Mmmm, cake

Yesterday was our first anniversary. In celebration, we chose to honor a seemingly inexplicable yet long-standing tradition and share a bite of our left-over wedding cake, which barely survived the long, hot drive home from Eureka Springs before getting crammed into the back of my mom's freezer and all but forgotten for an entire year.

Yum, right?



So we popped open the champagne (which we also bought last year, and after failing to get around to drinking it on our wedding weekend (I know, right?! But we had all kinds of champagne given to us that weekend, so...) we decided to save it for said anniversary) and, after a brief but hearty toast, we lifted our forks, kissed each other for luck, and took our obligatory bites of year-old, partially melted and then frozen, freshly thawed wedding cake.

Now for those of you who are as skeptical about the wisdom of this tradition as we were, let me just tell you this:



We ate the whole thing, and we liked it.

31.

This month's Real Simple (the only magazine I subscribe to these days--probably because it actually makes me feel capable of being a halfway decent housekeeper (and no, this is not a paid post. I pimp because I love)) had a neat suggestion for the new year: for each month, list 31 (or 30, or, er... 28, depending on the month) tasks, and assign each task it's own day. They needn't necessarily be chores or things that must be done; they can be fun and/or relaxing things, too (or even exclusively), like taking a nap or going to a museum you've been meaning to visit or buying a pretty knick-knack for the living room.

I'm liking this idea, although I'm not so sure about the scheduling a task per day bit. That would make me feel too pressured to stick to the schedule, and then I'd end up abandoning my list completely. I think I'd rather just make up a list of 31 things to pick from each day. Either way, this is right up there with the whole 15 minuts a day principle of getting things done.

Anyway. I'm not going to share my entire list (because I'm tired, and also because I haven't thought of a whole 31 things yet), but here's my top ten for January:

Must Do:


1. Finish my thank you cards. Finally.
   
   
2. Make a doctor's appointment. Also finally.
   
   
3. Make an appointment to get Fizzgigg's teeth cleaned. Also also finally.
   
   
4. Drag Matt to the bank and create a joint account under my new name. At last.
   
   
5. Shop for a second car. About friggin' time.
   
   Wanna Do:
   
   
6. Go on a date to a new (to us) restaurant.
   
   
7. Have Chinese take-out and a Firefly marathon.
   
   
8. Meet Tess for lunch.
   
   
9. Call people I haven't talked to in forever, like I was supposed to on Christmas day.
   
   
10. Cook and freeze a huge batch of Zone-friendly breakfast burritos.

I'm don't know yet what else is going on there, but I'm pretty sure it will include spending an entire day in bed like Matt and I did on Tuesday, snuggling and reading and napping and playing board games. That was awesome, and definitely worth repeating.

As you can see, I'm ready for the new year. I'm ready to have wedding plans and honeymoons and holidays out of the way to start fresh and get caught up on my life, remembering what it's like not to have the better part of an entire year consumed by planning for a single day. There's still aftermath to deal with--besides the thank you cards (which I'm still well within the bounds of etiquette not having sent them yet; according to the rules I have six months, and it's not quite been four) we also still have to put wedding announcements in the local papers and order prints of our wedding pictures. And there will be the moving, which we'll probably time to coincide with Matt's spring break (did I mention he's enrolled for the spring semester?), which leaves us two and a half months to go through our crap and get rid of anything we don't want to take with us. Expect eBay auctions.

...

That last thing's going on my list, too.

Presenting Mr. & Mrs. B.

No professional pics to share yet, but here's a snapshot taken by L'il Sis.

"Got 'er Did"

So...

I'm married.

I have a wedding ring. And a husband. With whom I've actually (finally) had sex (multiple times. Mmmm. And also ow).

We share a bed. And a home. And a cell phone account. Joint bank accounts soon to follow.

Wow. It's all so... just, wow.

What I don't have yet are pictures. Scratch that--I do have pictures from my shiny new picture phone, but they're of the pre-wedding process, not the wedding itself. But when I get wedding pics I'll post 'em.

In the meantime, here's a recap.

Friday

Errands. Packing. Chaos. Stress. Started the day with a Pilates workout, during which the power went out, nixing my plans for a hot, well-balanced breakfast and putting my shower, and thus the rest of my day, on hold until it came back on. Finally, it did, and I showered, threw on some clothes and ran to Wal-Mart for last minute necessities like safety pins and acid-free pens for the "guestbook" frame matte. Then it was, respectively, to the DMV, the pharmacy, my auto insurance provider, the bank, and the county health department for a hepatitis A shot. That last stop was worthy of a post all its own, but I'll save it and move on. Then it was back home to pack. Or rather, it was home to do my damnedest to start packing while fending questions and suggestions and endless focus-killing noise from an entire houseful of people, all of whom were home that day, and trying to entertain a fiancé who wanted to squeeze in some quality time before he wouldn't be allowed to see me anymore, and trying, futilely, to get my mom's improved-but-still-problematic PC to burn all of my carefully selected MP3s to a wedding day mix CD for my groom. Alas, I couldn't make it happen.

This is my stress face:



Finally, L'il Sis arrived to whisk me away to Arkansas, and (two hours later) I finished packing, and we were on our way. But not before one last goodbye cuddle with my soon-to-be groom, who next I would see standing at the altar.



At long last, we hit the road. L'il Sis drove.



She said she knew a shorter way than the route Matt and I took to get our license. Yes. Well. The object lesson for the day was that "shorter" does not necessarily mean the same thing as "faster." Especially when you get confused and take wrong turns and end up on back roads driving through what looks eerily like Deliverance country. But eventually, we found our way out of Oklahoma and into Arkansas. Whoo!



A couple of hours later, we rolled into Eureka Springs. We came with a plan: find our motel, drink a celebratory toast, and commence getting a good night's sleep. But first, we had to pick up the champagne.



Now, I'm sure that ours is not the first plan that began to go awry with a stop at the liquor store. Once we found our motel, the Country Mountain Inn, checked in and unloaded our things, we realized we were hungry, and that champagne should not be consumed on empty stomaches. So, after learning that our options after 10PM were pretty limited, we called in a carry-out order to the nearest Pizza Hut, and went to pick it up. By this time it was already past our bedtimes, but that didn't keep us from deciding that, after we'd eaten and imbibed, it would be a really good idea to take advantage of the Inn's jacuzzi, which was open all night and which nobody else was using, and for wich we did NOT bring bathing suits, and so had to make do with our tank tops and underwear. After all of the stress of the day, it actually did turn out to be a pretty good idea, even though we ended up turning in about three hours later than planned.

But, you guys, it was so nice in that jacuzzi, with my sister and a glass of cheap wine and a big, bright full moon outlining the mountains all around us. Turned out to be just the break I needed, and not at all a bad way to spend my last night of singledom.

Saturday

We got up plenty early, rarin' to go despite the late night, fueled mainly by nervousness.



And then the beautification commenced. Shower, shave, tweeze, exfoliate, it puts the lotion on its skin, the whitener on its teeth, the zit cream on its face, then a quick complimentary continental breakfast later we're off to the salon to get Wedding Hair.

Here's an extremely unflattering picture of myself getting curled and poofed:



L'il Sis's only rule was that her hair couldn't look like mine:



Once the hair was done (you'll have to wait for the wedding photos to see the finished product), we set out to scope places to eat, wait for the family to arrive, and watch the parade. Yes, there was a parade. A vintage automobile parade, to be exact, which trapped us on the wrong end of town and severely limited our pre-wedding luncheon options. Finally, mom's van rolled up, a gaggle of relatives piled out like clowns to gawk at the old cars and stretch their legs before piling back in and heading back the other way to the closest restaurant, the Pine Hill Restaurant, to eat and wait out the parade. Despite the parade, we made pretty good time getting back to the motel, where everybody stuffed themselves into our little room for makeup and costume changes. Then before I knew it it was time for L'il Sis and I to meet Tess at the bed & breakfast for our mini-rehearsal with the wedding coordinator.

This is where things start to become a blur. The coordinator met us outside the B&B and immediately started running through all the details. Mostly all I did was nod and agree to whatever. Meanwhile, since we weren't given time to haul all of my stuff up to the room before getting started, L'il Sis and Tess and Nephew #2 (who had arrived earlier with Matt, who was currently being ushered into another room to finish changing so he wouldn't run the risk of seeing me before the ceremony) kept running back to the car to fetch everything we could think of that was vital, i.e. my dress and the flowers and all that falderal. And then we were being shown what order to walk in and where to stand and then LS had to hurry and go pick up the rest of the family while I was taken upstairs to change. This is where I realized that (a) I had forgotten entirely to pack the little wedding bells (for the guests to ring while we kissed at the end) and the wedding bubbles (for them to blow while we rode our carriage into the sunset), then got over that when (b) I realized that LS had taken off with both my digital camera AND the video camera, and (c) there was no time to fire up the portable steamer to de-wrinkle my dress. And as I stuffed myself into said dress I also forgot to put on any of the Very Special Perfume that I'd bought especially for the wedding. But as glitches go, these were all pretty minor, and then LS came back, and my mom came in, and the photographer, and there was posing, and pictures, and perfecting, and then they knocked on my door to tell me it was time.

That was about when the crying started. They were happy tears, mostly, but they were also mildly terrified tears, and I managed to keep them mostly in check until I got down to the back door that led out into the garden, and LS was holding my hand and reminding me to breathe, and I was blinking, and then the music started and everybody was walking, and then I reached the chapel and saw Matt standing there all gorgeous in his tux, and we made eye contact as he mouthed an appreciative "Wow!", and I managed to pull myself together and get married. I didn't flub my vows, Matt's vows got the tears flowing again, then we were exchanging rings and lighting the unity candle and then he was kissing me and a minister was pronouncing us husband and wife. And then the photographer began ushering us from one photo op to the next and we barely even had time to see who showed up for the wedding, let alone socialize with them, but everybody said it was beautiful and that we made them cry and I guess being social is what this Friday's wedding party is for. Inside, cut the cake, feed it to each other, freeze for pictures, back to the chapel for more pictures, to the garden for still more pictures, then we're being hurried to the carriage for goodbyes and yet even more pictures. And then it was just me and my shiny new husband and... pretty much the entire town of Eureka Springs, where every person we passed on the street waved and shouted congrats to us as we rode by. Our carriage driver was also very talkative the whole way. Oh, and the title of this post? Comes from the sign that hung on the back of our carriage. Charming, innit? I guess that's the sort of risk you take when you get married in the "Wedding Capital of the South."

Finally, we got back to the B&B, and up to our room, where they had cake and champagne waiting for us on the ledge of our own private jacuzzi tub, and we finally got to be alone together. And that's all you need to know about that.

Sunday & Monday

Sunday, after a lazy morning of breakfast in bed and enjoying each other's... *ahem* ...company, we went out to do the tourist thing. We went out to Turpentine Creek Big Cat Rescue and took the guided tour, then after lunch we went to see the Giant Jesus. Then it was back to TC in time to watch them feed the tigers, where a small (as tigers go) female named Syria who had practically been left crippled through inbreeding and had to be fed separately from the other cats because she was on a special diet broke my heart begging to be fed while the other cats around her happily chowed down on raw chicken. She didn't have to wait long till they brought out her food, but watching her drag herself over to the handlers to beg was one of the saddest things I've ever seen. Even so, it was all pretty neat. We got plenty of pictures of that, too, but mostly with the video camera, and we have to get a USB cable for it before we can share.

Watching the big cats eat made us hungry, strangely enough, so we went back to our room to freshen up before venturing downtown to take advantage of the "complimentary romantic dinner for two" that was included in our wedding package.

Let me pause here a moment to briefly explain Eureka Springs, for those who have never been there, which I'm guessing is most, if not all, of you. When you come into town and stick to the main drag, it's all very Southern, very Good Ol' Boy, very Arkansas, but in the good way, where it's all down home and small town and friendly and there's plenty of barbecue and meat & potatoes and Tex Mex to be had. But then you turn off the highway and go down into the historic downtown area, and suddenly it's like somebody picked up some hip, funky little urban burrough and dropped it on the side of a mountain in the middle of the Arkansas wilderness. It's... odd. But very cool. There are all kinds of people there, from bikers to yuppies to hippies to Bubbas, and they're all as friendly as can be. Really, it's quite awesome.

So we had dinner at DeVito's which, despite serving varieties of fish that aren't generally associated with Italian, was fabulous. I had the chicken bolognese, and then I had a food-gasm. The bites of his spinach/parmesan ravioli that Matt fed me were also preddy fan-damn-tastic.

Then it was back to the B&B for more private time, and sleep, and then Monday morning we woke up and lazed about in bed while reminiscing about what we were doing on 9/11 before getting dressed to go eat breakfast and settle our bill. After packing and loading up the car in time to check out, we headed back downtown to file our marriage license with city hall and check out some of the shops. Once we'd loaded up with souvenir wine (for me) and hot sauce (for Matt) and mailed ourselves a commemorative postcard, we headed out of town, stopping for lunch at a barbecue place on the highway that I keep wanting to call The Pig Pit, even though I'm pretty sure that wasn't it's actual name, before starting the drive back home. A few hours later we were reuniting with family and pets and then we headed upstairs to our part of the house, where he held hands as we stepped over the threshold together for the first time.

Getting married is exhausting. But being married is most excellent. I have to say, so far I'm in favor of it.

Nice day for a white wedding

The forecast for Eureka Springs on Saturday is partly cloudy with low humidity and highs in the mid-80s. Sounds like pretty good wedding day weather. There's a 20% chance of rain, but if it should rain, we'll just move the ceremony inside to the B&B's parlor, which is still lovely.

There's a greater chance of stormin' on Sunday, which might mean that we'll have to spend the day cooped up in our room instead of exploring the town as planned. Gee, whatever shall we do to pass the time if that happens?

I have about a million and one errands to run between tonight and tomorrow afternoon, including renewing my car tag, which I meant to do on my lunch hour today so I'd have one less thing to worry about tomorrow; but then I looked up and it was already lunchtime and I'd forgotten to look up the location of the nearest tag agency, so... tomorrow. At least my hometown tag agency should be less busy.

Also, I have to get a shot. I don't do well with needles, but I figure it can't be any worse than the pain in my mouth, and it certainly can't be worse than bring Hepatitis home with me from the Caribbean. I can't promise I won't cry, but I do promise to sit still for it, which, given all of the stories my mom can tell about her and the team of nurses necessary to dogpile on me and hold me down to give me shots when I was wee, I'd say I've grown in that area.

Then it'll be back home to pack and say goodbye to my sweetie, whom I'll next see standing at the altar, and head to ER with L'il Sis for, hopefully, a good night's sleep before getting up and starting the beauty preparations on Saturday. We've got a hair appointment that morning, then (also hopefully) we'll meet up with our mom and everybody riding down with her for brunch. Then we'll all hurry back to our motel to do our makeup and, hopefully once again, find a little time to chill out and have a beverage before heading over to the B&B for a quicky bridal party rehearsal. Meanwhile, the boys should already be at the B&B getting themselves all smashing and tux-ified. Finally, we'll kick them out of the suite so they can do their half of the rehearsal while I get into my dress and then, at eternity last, we'll get married.

So this is it, my last post as an unmarried woman before the blog goes dark for a few days. The next time y'all hear from me, I'll be somebody's wife.

How weird is that?

We have wedding rings!

Matt just called to let me know that FedEx delivered our rings. I got all choked up and teary while he was describing them to me over the phone. *sniff* I'm such a total girl.

Chicks & CHUDs: A Romance

Not that I would ever be happy to hear that Steve Irwin finally ran out of luck, but I gotta say, I’m especially not happy to hear how he died, what with my upcoming snorkeling-with-stingrays excursion.

At any rate, that seriously blows.

~~~

Saturday was date-a-licious. First, Matt took me to see The Descent, hoping that it was obscure enough that I hadn’t heard of it and knew nothing about it. So he was pretty disappointed when he ordered our tickets and I piped up with, “Oooh, cool! We’ve never been to a scary movie together before!”

Matt [crestfallen]: You mean you know about this movie?

Me [backpeddling]: Well, I mean, I’ve seen commercials for it. That’s all.

Matt: What do you know about it?

Me: Chicks and CHUDs in a cave?

Matt: Dammit.

Even so, it was a good movie. I’m always skeptical about any movie that calls itself the next Alien, but this was well done. It ratcheted up the tension at a perfect pace, didn’t reveal the monsters too soon, and it had a heroine who was believable and admirable without being overly heroic or turning into an action movie cliché. And it made me jump and scream enough times that by the end I was practically in Matt’s lap. And all of that without the lingering creep factor of being afraid that evil ghostly children will come out of my TV and get me. Good times all around.

After the movie we hit the Barnes & Noble where Matt first proposed to start saving up for a “riding lawnmower.” “I never did get you that lawnmower,” he lamented as he held the door open for me on the way in. “That’s okay,” I said. “Now you can start saving for one that’s not a euphemism, ‘cause we’ll need one in another year or so.”

After coffee we headed out into the store to shop for cruise reading. He got some Grisham. I temporarily lifted my self-imposed moratorium on buying new books long enough to get Pamie's first novel, the latest entry in Mary Janice Davidson's Undead and… series, and--now that it's finally out in paperback and down to a size and weight that's reasonable for toting around in a beach bag--Suzanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.

Then it was to the Thai restaurant where we began our first non-chaperoned date, which was closed for the entire holiday weekend, the unromantic bastards, followed by driving around and trying to decide where the hell we were going to eat now, and finally settling on another Thai place we'd both been wanting to try for a while. The food was good enough to make up for our disappointment at missing out on the romantic significance. Mmm, Pad Thai. Seriously.

After dinner, and a side trip to the other Barnes & Noble, the one we went to more regularly when we were dating and spent many hours sitting in the café holding hands and making googly eyes at each other and having long conversations that made it clearer and clearer that we were perfect for each other, he took me to the most romantic place in the world: Denny's. Or rather, the parking lot at Denny's.

See, when we were first dating, and he wasn't yet ready to take me back to his apartment (partly because it was a mess and he was too embarrassed to let me see, but mostly because we were afraid our morals would slip if we were afforded too much privacy), we would meet at the Denny's parking lot, go do our date thing, and then he'd bring me back to Denny's and my car, where we would hang out in the back seat until we were ready to say goodnight, which usually meant hours of talking. And making out. Sometimes we never even made it out of the parking lot. This was where we had our first kiss, and where we both first said "I love you." And it's where he finally asked me to marry him.

"I've been meaning to do this for a long time now," he said, fishing for something in the back seat. "Here." He pulled out a rose and handed it to me. "Jeanie, I know this is kinda late, but will you marry me?"

"Yes. Duh." Smoochies followed. "How'sabout next Saturday at 4:00?"

"I think I can clear my schedule."

So I can no longer say that I never got a formal proposal. The long drive home passed with lots of hand holding and silly grins and "I love you" and "Squee! We're getting married next week!" and also some "Damn, that was some good Pad Thai." Once we got there and I put my rose in water, he presented me with a pair of wedding cake shaped sugar cookies, all decorated with icing, and we ate them together in celebration. They were yummy, and so is he.

Just four more days, you guys!

"Strawberry flavored... who in the what now?"

Okay, so I survived. I stayed up late, I drank just enough to stay happy, and L’il Sis kept a check on her vengeance. There were no embarrassing tee-shirts commanding me to do embarrassing things, the threatened bondage-wear failed to materialize and in its place was a lovely and tasteful chemise and matching kimono, and the only dildo in sight was a Mr. Dick Head, ala Mr. Potato Head, and it was awesome.

Much props are due Tess, who clearly put a lot of time and thought into planning the hootenanny. The decorations were fabulous; the food even more so. Everybody appeared to have a great time, and I got a lot of nice things, with enough naughty thrown in to keep things interesting for a while. Like, remember those candy necklaces we’d get when we were kids? With the Smarty-type candy beaded onto a little elastic string? They make g-string undies out of that stuff now. Rowr.

Phase 2 was also a lot of fun, but I did manage to learn one lesson, and that is this: sparkly tiaras and sashes proclaiming you to be “Miss Bachelorette” are really meant to be worn amidst a group of drunken women. Wear them while sitting alone, clutching a frozen margarita in one hand and spinning the slots with the other while alternately muttering at and cheering on the machine… well, you try it sometime, and just watch the looks you get from people.

Tess was my tour-guide at the casino, too, as I’d never been there before and was a gambling virgin. She, on the other hand, goes there fairly regularly with her work buddies. Two of whom just happened to be camped out on the penny slots by the entrance where we met up with Terrence.

“Tess!” they called when we walked in the door, which got a surprised look from Terrence.

“They know her? They actually call her name when she walks in? What, she comes here so often she’s Norm?”

“Terrence!” called Co-Worker of Tess, who turned out to be a former Co-Worker of Terrence.

“Oh. Hey,” said Terrence.

“Hee!” said I. “If she’s Norm, does that make you Cliff?”

“Shut up.”

Hee.

Anyway. We got drinks, and staked out some machines, and gambling commenced. I won $20! And then I lost it again. Stupid Star Wars slot machine, making old Obi-Wan defeat Darth Vader in the bonus Death Star duel, as if that ever happened. But as for money I actually walked into the casino with, not counting what I spent on drinks, I only lost a buck. Of course, all my big talk about wanting to play Black Jack and Hold ‘Em turned out to be just talk once I got there and got all intimidated by the crowds and the fast dealers and the pricey buy-ins; otherwise I’m sure I’d have been out a lot more.

After we were all tired of losing our money, we headed across the street to the Waffle House where we sobered up on eggs and waffles and coffee and the discovery that L’il Sis couldn’t find the credit card I loaned her to get gas on the way to the casino. “I love you, Sissy,” she kept saying as she dug frantically through her purse, and then through the van, and failing to turn up the card. “Find my card and we’ll talk,” I kept telling her. Finally, a beheading was averted when she called the gas station and confirmed that she’d left it on the counter after paying and they had it tucked safely in their register. “I love you, Sissy,” she said again at the station as I tucked the card into my wallet. “I love you too, you lucky twerp.”

It was the bestest bachelorette party I ever did have.

When Dildos Attack

In my whole life, I’ve been to exactly one (1!) bachelorette party. It was one that I planned and hosted, for my then underaged (as far as drinking and getting into clubs goes) sister, at a time when I was both much more overweight and much more uptight about alcohol and much more squeamish about the very idea of my baby sister having The Sex than I am now.

This is how I remember it: there was bowling. At the bowling alley, because I was not then and shall never be above inflicting a little humiliation upon the siblings, I forced L’il Sis to wear a cheap veil and a very tame version of one of those bachelorette scavenger hunt to-do list t-shirts, the ones with the checklist of items like “Ask a guy at the bar to dance” or “get a guy with blue eyes to spank you and sign your shirt.” After bowling a few games and putting her through all of the various minor embarrassments listed on her shirt, it was time for Big Sis, S-I-L and anybody else there who was over 30 or had any sense to excuse themselves and abandon me with the not-quite-twenty-somethings for the slumber party portion of the festivities. The rest of us went back to L’il Sis’s abode where there was (illegal) drinking, a showering of lingerie, the watching of movies, and constant interruptions by L’il B-I-L to be and his “posse,” who kept leaving their bachelor party to come and stalk ours.

I remember doing tequila shots and drinking margaritas. I remember bits and pieces of Boogie Nights and getting irritated at all the interruptions, because silly me, I didn’t get the memo that movies weren’t for watching, they were just for background noise and for killing time between Attacks of the Boys. I remember that I saw Evil Dead 2 for the first time that night, and everybody actually settled down for it so that I could pay attention, and that it was a freaking revelation.

Mostly, I remember all the smoking. L’il Sis and all her friends smoked. I didn’t. I couldn’t really do anything about it, since it was her place, other than keep going outside for breathing breaks. I also recall discovering that 19 year olds have very different energy levels from 27 year olds, and that I did actually hope to get some slumber at some point that night. I remember being curled up for an hour in a recliner, a blanket over my nose and mouth to filter out the second-hand smoke, a pillow over my head to filter out the drone of drunken, sleep-deprived, nicotine-fueled, like rilly rilly deep discussions of nineteen-year-old philosophy. And then I remember deciding that I was sober enough and awake enough to drive home and sleep in my own bed.

And so I did. The end.

This is how L’il Sis remembers it: I humiliated her at the bowling alley, then at her house I had no fun at all, got mad at everybody about all the drinking, and stormed out in the middle of the night to go home.

So. Tonight’s my bachelorette party.

Between the fact that twenty-five year olds have very different energy levels than thirty-three year olds, and the fact that L’il Sis is surely looking for payback, and the disclosure that she doesn’t think a bachelorette party is a bachelorette party unless there’s a dildo somewhere in the mix, preferably several of them in the form of a crown atop the bride's head... I thought it best to ask Tess to plan the party. Neither of us are very much the party type, so it’s intended to be a pretty low-key affair: first a girls-only lingerie shower at the house, and then we’ll all go meet up with my friend Terrence at the Cherokee casino to have some drinks and play some slots until we all run out of money.

L’il Sis, however, seems to be planning her own version of the party. One involving humiliation and revenge. And dildos.

I’m afraid, you guys. I have fear.

I’m also apprehensive of the fact that, while L’il Sis and her friends (with whom I’m on a friendly acquaintance level, and who are coming to the party) are all mommies and are therefore very aware of the importance of sleep, they’re also all 25 or thereabouts. As I said before, 25 is not 33. What they don’t understand, and won’t until they get there, is how once you’re past 30, if you don’t give your cells sleep when they demand it, they start to protest by shutting down and refusing to function. Brain cells are the worst about this. Seriously, people, it's not like your body really gives you a choice about this whole sleep thing once you pass 30. It's no longer capable of producing new cells to replace the old ones, and the old ones are just so damn tired. I was as surprised by this as anybody, believe me.

So I’m seeing one of two things happening: one is that I’ll get tired and grumpy and insist on calling it an early night so I can go home and sleep, thereby cementing the impression I made last time as a humorless killjoy. Or possibly just an old fart. Actually, I think I can live with an “old fart” label. Anyway, the other is that my desire to prove that I’m still young and fun and capable of fully enjoying my very own bachelorette party will take over and try to keep me out all night until I become stupid-tired, then just plain stupid, and between that and the alcohol I won’t need L’il Sis and her dildos to bring about my humiliation.

It’s possible that I’m over-thinking this.

Despite the fear, though, I’m excited, because this day is finally here, which means that the wedding day is really almost here, just around the corner, a single week away. We’re no longer counting down in months, or weeks, but in days. Days! How awesome is that?

I also know that I will enjoy myself tonight, especially if I can manage to shut off the analytic part of my brain and just go with the flow. Maybe if my brain cells aren’t straining so hard to find reasons to not let myself do anything, they won’t get so tired so soon, and I’ll actually last until a totally irresponsible hour of the morning.

And maybe if I put on my best “whatever, it’s all good” zen attitude—or maybe if I can just keep my brain cells sufficiently lubricated and happy to the point that it really is all good—L’il Sis and her Dildos of Discomfiture can just go ahead and bring it on.

Except I really hope she doesn’t make me wear one of those shirts.

The TO DO LIST is winding down.

And so are these posts about the TO DO LIST. Promise.

Here's what's left to do:

- Give final head count to Inn
- Find Dad's wedding ring (to affix to my bouquet; this will be my something old... if we can find where mom put it)
- Make appointment to wax eyebrows
- Make appointment for hep. shot for cruise
- Delegate someone to return tuxes day after
- Find/print Claddagh legend to be read in place of tradtional ring speech
- Mix CD for Matt for wedding day
- Wrap & hand out wedding party gifts
- Make list of everything to pack and go shopping for what we still need
- Learn to use video camera
- Assign someone to operate said camera at wedding
- Make wedding day/carpooling schedule tables (where are you, fenwic?)

That's it. That is, comparatively, a really short list. There are a few more items related to the reception and the honeymoon, but I've got a whole 'nother week after the wedding to take care of those if need be.

So Friday night is Bachelorette Party Night. Saturday Night is Last Date as an Unmarried Couple Night, since when I pointed out on our birthday date Saturday before last that that would probably be our last date as unmarrieds, Matt decided that that wouldn't do at all, and that he wanted our last date to be something special. Nevermind that I pointed out that this had better not be our "last date," to which he assured me that it won't be, but it's the end of an era, nonetheless, and it has to be memorable, dammit. I can't wait. I think Sunday might actually get to be a day of rest. Can't wait for that, either. Thank God for the long holiday weekend, the Monday of which I'll spend knocking out as much of the above list as possible.

And that's all... still two days away. I still can't believe it's not Friday yet.

Photo Dump

Finally, I bring pictures.

- Babies! Three of grandneice Dakota and one of nephew Ash. Cuties!

- Misc. wedding prep, including Eureka Springs pics. The one with the fountain is actually next door to our wedding venue, but since my camera batteries died before we got to the little wedding chapel around back I figured I'd toss it in there. Also, Here I am trying on my wedding dress at the tailor's on Saturday.

- Also, we got the wedding flowers put together on Saturday, and that was the last major task to accomplish before the wedding. Yay!