The End?

It's over.

This blog, that is ;)

You can get your fill of the adventures of the Redhead-Next-Door, but in a new fab blog! Check out Life With Dick.

It might be til death due you part, but that doesn't mean you can't blog about it.

To Do, Before I Do

My "To Do" list before the wedding (which is in less than a month away if you are counting and if you're not, you really should start) keeps growing. And growing. I have no idea how I'm we're going to get it all done. Our home-made white wine seems to be helping me feel better about the whole task-list-from-hell thing, but at the same time is a wee bit of a hinderence (what with me passing out on the couch each night).

And I'm not talking about the little things to do that will go unnoticed if they're not done (like wedding programs). We're talking big things (like flowers). Perhaps seaweed could serve as a enviromentally friendly substitue? Plus, it would tie in well with our wedding venue (a boat).

If that wasn't enough, the tailor called yesterday to say I have to come pick up my wedding dress right away because she sold her business. Say what? So, now I don't even know if the alterations were done. I'm freaking out. I'm staying positive. At the very least, I can always fashion myself a spur-of-the-moment potential wedding dress out of toilet paper (like they do on that Cashmere toilet paper commercial). Although, I am getting married on the high seas...for those of us who've had to substitue toilet paper for paper towel in the ladies washroom, you know how well water and toilet paper go together. Ew.

Needless to say, I haven't had much of a chance for blogging. I did finish up a post I started back in May (check it out here). I'm in the process of designing a new post-wedding blog. More on that soon :)

Undressed

With my wedding to Paul only 39 days away, life has been crazy busy gettin' ur done, and not leaving things to the last minute (as per my usual live-on-the-edge procrastination style). I've had nightmares of showing up at the ceremony and the Justice of the Peace isn't there because we forgot to call her. Or, forgetting to get the marriage license and then not being able to tie the knot. Very Freudian I'm sure.

My wedding dress finally arrived. I couldn't sleep a wink the night before, I was so anxious to see my dress for the first time. Touch it. Wear it. OMG would it even fit?

I took Paul's daughter Hannah (age 9) with me for the unveiling, a nice step-mother step-daughter bonding moment. I unzipped the garmet bag, and got all goose-bumpy. The dress is the perfect medium shade of ivory to match my redheaded complexion. I slipped my feet into the dress, pulled it up to my chest, zipped it up. It was...too big. Ok, I can deal with that. After all, that's why God invented tailors. I turned around to face the mirror. And...nothing. I thought this moment would make me cry or make me feel "this is THE dress" or something, anything. All I felt was slightly underwhelmed. Which is NOT the feeling you want to have when trying on your [2nd and last] wedding dress.

I went out to the waiting room to show Hannah. Surely she would see something I was missing, and reassure me the dress was DDG and I looked radiant. All my doubts were placed in the hands of a 9 year-old girl.

Me: "What do you think Hannah?"
Hannah: "Uh................................."

It's too late to order another dress. So, I decided to focus on the positives of the dress - makes me look tall and lanky with curves in all the right spots. And the color looks amazing on me if I do say so myself (well somebody's got to!).

Besides, it's all about the accessories. They make an outfit. Right? I'll pretend I didn't hear that.

Paul tried to smooth things over by telling me I'd look radiant in anything. Uh huh. What a GUY thing to say. Some smuck probably told his bride-to-be she'd look good in this outfit too (see right).

Oh bloody hell.

Mail Order Bridal

Dear Perfect Wedding Dress,

Where for art thou? Ah yes, the internet. I can see you online. I can order you. But I can not try you on. Or see a sample in an uptight bridal boutique. Temptress.

Sure, you're perfect. So what could be wrong with ordering you sight unseen? Except it will take 4 months for you to get to me here in Canada which is pretty much forever in bridal planning months. Then, if you don't fit, I'll be forced to buy off the rack. Ick. Not that there's anything wrong with that. It's just a *tad* extra pressure. You know, on top of the whole planning-a-wedding-pressure. And I don't want to end up in something fru fru and poofy and beaded.

Plus, your price tag makes me go weak at the knees. Or maybe that's all the white wine.

I dream of you dear dress. All ivory and silky or whatever you're made of. I can picture myself floating down the isle glowing in your perfectness before throwing up over the side of the boat.

I simply must have you. That, and a good seamstress. Perhaps some gravol wouldn't hurt either.

The Price of Engagement

I'm still close with my high school girlfriends because a) I don't make girlfriends all that easily, and b) they kick ass. The girls were wondering when they could see "the ring" making me feel a bit like Frodo.

I advised them via email I was thinking about hosting a "Meet the Fiance" party next weekend. Suzie emailed back, "You mean FIANCE...I hope, or does Paul like to be referred to as the Finance."

Oops. I re-read my email - turns out I'd written "finance" instead of "fiance."

Thank goodness husband is easier to spell.

20 Questions: The "So Your Engaged" Edition

Paul and I were engaged less than 24 hours when the litany of questions began from the information wolves. And boy were they hungry (the information wolves and not actual people). I stopped keeping snacks in my cubicle long ago because it encourages people to stop by and graze. And grazing usually leads to questions.

Questions ranged from the normal curiosity, "So have you set a date?" and "Where are you getting married?" to the more probing "Will you be moving to [Paul's city]?" and "Will you be changing your last name or keeping your maiden name?" to the anal probing because it's so invasive "Are you pregnant?" and/or "Will you be having more children?"

We JUST got engaged.

I was just expecting people to want to gawk at my ring and ask questions about how Paul proposed. I really didn't expect to have the wedding details sorted by the next day. It's life, not laundry.

Ringing In The New Year

If you live in Canada, there's one thing that happens every single year on New Year's Eve. Yes, there's fireworks. A kiss at midnight....mmmmm hmmmm. Someone having one too many bottles of Spumante followed by an in-depth convo with Sparkles the cat. But that could happen anywhere. I'm talking about Canada eh, as in A big ass snow storm. And this year was no exception.

I had to work New Year's Eve in the AM so Paul spent the night at my place. Our plan was to drive up to the city after I got off work. Paul's brother Steve and his wife Misty were hosting a murder mystery party, set in the 1920's. Paul was playing the role of the Mayor. I was Flirty Flapper, his dish on the side.

Flirty flapper costume: check
Winter tires: um....no

The raging snow storm made me question whether we should risk the drive. Paul was adamant we were going. I tried to reason with him. He said he wanted to show me off at the party. Awwww. That's sweet (in a realizing your potential-trophy-girlfriend-material kind of way). Ever the practical voice of reason, I offered, "Honey, it doesn't matter where we are on New Year's Eve as long as we're together." Paul retorted, "We're going." So much for the voice of reason.

I half understood his drive to well, drive. Paul spent his last New Year's drinking alone in his condo (probably talking to Sparkles). The year before that he was dumped on New Year's Eve by his then-girlfriend while they were traveling abroad right before he was about to propose. He was possessed with breaking the jinx on his New Year's.

So I prayed a lot during the drive - "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." Paul was unusually quiet the whole two and a half hours. Like really unusually quiet (This is the same guy that met an oil tycoon while swimming in the Italian sea).

Paul wanted to cook me a nice romantic dinner before we headed to the party. Unfortunately our drive was an hour longer than usual because of the weather (and we left late) so we were slightly short on time. Again, being the ever practical voice of reason I said, "Let's just grab a salad at [name of grocery empire]." Paul sighed and conceded.

Back at Paul's place we were making dip, getting our salad ready, and making last minute adjustments to our costumes.

Paul: "Let's sit down for a minute."
Me: "We don't have time to sit down."
Paul: "Let's sit down for a minute." He puts his arm around me and corrals me over to the couch for a mandatory rest period. My head resting on his chest.
Paul: "Do you know how much you mean to me?"
Me: "Yes."
Paul: "Can I ask you something?"
Me: "Yes."
Paul: "Will you marry me?"
Me: (stunned) "Are you kidding?"
Paul: (looking worried) "No. I don't think so."
[Puts beautiful sparkling ring in my line of view]
Me: something incoherent
[kissing, kissing and more kissing until I realize I haven't officially given him an answer]
Me: "Yes, darling, yes I will marry you."
[Paul puts the ring on my finger]
Me: "Can you ask me again so I don't ruin it this time?"
Paul: (Laughing) "Yes, will you marry me?"
Me: "Yes!"

So that's why he wanted to "go to the party" so badly - the ring was at his place. Why he was so quiet. Why he wanted to cook a romantic dinner but he couldn't protest when I said salad. I was sooooo clueless the whole time! I'd never seen Paul so nervous. He confessed he wanted to start the year off right. Awww. Now that is the sweetest.

Oy! I'm getting married.

[And yes, we did go to the party. There may have been some editing in there. I'm not drawing a straight line for you here people.]