sort of place, and action is not specifically required, but I can't just leave it be. I stroll over, crouch down, and spray the dropping gold, and thus disprove an old expression.

Yes, one can, in fact polish a turd.

Posted by Kat at 04:21 PM | Comments (0)

A Brontean Budget

It would seem that Ms. Bronte wouldn't have been beating down Vera Wang's door, either.

From a letter to a friend after her 1854 jaunt to Halifax for a trousseau:

"cheap material"

"I muslin or plain book muslin with a tuck or two."

"Also I took care that the veil should be made a matter of five shillings. If I must make a fool of myself it shall be on an economical plan. Now I have told you all."

Keats and Yeats may be on your side, but I gots Charlotte on mine.

Posted by Kat at 03:45 PM

Today's maritally-related literary punch to the gut.

And again, we return to Jane Eyre:

"I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest--blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband's life as fully is he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward's society: he knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character--perfect concord is the result."

If there is a more glorious union to which two might aspire, I know not of it.

Wish us luck, won't you?

Posted by Kat at 03:20 PM | Comments (0)

August 23, 2006

Fits of depression.

Oy. If this *isn't* viral marketing for a casting company or Vivian Diamond dresses, I'm going to eat my Cuban-heeled hose.

Emergency!! Perfect Bridesmaid Needed!!

Reply to:
Date: 2006-08-22, 5:05PM EDT

Have you always wanted to be in a wedding but keep getting passed over for the role of bridesmaid? Are you often referred to as the life of the party? Does your smile light up a room? Can you fake tears?!

If so, YOU could be just what we are looking for!

Fun bridal party is seeking replacement bridesmaid for amazing October wedding on the ocean.

The dress is a bridal 10 (street size 6-8) and requires someone busty.

Visit the link below to view your dress:

If interested, please submit the following:
-Full body shot
-100 word (minimum) statement explaining why you are the perfect bridesmaid
-Past experience (modeling, acting or wedding)
-Favorite Dance Song
-Special talent and/or perfected dance moves

For preferred consideration, please sumbit website or video links.

*The following need not apply:
-Party Poopers
-Home Wreckers
-Recovering Addicts
-Sexual Predators
-WWE wrestlers

How very Johnny Bravo - "Well she fit the dress..."

Posted by Kat at 05:28 PM

Today's maritally-related literary punch to the gut.

From Charlotte Bronte's "Jane Eyre"

"I sometimes have a queer feeling with regard to you--especially when you are near me, as now : it is as if I had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string situated in the corresponding quarter of your little frame. And if that boisterous channel, and two hundred miles or so of land come broad between us, I am afraid that cord of communion will be snapt; and then I've a nervous notion I should take to bleeding inwardly."

I've waited my whole life to feel this way about someone, and have him feel it back - and moreover, not afraid to say it back. I have lived without Douglas before, and in theory I probably could, but I hope to all the gods and demons in the sky and below that I'll never have to. I love that man.

Posted by Kat at 02:46 PM | Comments (0)

Bar exam.

I have written another happy fun wedding quiz! Please enjoy taking it.

A couple is known for their love of throwing elaborate parties. She’s a cocktail fetishist, and he knows a thing or ten about wine. You like to have yourself a cold brewski. As soon as the happy folks announce their engagement, you:

1. That’s what flasks are for.
2. Figure hey – why not suck it up and give the full bar, three theme cocktails, carefully selected red and white wines, prosecco, or local Brooklyn and Ommegang beers a shot?
3. Immediately start begging the couple to have “normal” beer at the reception.

Again with the sighing. It’s not that I’m trying to be a control freak. It’s just that to me, this would be the same as going into a Bud ‘n box wine wedding and whining to the bride that I really want a Bombay Sapphire gimlet. It’s an implication that your hosts don’t know how to take care of their guests, and that’s a serious nuptial buzz-killer.

Posted by Kat at 11:00 AM

August 22, 2006

Eatin' pussy.

From a list of wedding superstitions:

"A week before the wedding, it is considered good luck to have a cat eat out of your left shoe."

So all - 'round about September 30th, should my feet seem lightly redolent of Fancy Feast, would you please be so kind as to let it go unremarked upon?

Thank ya kindly.

Posted by Kat at 05:56 PM | Comments (0)


Well, we *were* planning on keeping this a secret until the big day, but it appears that the bunny's out of the bag. Yes, we are indeed getting married specifically to inconvenience YOU, and moreover, we're hosting the wedding in a location deeply special and significant to us for the express purpose of taxing your wallet. Clever you for figuring it out.

As Douglas said last night, "Anyone with a 7-figure bank balance can just shut the fuck up."

Adair added "In general." Then she made up a fun little quiz:

If you have a complaint or snark about accommodations (we've offered a wide range of fairly reasonably-priced options), travel (we're providing a van to pick people up from the train station, airports, and hotels), wardrobe (and keep in mind, the only person asked to wear something out of the ordinary is our 9-year-old friend who will be decked in wings), bar (full & open with several theme cocktails) or menu items, you should probably address it to:

A. Yourself.
B. Another wedding guest.
C. A close friend or family member who is NOT the bride or groom.
D. The bride or groom.

Ideally, I oughtn't be having panic attacks and inability to breathe whilst going about my my daily routine, ought I? Mantra, anyone? A spare serving of Valium?

All we wanted to do was gather our beloved ones together for a jubilant weekend, feed them, booze them, unite them, entertain them, and make our extant joy that much more radiant. I know that there are those in the world who kvetch for exercise and entertainment, but might they possibly take a wee hiatus from it just for a few days, or at least around us?

Seemingly not.

Sigh. (Or at least I would if I could actually breathe.)

Posted by Kat at 12:31 PM

August 16, 2006

Porcine aviation.

I have a china pattern. Correction: We have a china pattern.

Yesterday, I said to a colleague, "When I was reading Martha Stewart Weddings on the train this morning..."

Would someone be so kind as to peek outside to see if there are indeed pigs on the wing, and frosty plumes rising from the sewer grates? Theeenks.

Posted by Kat at 04:55 PM | Comments (0)

August 14, 2006

TV, or not TV?

Douglas finds WE's "Bridezillas" unwatchable. For me, it's oddly calming - like observing a foreign people who share a language, currency, and governmental system with me, but whose marriage rituals and celebrations baffle and bemuse. Though of COURSE I understand wanting to make a gorgeous, meaningful day for a gaggle of friends and loved ones, why in the name of all that is shiny does that involve, say, a duck confit fountain, a 27-piece lute band and a six-figure budget? But hey - if Mumsie and Pop are willing to foot the bill to give their pretty princess her most specialest day ever, you best just smile and act reeeaaaal nice, Miss Brideypants.

A Television Without Pity forum comment I made 'bout a particularly Hades-borne Mom/Daughter nuptial tag-team:

But as I always think when I see these messes who are gored on the parental money clip - if forgoing the $10K dance troupe and expensive ice-lemur frieze buys you a little more freedom from mummy's kvetching, then ditch that crap now, or forever shut your cakehole.

Seriously - if it's gonna be THAT much parental stress, scrap the Norwegian wedding cloggers and individually molded black truffle paté swans and serve your friends BBQ, beer and cake in a really pretty park. Betcha they'll even have a better time, and you're minus a whoooole lotta headaches under that twenty-three foot veil.

(Yes we ARE, paying for the wedding ourselves. Why ever do you ask?)

Posted by Kat at 04:37 PM | Comments (0)


Oy. Such a forest/trees moment. After scrolling through some recent posts on one o' my bunny advocacy groups, I recalled with a sizzle of ire that when I needed the ASPCA a while back, I discovered that they do pretty much jack for rabbits. I'd come upon a a local pet shop trafficking in ill and almost un-weaned bunny kits, and attempted to report them. Was essentially told that rabbits rank a peg or ten below the barkers and meowers. Grrrr!

So, it stands to reason that we really oughta be directing the donation bucks toward a group with which we've had a considerably more fruitful partnership - the House Rabbit Society / New York Rabbit Rescue & Rehab. Our beloved Mlle Claudette Lapin, Miss Maudie Lynne Mimolette, and Digory Rex Roquefort all came to us from the loving hutches of said organization, and it seems fitting that we allocate the funds right on back.

Perhaps that's why I'm feeling so lucky these days - with twelve rabbit feet in the house, something's gotta rub off.

Posted by Kat at 01:28 PM | Comments (0)


Today's front-running entry in the wedding absurdity steeplechase: Photofetti

It's roughly equivalent to taking all of the paper money you have in your purse, feeding it through some fan blades, and letting it flutter off to line pigeon nests.

I hear that in the upcoming DSM V, the purchase of custom photo-printed confetti will be getting its own code. Probably snuggled somewhere between 301.81, and 301.50. It's 301.74 Generalized Bridezillism Disorder with Retail Delusions, and the only known cure is a sudden, and thorough detoxification from all bridal magazines, websites, television programs, and any family members with a financial stake in the event. I'm sure Eli Lilly has something in the works, as well.

Posted by Kat at 12:39 AM | Comments (0)

August 13, 2006

Veiled truth.

Raise your hand if you've humiliated your Wolfhound with a novelty bridal veil at any point this weekend.


Ooookay. Just me then.

Posted by Kat at 05:48 PM | Comments (0)

August 12, 2006

Doggone it.

right_mordred.jpgAs I always say, nothing bonds a couple quite like power-hosing the painfully fragrant anus of their giant, currently semi-continent Irish Wolfhound.

Perhaps should we include something about that in our vows.

Posted by Kat at 09:09 PM | Comments (0)

Wanton for nothing.

From a note I just wrote to the endlessly lovely Mr. Diva, who graciously checked in to see if he could help:

"Oddly enough, I'm actually largely enjoying the whole thing. I've not a qualm about the marriage to my Beloved, there's minimal parental involvement, we get to recontextualize and assemble treasured pals in a place that's sacred to us, and feed them kick-ass food and booze, and I get to buy a big, red dress, a daffy cake, and unholy quantities of red roses. Not to mention dressing up Morgane in a little black veil, and young Isabella in Art Nouveau fairy wings, and making myself a gold crown out of polymer clay. What more could a GothBride want?"

What more, indeed?

Posted by Kat at 12:54 PM | Comments (0)

August 11, 2006

'Pagne in the ass.

My apologies to anyone in New Jersey who happened to need some IKEA Svalka Champagne flutes today. I seem to have bought them ALL.

Seriously - at 6/$4.99 and only 3.25% sales tax? Cheaper than renting 'em, and guests may feel free to festively smash them while they're, uh, festively smashed.

Posted by Kat at 03:13 PM | Comments (0)

Gift horse orthodontia.

As I'd mentioned before, Douglas and I were considering the notion of making a donation to the ASPCA in lieu of tchotchke and assorted table favor weddingalia. Made contact with the appropriate party, who in turn sent out a sample of the tent card noting the donation.


Perhaps the ASPCA site describes it best:

One of the first cases brought to court by the new ASPCA® was that of a cart driver beating his fallen horse with a spoke from one of the cart wheels. This case eventually lead to the depiction in the seal showing an avenging angel rising up to protect a fallen horse adopted by the ASPCA® and designed by noted illustrator Frank Leslie.

Said seal is emblazoned upon the card in sharp relief, and while I oughtn't inspect the mouth of a deceased equine - I kinda can't help it here. Yes, there's some divine intervention on the wing, but I'm thinking splayed, imperiled animals ain't quite the nuptial vibe we're going for.

Oh, we'll still make the donation. Just might take care of the card design ourselves. Maybe with a pic of our various fuzzy bunnies, or something similarly gore-free. Yup, I'm high maintenence like dat.

Posted by Kat at 12:44 AM | Comments (0)

August 10, 2006

Pressing engagement.


I just stuck my head under my desk and gave a small, girly yelp of happy. Seeing it printed out like that makes me feel all warm and hugged.

Posted by Kat at 04:51 PM | Comments (0)

UK-ed up.

Perverse notion upon waking up from wedding (not marriage - just wedding) anxiety nightmares and reading about the thwarted UK - USA flight terror plot: "Wow, I bet we'll be able to get a really good deal on our honeymoon flight!"

I'm pretty sure my head is broken.

[Update: Ugh - it would seem as if my comments script has been disabled by the charming folks at my hosting company. Should you have any notions/advice/cautionary tales/words of support or condemnation, won't you please be so kind as send them to bride [at] nupping dot com?

Danke schoens, darlings. Danke schoen.]

Posted by Kat at 12:11 PM | Comments (0)

August 09, 2006

Rope-a-dope action.

From the "Conscious Weddings" website:

Ropes Course

For those brides who balk at the idea of an emotionally vulnerable shower that involves intimate sharing, a Ropes Course is a powerful and meaningful way to ritualize the transition into marriage while bonding with one's friends.

A Ropes Course is an adventuresome way to challenge one's fear through participating in a series of activities that involve heights. Each Ropes Course is different, but they all consist of a number of separate challenges varying in height and difficulty. High Ropes Courses range from balance beams to cable crossings to complex climbing structures. As you climb the high challenges, you are attached to a safety rope and belayed similarly to rock climbing. If at any time you fall or decide to come down, the belayer will safely lower you back to the ground.


Be sure to remind your friends to dress for adventure - i.e. tennis shoes, shorts, t-shirt. And if you will be following the event with dinner, have them bring a change of clothes.

Ahem. Anyone who would think that this would be an awfully dandy way to fete the twilight of my singlehood is someone who 1. secretly hates me very much or 2. has never actually met me. Really - do women actually inflict this Tony Robbins-esque newt shit upon people they consider friends, when they really oughta be chugging down Gosling's Dark Rum and seeing how much aged gouda and pound cake they can physically jam down down their esophagus in a single sitting? Somehow I'm thinking this is why I avoid the Upper East Side like an ebola zone.

And for the record - my interpretation of "dress for adventure" would much more likely involve elbow-length PVC gloves, a lunchroom-sized can of rice pudding, and a creative alias, but that's just me.

Posted by Kat at 04:34 PM | Comments (0)

Bloody "Ll"!

My head - it's gone all spinny. I'd offhandedly mentioned to a couple of very good friends from the UK, that Douglas and I were considering spending out honeymoon in Wales, and figured that what with the proximity and all, they might have a tip or two.

They did.

And not only that, but it would now seem as if my delightful pal Eddie might be able to hook us up with a scrumptious vacation cottage at rather a discount.

That discount would be 100%. Free. For the price of £0. Nothing at all concrete yet, but I'm so damned llawn cynnwrf at the very possibility.

Posted by Kat at 03:41 PM | Comments (0)

August 08, 2006

Forked up.

Douglas's lovely and quite genteel Southern mother has let us know that we really should be registering for a sterling pattern. Thus, I've signed us up for the $451 per 5-piece place setting Roux-Marquiand - Louis Xxi pattern. Somewhat passive-aggressive, yes, but damned if I'm gonna be spending my married life polishing lamb handles and grape shears.

Posted by Kat at 06:18 PM | Comments (0)


My 14-year-old friend Sebastian, to Douglas, upon hearing our non-intent to procreate, but rather opting for a lifelong, four-legged menagerie:

"So, no chilluns from the hitchin'?"

Sharon Springs, NY produces the oddest, most delightful young people. We're not needing to make any of our own, if pals just let us borrow theirs for ambient spoiling and amusement.

Posted by Kat at 05:30 PM | Comments (0)

A pet theory.

right_morgane.jpgToday's quandry: Does anyone ever actually *want* the wee blopkins and pretty gimgaws that they get as wedding favors, or would guests be just as delighted iffen we made an ASPCA donation in their name? I know a Whippet, Irish Wolfhound, and troika of bunnies who'd no doubt be honored, if they indeed possessed the power of cognitive thought.


Posted by Kat at 04:09 PM | Comments (0)

August 07, 2006

Today's Coolchickies List Wedding tip...

Courtesy of Mrs. Tanya Mancini:

If you don't register, people will buy you things you don't want or need. Not registering will not force people to write checks.

I suggest upgrading - what do you use a lot that you wouldn't mind having a nicer version of?

Posted by Kat at 05:21 PM | Comments (0)

August 06, 2006

Glove is all you need.

I feel like a bit of a dope for it not having ever occurred to me that gloves have a sizing system other than S/M/L, but then again, if you're not shelling $265 for some 16-button (and I now know that in the glove trade, a "button" isn't so much a button, but rather a unit of measurement equivalent to an inch) length kid opera gloves, pretty much what you can jam your paw into is kosher.

"Ladies' gloves are generally sized in half sizes, 6 1/2 to 8 1/2, although I do carry some size 9. To measure, extend your hand, fingers together, and measure around the knuckles of your hand. This can be a bit tricky without help. The measurement in inches is your glove size."

glove_3glay1420blk.jpgWho knew? And mind you, I'm not opting for the aforementioned kidsleevery. These puppies are setting me back all of $24.95, and I'll just have to do my best to avoid proximity to any active candelabras lest my biceps ignite.

[UPDATE] In the comments, the endlessly, deliciously informed Miss Kathleen Kennedy Townsend noted: "Glovemakers trivia: as it happens, most ladies will find that their glove size matches their shoe size. How cool is *that*!"

Pretty gol-darned cool, I say!

Posted by Kat at 09:13 PM | Comments (0)

The devil and Ms. Smith.

So here's where it all potentially goes off the rails. Last night, many hours after Douglas nodded off, the dogs and I (okay, mostly just me) were CS41853.jpgGoogling every possible permutation of "goth" "tiara", "gothic tiara", "rockabilly crown", "victorian tiara", "flame crown", "flames" "crown", et al until my corneas threatened to walk off the job. The closest I came was this charming chapeau, and a purple, plastic Cruella DeVille-esque Halloween-shop special for the princessely price of $4.95. Not that don't both have their charms, and not that Douglas and I aren't noted for our occasional wardrobe escapades for the sake of bon vivance (he cut a dashing figure of a ringmaster in full tails and top hat at our Derby party), but either option steps squarely on the particular cow patty we're doing our best to dodge: Being "theme-y". Okay - it's a risk you run when your weekend getaway home happens to be a Gothic stone church, but we're not wanting to make guests feel as if they should be looking around for the bat kebabs and mead keg.

Upshot - I'm making my own tiara from metallic polymer clay. It's not *that* monstrous a leap, as I did actually lo some 10 years ago manage to wrangle myself an MFA in Metalsmithing. I'm fairly confident that I'll be able to carve up something lovely; it's just going to be crucial that I keep the obsession to a manageable level.

At least I've got the first-hand cautionary tale of my grad school pal - also a metalsmith - who at the 11th hour decided that the groomsmen all required handmade cufflinks. Handmade by HER already overtaxed hands, that is. Darned good thing she'd scheduled wedding-day mani-pedis for herself and her sis and me, her Maid O' Honor, as we spent the bulk of Wedding Eve frantically sanding and polishing half a dozen pairs in the sink of my room at the Best Western. Yes, indeed, they were exquisite, and of course, every gosh-darned groomsman was just tickled, but what with that task atop the rest of the wedding stress, sweet Bridey puked her guts out in the bridal suite's powder room the second after I loosened her corset.

Okay, so I'll order the back-up tiara.

Posted by Kat at 04:06 PM | Comments (0)

August 05, 2006

There is a light, and it never really quite goes out for some of us.

Gothic Martha Stewart Weddings

Posted by Kat at 11:26 PM | Comments (0)

August 03, 2006


From my slightly tipsy salute to Douglas and some friends at his 40th birthday soiree last week:

"Just try not to say 'hate fuck' in front of my mother."

Pals say they'll try to comply, but I won't hold it against 'em if they don't. At our nuptials, the cocktails will be flowing like the mighty Gowanus. Hell - I'll be shocked if I don't make a crack about splosh or fisting during our wedding vows.

Ideally my mother has no empirical knowledge of either term or practice, but hey - who am I to burn her freak flag?

Posted by Kat at 11:43 AM | Comments (0)

August 02, 2006

Pressing issues.

Today's sage advice from the utterly smashing Kristen of Foxglove Press:

As for wedding tips...keep the iPod set up somewhere where people can't
get at it to skip your favorite Willie Nelson song (or whatever).

Also, people go NUTS for anything you actually MAKE. Maybe your friends & family are more creative (and thus more difficult to impress) than mine, but my guests were completely knocked out that I made dumb little placecards and put homemade baked good in their hotel rooms. The latter idea I stole from my fancy L.A. friend's wedding -- only she put bottles of really good wine in everyone's hotel room. Way classy. Way expensive. I settled for little apple breads wrapped in quilting squares I bought at K-mart.

I think you're already on to the important thing: break all the rules. Its gonna be your marriage, it might as well be your wedding, not Tori Spelling's.

Oh yeah, also, make people stick around a while. Tony & Vanessa catered a brunch for us the day after and it was one of my favorite parts of the wedding. We were in such a fog for so much of the actual wedding that it was really nice to see people the next day when we started to see straight again.

Oh! And did you know that you can order flowers wholesale on line? I can't remember the site I used but it was great -- they came in big FedEx boxes the day before. Saved us a shitload.

Posted by Kat at 08:19 PM | Comments (0)

Welshing out.

My dad's been kind enough to research wedding traditions for the various cultures from whence Douglas and I spring, and this is how the Welsh folks roll:

A Welsh bridal bouquet usually contains myrtle, and the bride gives to her bridesmaids a cutting of myrtle -- a symbol of love -- to carry in their bouquets. Welsh tradition holds that if the bridesmaid plants her myrtle and it blooms, she will soon marry.

A bride in Wales may wear a pin in her wedding gown, that she will remove and throw over her shoulder for good luck.

Infinitely more feasible that the ones involving smacking, smashing, kicking, etc. And slightly more festive.

Posted by Kat at 12:42 PM | Comments (0)

August 01, 2006

Sole mates.

If there were ANY doubt at all about the rightness of marrying tea_small.jpgDouglas (which of course there wasn't), it would have been dissolved by the appearance of two brand new hepburn_small.jpg
pairs of Fluevogs on the dining room table this morning.

A man who takes the care to know and acquire your most favored footwear for your birthday is a man to marry.

Posted by Kat at 11:34 AM | Comments (0)