The Pill

I hope everybody liked our Save the Dates. I had a real conundrum in trying to figure them out. Steven is all the way on the other side of the country for work, and we don't really have a lot of good couple pictures to choose from. I don't know how or why I thought of having a picture drawn of us, but I know I was in my parents pool when the idea came to me.

My friend, Mike Pilapil, designed them for us. (If you look really closely at the shorebreak, towards the right, you can see his signature.) The most important thing you should know about Mike Pilapil is that nobody calls him Mike Pilapil. He has more nicknames then Muhammad Ali. As a matter of fact, I sorta feel uncomfortable every time I have to type Mike Pilapil. It just feels weird; sorta like calling your parents by their real names and not Mom and Dad. Some nicknames for Mike Pilapil (uh...shudders) include, but are not limited to -- Pill, Pilly, Mikey P, China (yes, that is racist), Chino (the en espanol version of China), Pilsner, Pills-na-na-na, and Pilly BaDilly. I am particularly partial to plain and simple Pilly, so let's just go with that.

Pilly has the misfortune of being incredibly well-liked by everybody, and possessing a vast cornucopia of skills. Pilly is good at drawing, painting, writing comics, creating Halloween costumes, playing most musical instruments, composing songs, mixing music, picking good movies, and playing football. When my mom first saw Pilly, she said, "Now, there's a good lookin' Mexican!" The only problem is that Pilly is not Mexican, but Filipino. But you get the point. Pilly is likable, talented, and cute as a little koala bear (which is what I've always thought he looks like).

The unfortunate thing about being so well-liked is that sometimes you get picked on. Sorta like when you pull the pigtails of the girl you like in elementary school. Well, in Pilly's case it's more like getting thrown into the dumpster by a kitchen-full of Mexicans, while the other waiters helplessly watch. Alright, so we probably could have helped. Hell, we could have stopped it easily, but then we would have risked the chance of getting thrown into the dumpster too. Or even worse, not getting our food made.

The other unfortunate thing about having such a large skill set is that you often get asked to do favors. Sorta like how if you own a pick-up truck, then you always have to help your friends move. Well, Pilly really helped me out with this one because I didn't have any usable pics of me and Steven. Remember that original picture I posted of me and Steven here? Well, that is the actual picture I sent Pilly to use as the model for our Save the Dates. So give him major, MAJOR kudos for creating what he did off what I gave him.

I told Pilly that it didn't really matter what me and Steven looked like as long as Brooklyn looked like Brooklyn. Beyond anything, it was crucial that Brooklyn's likeness was correct, from the white diamond on her forehead to her copper nose. I think drawing Brooklyn stressed Pilly out the most. It's hard to please a set of proud parents.

I particularly like my character because I resemble Renee Zellwegger in the face, sorta squinty-eyed Asian stereotype meets blond bombshell stereotype. I love it! When I first sent the drawing to Steven, he said, "Well, I don't look that. I don't have that chest, and I can't play the guitar. But Brooklyn looks spot on!"

Good work, Pilly!

All That Glitters

So you probably got your Save the Dates, and found a good amount of glitter inside. I didn't put that glitter in there to be whimsical, and it's not a theme of my wedding. I put that glitter in there for one reason...I was trying to be an asshole. Sort of a bridal prank, if you will. Let me explain.

Doing those Save the Dates was a pain in my butt. Some of you out there have really hard to spell names. (I'm talking to you, Achilles Syrios.) Some of you have really long mailing addresses. (That's you Greg, Jayme and Rob) And some of you live in ridiculous-sounding towns. (Kalamazoo, Uncle Andy? Really?) I was on the brink of having a breakdown. And then, right in the middle of addressing an envelope, I just got up. I got in my car. I drove to Wal-Mart. And I bought some glitter. Lots and lots of glitter.

I just wanted everybody to have that moment -- when they were opening our Save the Dates and they pulled the card out of the envelope, and....bam....glitter! Glitter everywhere! I wanted some sort of profane word to come out of everybody's mouths at virtually the same time, all across this great nation. The thought of that makes me feel better.

I don't know what it is about glitter that makes people so angry, but it does. Glitter is like the herpes of arts and crafts -- once it's on you, you can't get rid of it. You think it's gone and then hours (even days) later, you'll find a piece of glitter on your earlobe. It just won't go away.

I can't totally take all the credit for this little prank. The seed of inspiration was planted years ago, unknowingly, by Matt Schlabach, a guy I work with. One Christmas, somebody thought it was a good idea to hang glitter stars from the ceiling of our restaurant. They weren't even up a day before the waiters were wiping their hands on the stars and throwing glitter at each other. Those first few days, all the waiters were guilty of throwing glitter. But if glittering were a crime, punishable by jail, then Matt would be serving in a Federal Penitentiary...and he'd be on death row.

Matt took glittering to a whole new level of obnoxious behavior -- from a mere prank to an inspired art-form. He had a number of techniques. Sometimes he would sprinkle glitter onto your head and scalp, which is nearly impossible to get out, even after showering. He was quite fond of putting glitter all over his hand and then smacking you across the face with it, leaving a glitter hand print across your cheek. You would walk around looking like you had just gotten bitch-smacked by Michael Jackson circa 1985. Sometimes he would simply walk up to you and toss glitter at you...poof...like a glitter wizard trying to turn you into a unicorn.

On one Friday night, Matt went way too far. He totally focused all his glittering ninja skills on Pilly, and completely caked him from scalp to toes with glitter. Pilly looked like he was one of those vampires in Twilight when they walk into the sunlight. This might not have been a problem if it was the end of the night, but this was right in the middle of the shift. I think Pilly still had tables. It's kinda hard to get taken seriously when you're covered in glitter and you aren't David Bowie.

So the glittering was just a silly prank to help me get through those Save the Dates, and if you were upset by it, then I'm sorry. (not really) I put more glitter in some people's invites than in others. This was not accidentally done, but diabolically plotted and executed. I put so much glitter in Matt's envelope that I had to put two stamps on it. Not surprisingly, Matt was not happy about the glitter in his envelope. It's so fun to glitter people, yet not so much fun when it happens to you, huh Matt?

My friend, Adam, said that when he opened his envelope, it was like a glitter bomb went off.

Adam: I had to take a shower before I could come to work.

Me: That was the point.

Adam: So if there are pranks now, then what's gonna happen when I go to your wedding? Is someone going to walk up to me and kick me in my crotch?

What? Kick you in your crotch? I would never do something like.........hmmmmmmmm?

Jamaican Me Crazy

As you may have read from my controversial, and emotionally-riveting blog post Destination Nowhere (now up for a Bridezilla "woe is me" Award), I wasn't too excited about having a wedding here locally. It's not that I was trying to ditch the family, but let's be honest...sometimes being around family is stressful. Plus, weddings are stressful. So put those two things together, and your brain could explode.

But I've been in the thick of this wedding planning stuff for two months now, and I gotta say, it's going pretty well. I would almost be so bold as to say that it's borderline enjoyable. I keep waiting for something to go wrong or for a big fight to break out between me and my parents. Or a fight between me and Steven. Or me and Steven's family. Or me and Brooklyn even. But there have been no fights. I was planning on fights. I was counting on fights. I was anticipating fights so much that I considered putting an argument ticker on my blog that counted the number of fights between now and our honeymoon in Jamaica. I was gonna title the ticker, "You Jamaican Me Crazy." But so far, an argument ticker hasn't been necessary.

I'm getting along great with my parents. My dad and I spent roughly 7 hours together on Saturday in record-breaking 105 degree heat, and we didn't even speak rudely to each other. I almost think he was even disappointed when I had to go home.

A month ago, me and my mom went wedding dress shopping. I was positive this would cause some sort of emotional breakdown between the two of us. I was not looking forward to dress shopping at all, but she was pumped about it! And with every episode of Say Yes to the Dress that she watched, she got more and more enthused. I had my doubts. Those dresses looked tedious and uncomfortable to put on. And I had looming fears that I wouldn't be able to find a dress that was right for me. I was embarrassed at the idea of coming out of the dressing room and standing on a pedestal like some sad Olympian in a taffeta gown, everybody in the bridal shop staring at me and shaking their head, "No, no, no."

Plus, I was worried about my mom. I love my mom, but the older she gets the more she seems to enjoy breaking the rules. It seems that as she gets older, she feels that mature age gives her a pass to do whatever the hell she wants. It's mostly small things -- cutting in line, saying brash things, putting my dog in the pool. I recently found out that she drives with the earphones of her ipod in. I told her that was dangerous and illegal and she responded, "It's not illegal for me." Now, these are not major criminal offenses, but my mom is really not that old. It seems that she's using her "I'm Old, I'll Do What I Want" license a little too early. If she's doing stuff like this now, what will she be doing in her 70s, petty larceny? Armed robbery in her 80s? Drug smuggling in her 90s? My mom has developed a contempt for rules, and bridal salons have a lot of them. All I could think was -- how many would she end up breaking?

But my mom was persistent in us going to try on dresses. I couldn't avoid it any longer. If anything, then hopefully the horrible experience would cure her of her wedding enthusiasm. But I was wrong. We had a great time trying on wedding gowns. There wasn't a problem in not finding the right gown, but actually finding too many right gowns. There wasn't a gown that I tried on that wasn't a contender.

And my mom wasn't the worst part of the experience, but the best part. Instead of losing her enthusiasm through the appointments, it just grew stronger. You've heard of a blushing bride? Well, this was a beaming mother of the bride. My mom is not the bragging type, but on this day she was. At the first bridal salon, my mom got so excited, she would just spontaneously yell things out like, "This is the most beautiful dress in the world!!!!! My daughter is so skinny!!!! We've rented a beach house!!!!!" She would just yell these things at no one in particular. And she was animated too. She would sorta hop up and down, and pump her fists in the air while she yelled these things. (Picture a marathon runner crossing the finish line.) Once or twice, I told my mom to calm down, but I didn't really mean it. I loved her uber-excitement. It was contagious.

By the third bridal salon, my mom had settled into a joyous calm. We almost didn't go to the third (and final) salon because it got bad reviews on-line, but another shop owner encouraged us to give them a chance. Right away, we knew that we had found the winning spot. They had a ton of gorgeous gowns that put the other contenders to shame. But more importantly, they had Betty, the sales lady. She was tiny, knowledgeable, and spoke with a thick Filipino accent, complimented by a lisp. If I couldn't have my destination wedding with a hard-to-understand wedding officiant, then this was surely the next best thing. At times, it was near impossible to understand Betty and my mom would just stare at her intensely, not even blinking. I kinda think my mom was hoping that captions were going to appear under her.

The captions never appeared, but the winning gown did! I was happy. My mom was happy. Betty was happy. (I think that's what she said.) And the Jamaican Me Crazy ticker was still unnecessary.

Destination Nowhere

The wedding I'm having is not the wedding I wanted.

I always pictured getting married on a beach, in a country where I would need a passport to get there, by a wedding officiant with an accent so thick I wouldn't be able to understand him. Some place like Jamaica, Bermuda, the Dominican Republic, Mexico. A place where the people are brown and the water is blue. This was my plan -- for a long, long time -- for 10 years exactly. I've wanted to have a destination wedding ever since me and my friend Sarah went to the Bahamas, and I saw a couple get married on the beach. We had hung out with the couple all week and had no idea they were there to get married. They seemed so chill and relaxed. Not an ounce of stress on their faces at all. One day, Sarah and I were in the pool and we saw the couple walk by in their wedding dress and suit.

Sarah: What's going on? Did you just get married?

The Bride: Yup.

Me: Man, you should have told us. We could have come down and watched. We could have taken pictures.

The Bride: (shrugs shoulders) Eh, don't worry about it. Keeping it simple.

With that, I knew I wanted a destination wedding. I wanted to be in a light, flowy wedding dress, by a pool, shrugging my shoulders...not a care in the world. I wanted to feel like I was on a great vacation with my friends and family, and I just happened to be getting married too. I wanted to be at an all-inclusive resort, where you didn't have to worry about tipping or arranging plans for people. Hey Family Drunk, you wanna get wasted and pass out on the beach face-first? Go ahead, the swim-up bar is waiting for you. Hey Old Person, you wanna take a nap in the middle of my wedding reception? Go ahead, you're hotel room is right over there. Hey Adventurous Relative, you wanna go para-sailing and swim with the dolphins? Go ahead, I'll be hanging here by the pool. You can tell me all about it at dinner later.

That was my plan -- for a long, long time -- 10 years exactly. This was the plan before I met my fiance Steven. This was the plan when I got engaged. This was the plan a year and a half into my engagement. And then...something changed. Something changed, and I got ganged up on. Suddenly, my parents didn't think it was a good idea that I had a destination wedding. They had "travel concerns." My mom became very worried about leaving the dogs, Brooklyn and Doofer, in a puppy prison (a boarding facility), and my dad was nervous about flying. My dad has always had an airplane phobia. He says that it's because, as a child, he saw two planes collide mid-flight, and then the sky rained down with burning shrapnel. I tried to convince him that that was simply the opening scene to the movie La Bamba, starring Lou Diamond Phillips, but he didn't believe me. Then Steven's family turned against me. Even with a two-and-half year warning before the nuptials, it was doubtful that anyone would be able to save enough money to actually attend our destination wedding. Which basically means that only his parents and one set of grandparents would be able to attend. Then Steven himself turned against me. I don't know exactly what happened to Steven, but he flipped the switch on me. At first, he was down with the plan, and then he wasn't. Just like that.

So the old plan was out, and a new plan was needed. But I wasn't willing to give up the old plan. Not yet. I can't tell you how many times I cried about this. Not like silent, deep in my heart tears. No. Real actual tears. I would cry! I would sob! Nobody cared. They were all still against me. Now, at some point, the people I mentioned in the paragraph above are going to claim innocence. They are going to say that I'm exaggerating. That they were on my side. But they weren't. I had something I wanted so bad, something that I had already saved up for, had all planned out, and the people I cared about most took it away from me. And when I say, I had it planned out, I mean it. A location was picked out, a resort, a date. I even had the invitations picked out. Here they are right here. They look like pirate treasure maps. Cool, huh?

So my parents weren't on my side. His family wasn't on my side. Steven wasn't even on my side. You know what those three things make? The Perfect Storm. But I still didn't want to give up. I'm stubborn. I'm like that dumb ass newscaster that is out in a hurricane, wearing a flimsy plastic parka and telling viewers that they "should just stay home tonight, the roads aren't looking so good." I knew that if I just stayed strong, I could get the destination wedding that I wanted. But obviously, I did change my mind and the plan. One day, I just decided to change the plan and have the wedding here. I know that my mom asked Steven what had happened to make me change my mind, and he said he didn't know.

But you want to know what it was? The bitching. Ultimately, I would be able to get what I wanted, but I didn't want to live with the bitching my whole life. Not my parents bitching. Not his family's bitching. Not Steven's bitching. Not even Brooklyn and Doofer's bitching. Having a "relaxed and chill" destination wedding that lasted a week, wouldn't be worth it, if I had to put up with a lifetime of bitching.

So it was the bitching that made me just relax, and give up on the idea of my "relaxing" wedding.

That...and all those crazy Mexican drug dealers that started kidnapping tourists and cutting their heads off! If my Uncle Kevin got kidnapped by drug smugglers during my wedding reception, my parents would never let me forget that one. No bueno!

Rejected Wedding Ideas

Today, me and my dad worked on something for my wedding. I can't tell you what it is because then there would be no surprises at my wedding. And if there are no surprises, you might say to yourself, "Self, I've already read everything I need to know about Steven & Lacy's wedding on her blog, so I don't need to go for real. I'll just virtually go." Well...not so fast, pal!

You do have to come to my wedding or you'll miss out on a few surprises. Like the little surprise that me and my dad worked really hard on today in this horrible deadly heat. I can't tell you what it is, except that it involved a lot of sweating and sawdust. Now, that we've finished (survived) our part of the project, it's now my friend Pilly's turn to take over, and turn our hard work into a creative masterpiece. Which is what he always does.

Since I can't tell you everything that we are planning for our wedding, I will share with you some of our rejected wedding ideas. Some of these ideas came from me, Steven, my family, and a few of my friends. Now, all of these ideas were ACTUAL ideas that were being considered for our wedding, but have since been rejected. Enjoy!

• Having my parents dog, Doofer, escort Brooklyn down the aisle while wearing a top hat and cumberbun. This idea wasn't rejected because Doofer doesn't look absolutely dashing in a top hat (because he does), but because Doofer has a bad habit of being overly-dramatic emotionally (he's a cry baby), and being incredibly territorial (he uses his hind legs to kick dirt and sand in people's faces).
• Steven wearing a formal tuxedo from the waist-up, but swimming trunks from the waist-down. Sorta shaking up the whole idea of "business in the front, party in the back."
• My friend Tyler Nash dressing like Jesus (ala robe and sandals) and acting as our wedding officiant. If you know Nash, you'd know that this is completely do-able since he already shares a similar fashion aesthetic with Jesus, i.e. the long hair and scraggly beard.
• Having a ventriloquist act as our wedding officiant.
• Having a ventriloquist (dressed as Jesus), with his dummy doll (dressed as a Rabbi), act as our wedding officiant, while doing some sort of comically witty satire of modern religious culture.
• Using the train from my wedding gown as a cape post-wedding.
• My friend Tyler Nash escorting me and Steven away from our wedding reception in a 4-man paddle boat filled with beer.
• Putting a Scuba Steve in all the punch bowls.
• Having Steven wear a Broadway-esque tuxedo with a top hat and a cane, that secretly has a sword hidden inside. (Right now, Steven is reading that and saying, "Wait...that's been rejected?")
• Building a giant wedding cake with a false center. Then tricking Steven into standing next to the cake to "get his picture taken," then me busting out of the false top of the cake and smashing him in the face with a Boston cream pie. Okay, me and my friend Rachel came up with this idea, and I'm almost ashamed to admit that this was a legitimate plan for an entire week! Rachel and I thought it was a great idea, and the plan only got squashed when my mom pronounced it ridiculous AND mean. Honestly, I still want to do it. But I have my doubts on whether or not we could fit a giant Lacy-sized cake through the door. Rachel thinks we can.