The first night we brought him home I cried. "We made a mistake", I thought, as he chased the cats until they hissed and clawed, as he knocked my cereal bowl over spilling it on my lace table cloth, as he toppled over the candles on the kitchen table and jumped up on couches, counters, beds .. this was a BIG mistake, huge. Chris and I sat across the living room from one another, my fingers tangled in his collar trying to keep him sitting still, unsuccessfully. "He won't stop," we kept repeating in disbelief as the animal's energy seemed to increase as the night went on, "What do we do? It's unnatural!"
I couldn't believe it. I've waited over ten years to have a dog of my own. How is that not the all American dream? A husband, a house and a dog; perfect. And yet here we were, staring with heads shaking at our newest addition; Satan. Surely the rescue center forgot to tell us about his mental instability. Clearly they left out the part that he hasn't slept in 3 months and is living on the pure energy of evil. I kept playing the scene over and over again as we take the walk of shame into the pound, demand our money back, and I start crying and shaking my fist, shouting "el diablo! el diablo!". How did we get here?
The first night was torture. I laid in bed beside Chris absolutely frozen in fear that had I have turned over, sighed heavily, or repositioned .. fire would leap from the foot of our bed, animating the foul beast once again in unholy possession. So I remained in one spot for the entire night. My back was killing me, my eyes were heavy throughout the day, but I managed not to stir the demon until 6:15am. Granted, my alarm was set for 7:30am, but it wasn't so bad. Now for breakfast .. do I feed it dead baby limbs or shaved kittens? What does one feed something so nightmarish? I went with dog food, and luckily this appeased the nether-gods.
The next day both Chris and I had prior obligations with family and we were out of the house for a majority of the day. I prepared myself, upon arriving home first, that the house would be torn to shreds, the cats mauled, all the legs on the furniture chewed to nubs, and feces and urine splattered throughout the entirety of the home. I opened the door reluctantly at first, even looked over my shoulder and glared for added effect. I pushed the door open and was absolutely caught off guard by what I found. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight before me. My expectations were nowhere near accurate as I stood in the doorway, mouth agape at the scene in our small Long Island cape. Nothing.
Nothing was out of place, nothing was broken, nothing was ruined and the overwhelming scent of doo-doo lined walls wasn't permeating through the air. Everything was as we left it. I found the dog quietly laying on the bedroom floor on his pillow. "I've caught you. Don't think I'm falling for this. You've murdered the cats, haven't you?" I scoured the house for the bloody remains of our once Siamese cats, but once again I was baffled when both cats were in tact and sleeping in a nearby office chair. I spent the next 5 minutes checking each possible source of chaos in the house and found that everything was normal. He slowly came out of the room with a yawn and a lick to my hand and he strolled over to the back door. I let him out, he went potty immediately and then returned inside to greet me happily, and have his head pat.
Don't get me wrong, he was nowhere near perfect. He hadn't sat down (in our company) for more than 5 minutes and I'd yet to see him relax. He continued pacing the house, back and forth, as if looking for something or someone. Though he remained anxious throughout the evening, the real breakthrough came later on as Chris and I sat down to watch "Shawshank Redemption". Right there as they were tarring the roof and drinking cold beers something amazing happened. The dog laid down. And not just for a second because we told him to, or because he was stalking a bug, but because he was tired. As if the demons had lifted from his body, he laid down and napped. He stirred once, moved positions, and laid down again. He was finally becoming comfortable in his new surroundings.
Owning a pre-owned dog was a new experience for me. He knew things, commands, actions, that clearly denoted someone had taught him. He knew to "sit" and "down", but there were a few surprises along the way. I suppose this is how other adoptive parents of rescued pets feel when they learn things about their new, but someone's old, pet. I was surprised that when I asked, "where's your toy?" he immediately ran over to one of his stuffed animals and brought it over. That must have been a coincidence, I thought as I asked the same question again, with the same response. I don't need to be redundant for you to get the point; he knew what that meant. Then there was "drop it", another fun discovery as we played ball in the backyard one day. Not to mention the barking to go out and the paw in the dish when the water is finished. I suppose I forgot he wasn't a puppy, new to learning all these experiences, but someone had loved him before us, cared for him, and it showed.
Through my sister-in-law, we became acquainted with the local off-leash dog-park. He LOVES it!! He runs the equivalent of miles chasing and being chased by his new friends. And I get the satisfaction of a peaceful house when he comes home and naps all afternoon. You know, I just realized that's exactly why parents take their children to the playground. 'Socializing skills' my ass, they just want the kids to go down for a nap without a fight. Tricky parents, very tricky. Well now I was one of those moms and enjoyed my time outdoors talking to the other owners, and the quiet house I returned home to. The routine was forming and I was liking it.
Now, though he's still a bit rambunctious with the cats and has a bit of separation anxiety, he's doing much better. It's difficult for him to remain in one room if we leave for another and he can't be left alone in the backyard without begging and barking to come inside. It's something we'll have to work on in the days ahead. Suggestions welcome if anyone has any good tips on rehabilitating rescue dogs. Overall, he's a wonderful dog. He even let me dress him up in a rubber-ducky rain slicker yesterday. His temperament is perfection, his loyalty unmatched. His hyperactivity .. needs some working on, but otherwise I couldn't be happier with how he's rounding out in his new home. I'm glad too, because that animal exorcist was overpriced and I knew it.
The Trials of Being a Novice Wife
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
No Backsies.
There was a to-do list a mile long before we could adopt a dog. When we moved into our house just under a year and a half ago, we knew the task before us was daunting. We had to gut an entire house on the inside and the outside and start from scratch. Its bones were solid but its face needed a lift, like a Joan Rivers level of lift. So we set about completing the list one by one and now, 16 months later there is still, unfortunately, plenty to do .. probably how Joan Rivers feels.
A while back I asked Chris about adopting a dog. Like the second or third day we moved into the house that smelled like cat urine and mold. (We used bleach, not sure what Joan uses). It seemed fairly obvious it wasn't the right time, but I don't have a filter for these things. I thought the dog would merely learn to poop around the construction debris in the backyard and he would be too smart to just walk through the large gaping holes in the decrepit wooden fence to escape. I thought we'd just keep some lights on so he wouldn't fall through the 10x10 hole in the middle of the living room floor. So what if he had to eat his food from a paper plate? .. we've not been spared the same refinements. And the list went on. "There are nails sticking up every 5 inches on the kitchen floor," was one lame excuse Chris gave me to which I responded, "One of those kangaroo baby backpacks.." It was beyond me why he shot that one down before I finished my brilliant idea.
Needless to say, I let Chris win that argument. When I started explaining my idea for doggie hard hats and construction boots, I think I lost legitimacy. So we waited. I spent my free time fantasizing about owning a puppy of our own and I'm pretty sure he was just fantasizing about static IP addresses, nuclear reactions .. or whatever else those computer science guys think about. My plight, however, was far from over. After we tied the knot, it was time to revisit the idea all over again. Now we had a real hard-wood floor, without gaping holes and everything. We had walls and windows and the backyard was almost free of toilet bowls, broken glass and shards of wood. I thought it would have been a dog's fantasy to step outside to an obstacle course of porcelain thrones, but now we'll never know.
We were real adults. We paid bills, cooked dinner on our stove, ate at our kitchen table, and took the lazy way out of cleaning up with our dish washer. We made the bed, did the laundry and vacuumed regularly. We were so ready. Imagine my surprise when I was told the UPSTAIRS needed to be completed of its construction as well. What deception! Right when I let my guard down and started picking out names, he drops that bomb-shell along with another doozy of a request .. I had to bring home a steady income. I'm an artist. When has that ever been steady? It was almost unfair to ask. da Vinci's wife didn't withhold meals from him until he was able to sell 2.5 paintings a week. Michelangelo's breath wasn't usurped from his lungs baring his statues sold 3 times a month for a fair market value! Alright, so it wasn't so dramatic of a request in hind-sight and since then I've created a solid business plan, locked down a commission, and expanded my promotional advertisements. Damn you, Chris, you've won again.
Researching dog breeds proved to be time-consuming and difficult. There are so many reasons why each breed might rip out the eyes of your newborn. At first, I loved English bulldogs. They only live 8 years? I've had fish that have outlasted that. Poor genetics would not have me burying Fido in single-digit years. Oh no. French bulldogs then. What do you mean they're unintelligent and difficult to train? .. haven't you seen the wrinkles in their faces?, surely that means they are wise and plagued with the cross of knowledge to bear. No? Forget it.
Then the Bloodhound caught my eye. They were adorable with their long, droopy faces and their thick Savannah drawl. To my surprise, this was another dog that was estimated to last fewer years than the scrunchie fad. Moving on. Then it was the coon/hound which quickly segued into the Beagle and Basset-hound. When we discovered all of those breeds played the game of "selective deafness" when they caught a scent and took off, I decided there could only be one MVP at my house and he wasn't willing to give up his title.
Setters shed too much. Golden Retrievers were a bit too common. Border Collies are too fixated on herding and I will not be rounded up and hog-tied. So the search continued until we landed on this little gem: German Shorthair Pointer. It has the head of a Chocolate Labrado, the body of a Dalmatian and the tallons of a griffin. One of those things is not true. Loves the water, is active, a great companion, good watch-dog, and listed #17 in a scientific evaluation of canine intelligence. Well that says it all. And now for the kicker; it lives an average of 14-16 years. That's more like it.
Pedigree prices are out of the question. Not only can we not afford the royal fee for said pooch, but we liked the idea of second-chance adoption. So we took to the rescue centers in search of a dog and found that experience to be a 'hairy' one. Our favorite memory was when one of the volunteers tried duping us into adopting the Son of Sam's canine equivalent.
"We're looking for a working-class dog. Something like a labrador, perhaps. Good for a family, a great companion and smart. But overall a good personality goes a long way," I explained to the young man. "Sure. This dog over here is perfect." He lead us to the cage and meandered off .. likely to watch our reaction with a group of his buddies through the glass window of the Meet and Greet room.
We walked over to the cage and peeked inside. This thing was rabid, for sure. It growled so viciously its teeth were encapsulated in foamy discharge. It snapped when you put your fingers anywhere near the gate. It looked like a mix between a pitbull and a wild Nicaraguan dog paired with a festering case of glaucoma and mange. Yes, this is exactly what I had just described, "I want a dog that could chew the hand off a toddler while simultaneously clawing out grandma's eyes. Yes, perfect, that's the one!" Not two moments later a little girl walked by with her mother and the dog were berserk, attacking the gate like he hadn't eaten in a week and she was wearing Lady Gaga's steak dress. "Where's the adoption papers? I'm in!"
We went home a little defeated in our findings but a little hopeful that we found the star for the remake of Kujo. The research continued until we found the diamond in the rough. Well, not even. It was more like just finding a diamond .. in a dirty public bathroom. There he was. Scoob. Scoob was a two year old German Shorthair Pointer, recently dropped off to a shelter only a few towns over. According to his biography, his owner was a good man who realized he hadn't the time to spend with the dog and keeping him crated wasn't a proper way of life. He was house-trained and already knew how to sit and lay on command. I immediately jumped in the car the next day and took off to meet him. He was even more handsome in person with a personality to match. He was a full grown puppy and was more than ready to find his forever home. "We own our house, have a backyard, and work from home!" I nearly shouted at the volunteer as I filled out the application .. for realsy this time.
That's where we left it. Our application is currently under review and we'll know in a few days if we found our forever dog. But, we still have much research to do .. for names. A second-chance dog deserves a reinvention, a rebirth, a redo. "Scoob" was an unfortunate shoot and a miss as was his two years spent in a crate. It's time for a new name for Scoob. "No-Backsies" was an option we thought he might appreciate.
By the way, I know this other great dog at a shelter you might be interested in if you have a toddler and are living with your grandma ...
A while back I asked Chris about adopting a dog. Like the second or third day we moved into the house that smelled like cat urine and mold. (We used bleach, not sure what Joan uses). It seemed fairly obvious it wasn't the right time, but I don't have a filter for these things. I thought the dog would merely learn to poop around the construction debris in the backyard and he would be too smart to just walk through the large gaping holes in the decrepit wooden fence to escape. I thought we'd just keep some lights on so he wouldn't fall through the 10x10 hole in the middle of the living room floor. So what if he had to eat his food from a paper plate? .. we've not been spared the same refinements. And the list went on. "There are nails sticking up every 5 inches on the kitchen floor," was one lame excuse Chris gave me to which I responded, "One of those kangaroo baby backpacks.." It was beyond me why he shot that one down before I finished my brilliant idea.
Needless to say, I let Chris win that argument. When I started explaining my idea for doggie hard hats and construction boots, I think I lost legitimacy. So we waited. I spent my free time fantasizing about owning a puppy of our own and I'm pretty sure he was just fantasizing about static IP addresses, nuclear reactions .. or whatever else those computer science guys think about. My plight, however, was far from over. After we tied the knot, it was time to revisit the idea all over again. Now we had a real hard-wood floor, without gaping holes and everything. We had walls and windows and the backyard was almost free of toilet bowls, broken glass and shards of wood. I thought it would have been a dog's fantasy to step outside to an obstacle course of porcelain thrones, but now we'll never know.
We were real adults. We paid bills, cooked dinner on our stove, ate at our kitchen table, and took the lazy way out of cleaning up with our dish washer. We made the bed, did the laundry and vacuumed regularly. We were so ready. Imagine my surprise when I was told the UPSTAIRS needed to be completed of its construction as well. What deception! Right when I let my guard down and started picking out names, he drops that bomb-shell along with another doozy of a request .. I had to bring home a steady income. I'm an artist. When has that ever been steady? It was almost unfair to ask. da Vinci's wife didn't withhold meals from him until he was able to sell 2.5 paintings a week. Michelangelo's breath wasn't usurped from his lungs baring his statues sold 3 times a month for a fair market value! Alright, so it wasn't so dramatic of a request in hind-sight and since then I've created a solid business plan, locked down a commission, and expanded my promotional advertisements. Damn you, Chris, you've won again.
Researching dog breeds proved to be time-consuming and difficult. There are so many reasons why each breed might rip out the eyes of your newborn. At first, I loved English bulldogs. They only live 8 years? I've had fish that have outlasted that. Poor genetics would not have me burying Fido in single-digit years. Oh no. French bulldogs then. What do you mean they're unintelligent and difficult to train? .. haven't you seen the wrinkles in their faces?, surely that means they are wise and plagued with the cross of knowledge to bear. No? Forget it.
Then the Bloodhound caught my eye. They were adorable with their long, droopy faces and their thick Savannah drawl. To my surprise, this was another dog that was estimated to last fewer years than the scrunchie fad. Moving on. Then it was the coon/hound which quickly segued into the Beagle and Basset-hound. When we discovered all of those breeds played the game of "selective deafness" when they caught a scent and took off, I decided there could only be one MVP at my house and he wasn't willing to give up his title.
Setters shed too much. Golden Retrievers were a bit too common. Border Collies are too fixated on herding and I will not be rounded up and hog-tied. So the search continued until we landed on this little gem: German Shorthair Pointer. It has the head of a Chocolate Labrado, the body of a Dalmatian and the tallons of a griffin. One of those things is not true. Loves the water, is active, a great companion, good watch-dog, and listed #17 in a scientific evaluation of canine intelligence. Well that says it all. And now for the kicker; it lives an average of 14-16 years. That's more like it.
Pedigree prices are out of the question. Not only can we not afford the royal fee for said pooch, but we liked the idea of second-chance adoption. So we took to the rescue centers in search of a dog and found that experience to be a 'hairy' one. Our favorite memory was when one of the volunteers tried duping us into adopting the Son of Sam's canine equivalent.
"We're looking for a working-class dog. Something like a labrador, perhaps. Good for a family, a great companion and smart. But overall a good personality goes a long way," I explained to the young man. "Sure. This dog over here is perfect." He lead us to the cage and meandered off .. likely to watch our reaction with a group of his buddies through the glass window of the Meet and Greet room.
We walked over to the cage and peeked inside. This thing was rabid, for sure. It growled so viciously its teeth were encapsulated in foamy discharge. It snapped when you put your fingers anywhere near the gate. It looked like a mix between a pitbull and a wild Nicaraguan dog paired with a festering case of glaucoma and mange. Yes, this is exactly what I had just described, "I want a dog that could chew the hand off a toddler while simultaneously clawing out grandma's eyes. Yes, perfect, that's the one!" Not two moments later a little girl walked by with her mother and the dog were berserk, attacking the gate like he hadn't eaten in a week and she was wearing Lady Gaga's steak dress. "Where's the adoption papers? I'm in!"
We went home a little defeated in our findings but a little hopeful that we found the star for the remake of Kujo. The research continued until we found the diamond in the rough. Well, not even. It was more like just finding a diamond .. in a dirty public bathroom. There he was. Scoob. Scoob was a two year old German Shorthair Pointer, recently dropped off to a shelter only a few towns over. According to his biography, his owner was a good man who realized he hadn't the time to spend with the dog and keeping him crated wasn't a proper way of life. He was house-trained and already knew how to sit and lay on command. I immediately jumped in the car the next day and took off to meet him. He was even more handsome in person with a personality to match. He was a full grown puppy and was more than ready to find his forever home. "We own our house, have a backyard, and work from home!" I nearly shouted at the volunteer as I filled out the application .. for realsy this time.
That's where we left it. Our application is currently under review and we'll know in a few days if we found our forever dog. But, we still have much research to do .. for names. A second-chance dog deserves a reinvention, a rebirth, a redo. "Scoob" was an unfortunate shoot and a miss as was his two years spent in a crate. It's time for a new name for Scoob. "No-Backsies" was an option we thought he might appreciate.
By the way, I know this other great dog at a shelter you might be interested in if you have a toddler and are living with your grandma ...
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Just Short of THIS.
I was a bit disillusioned, I must admit. Your wedding day. Such hype. Such anticipation. And yet while discussing lace tablecloths, aisle runners, and cake fillings, nobody remembers to mention that you'd be 'winging' half of your table seating because Sally Sue and Uncle Wilbur will forget the importance of the reply card. Nobody wanted to invite Sally Sue either, she was a last-minute obligation invite.
And the corsages? Who carelessly didn't mention that it's proper protocol for each of the readers to receive one? And candles .. oh, those damn candles. On top of everything else, I was supposed to remember to buy tea-lights? Wasn't there a candle attendant who handles that? He must have played hooky that day and took my program designer with him. And this nonsense about a 'mailbox'? I thought a white pillow case (or a fancy sham to be classe') would have worked perfectly. I was going to stuff it like I do with Halloween candy. Sans the shaving cream and eggs.
It was a whirlwind of last minute forgot-to-dos that I felt helpless against. And imagine me sitting there on my couch, lazily sipping a cup of coffee only a few days prior, pompously thinking I was on top of the game. Heavens no. I should have been using that leisurely afternoon to double check the tuxedo orders that would inevitably leave two groomsmen walking down the aisle with the wrong collars. Or maybe even spent the afternoon printing out the seating chart that ended up having to be rush ordered the day before and picked up in Hauppauge. Who the hell lives in Hauppauge?
But all that aside, it brought me such joy the morning of the wedding when the circuits kept popping because there were too many blow-dryers working at the same time. Running up and down the basement stairs really gave me that last-minute workout that all brides really don't get to experience enough. No need for a StairMaster. I've got it covered, thank you. I'm just waiting for my lip-sweat to start beading and falling down my chin then I'll be all set.
I think it might have been 104 degrees in my house that morning and not a breeze in the entire state of New York. I had a towel wrapped around my neck like I was watching a Jane Fonda work out on VHS (I just assume they haven't converted them to DVD). Hold on .. my washing machine cycle is finished. I do that stuff now. I'm a wife.
... ... ...
Where was I? Ah, yes. The wedding. The night before the wedding Chris, myself, his brother Steven, my best friend Emily and my mother would be running around doing all the jobs that the attendants skipped out on. Off to Michaels to buy a mailbox. A frame for the seating chart? Oh no, of course we didn't get that yet. We'll swing by and do that after we head to HAUPPAUGE. We need to wash all the votive holders for the tea-lights? Why didn't my servant do that already? What do we pay her for!?? Oh that's right. This isn't a Louisiana plantation in the nineteenth century. I'll do all 100 them. Easy as cake. Cake. Cake. Did anyone drop off the cake topper to the catering hall? ..
Finally it was out of our hands. There was nothing more that could be done and I came to the reluctant realization that if it wasn't done by now, we would go without. I would have to let everything else roll off my shoulders, even when the limo driver accused me of not telling him I needed the aisle runner. "C'est la vie", right? I might as well be eating a croissant I was feeling so French. I could probably heat it up on my forehead. But there are some moments that stick with you. Some profound memory that you won't forget, despite how seemingly insignificant to the day they might have been. While still laying in bed, something like 5:30am, my mother rolled over, smiled and said, "It's your wedding day!" To which I opened my eyes, sneered and said, "Don't remind me."
And in spite of all of that, I got married. I was standing behind the glass doors of the church entrance, only able to see the blurred, distorted faces of the guests that had joined us that afternoon on September 4th, 2011. My arm was tucked into my father's, my dress was fluffed, the music started and I took the first shaky step through the front doors and into the rest of my life. 3:26pm. There was a photo taken at that very moment and if you look closely it almost looks like I'm dragging my father along with me. Either I was too excited or he was thinking of bolting to the door before too many people noticed. If I was a betting woman ...
My mind, so fixated on smiling and looking at everyone for 'photos ops' nearly forgot that Chris was waiting on the other end of that walk. I finally looked up, caught his eye and thought, "Oh, Chris is here!" It was sort of the equivalent of him knocking on the front door because he forgot his keys and me greeting him with a shriek of joy and, "I haven't seen you in so long! I'm so glad you stopped by! Come in! Come in!" I don't know how I forgot, but I just did. And there he was, smiling nervously just the way he did when he proposed. I expect to see that smile again, but not for a little while. I think that makes its special.
Everything felt serene and surreal at the same time. It wasn't really happening. I was too young. I was still a little girl and this was just play-time. How could I be a wife? I still wipe my nose on my sleeve when I can't find a tissue. I still flips socks inside out when I haven't done laundry. I figure if I put tin-foil on a cookie sheet, I never have to clean it. How can someone think this is appropriate? It felt like I was getting the 'go ahead' nod from some pimple-faced teenager at a roller coaster sign that reads, 'You Must Be THIS Tall to Ride' and I was clearly a few inches short of 'THIS'. Someone would notice. And if not, I was obviously going to fall out of the coaster's safety harnesses and plummet to my premature death. No, I'm not comparing my marriage to my premature death .. well, I just did but that wasn't my point. I just felt like I was somehow cheating. Like I was getting away with something I wasn't allowed to have yet. When was my mom going to stand up and say, "Moo, (my nickname since I was, say, 2) you're just a little too young for this. Here, hop down. We'll get you a boyfriend instead. One that's just right for my big girl." This is so weird, but, that never happened. They let me go though with it and I didn't even fall out of the safety harness.
Oh and girls, I put a little vaseline on my finger earlier that day. Helped the ring slide right on! Princess Kate has nothing on me. But it's always a good idea to tip the groom-to-be in on the "twisting" technique. Push and twist. Push. and. twist.
The reception. Unfortunately we only had an hour long reception, including the cocktails, so it went by extraordinarily fast. Oh no. I'm mistaken. We had a cocktail two-hour, and a four and a half hour reception. My mistake. Either way, it went by very fast. Here are some things I remember from the wedding. The rasberry champagne in the bridal suite was perfection and so utterly necessary. Two .. maybe three glasses down the hatch. Both Chris and I made a face when the band leader tried to pronounce our last name and butchered it on the grand entrance. Our first dance went well, Chris held an even tempo the whole time. A grand champagne pop. Maybe salad? Was there salad? No, it was shrimp on a pastry. I remember the shrimp and I'll admit I only remember the pastry part from pictures. So that's half a point. I remember 'Poker Face' and how I was glad they chose that Lady Gaga song, it's my favorite. I remember wondering if I told them it was. I remember 'Jailhouse Rock' because I requested it for my dad. He loves that song. Then it transitioned right into 'Hound Dog', how clever; an Elvis Double Feature.
I remember the speeches very well. Both Emily and Steve did a wonderful job and both of them took shots at Chris. That was the best part. He stuck his face in a napkin he was laughing so hard. It might have even been from embarrassment: bonus. Emily spoke about how she knew Chris was the one for me and Steve spoke about how he knew I was the one for Chris. Who knew a slap on the ass and a 'friendly elephant' knee to the posterior would make such an impact. And who knew butts would play such a large roll in our lives. Well, I sort of always knew.
I remember starting to eat dinner and unsuccessfully taking a few bites before being whisked off to do 'the rounds'. I wanted to talk to everyone and sit down at each table, but I knew there was only a limited amount of time to see everyone who had come. I think you'd need a 7 hour reception to really enjoy everyone's company. But again, I only had the hour. I danced so hard my side started to ache, so I went and sat down on my dad's lap. When I got up, his older brother took my spot. A great photo followed. I didn't cry during the Father-Daughter dance, but I made sure not to look up at my mom at any point, that've ruined me. There were camera flashes everywhere. I got so used to having my picture taken that I even told my dad to lower his hand so they could see our faces. I was becoming a pro. The cake cutting. Chris turned to my mom and gave her a little laugh and a nod. She swore that if he smashed it in my face, she would murder him on the dance floor and stomp on his corpse. That was his way of teasing her to the very end. He fed me nicely .. and I put some frosting on his nose. Photo op.
"I'm so happy you came." "It's so nice to meet you." "Thank you for coming." "So nice to see you." "Thank you for coming so far." "I'm so glad you're here." "Thank you." "Thank you." "Thank you." "Thanks." "Are you having a good time?" "Thank you." "Let's get together after all this!" "Thank you." I wanted to be gracious but my cheeks hurt from smiling and my tongue felt dry. Where was my bridal attendant when I need a drink? Oh there she is, walking behind me and carrying my veil. That was so weird. Don't get me wrong though- I just put out an ad on Craigslist to see if an intern wants to dress in medieval garb and tag along while holding my purse. Someone will.
I think the last song of the night was "Shout", but I'm not 100 on that one. It was definitely played though .. so half point. I couldn't find my purse at the end of the night, my bridal attendant already had it waiting for me on the table as we were leaving. Maybe she'll answer my ad. We got into the limo and we were exhausted and mildly cranky. We asked the driver what some of the weirdest bridal experiences were, sort of trying to trivialize any of our short-comings that day. He told us a story of a time when he was driving a groom to the church and on the way he asked to stop for a drink. The limo stopped at bar and ten minutes passed. The driver, Jim, went into the bar to try and keep things on schedule. "I'm not going", the groom said. Right then and there I was so incredibly thankful that Chris just showed up.
All in all, there's no way of being prepared for the day. Nobody warns you about all the little things that leap out at you last minute. I walked down the aisle without a runner, but I bet you nobody noticed. Two groomsmen wore different shirts, but I bet you nobody noticed. At some point my flowers got swapped with a bridesmaid and I had the wrong bouquet, but I bet you nobody noticed. It's great to try to get everything done. It's honorable to give it your best shot. But in the end, as I learned, it's more about the fact that we just showed up.
So in the end I got the ride without being THIS tall. I didn't get caught. I held on tight. I closed my eyes and before I knew it I was white-knuckle, looping through the air. So if you're fearful that you're not THIS tall, that you won't be allowed, that you're not old enough.. Just get on the line because you never know who's working the ride that day and YOUR tall might just be tall enough.
There's the dryer signal.
And the corsages? Who carelessly didn't mention that it's proper protocol for each of the readers to receive one? And candles .. oh, those damn candles. On top of everything else, I was supposed to remember to buy tea-lights? Wasn't there a candle attendant who handles that? He must have played hooky that day and took my program designer with him. And this nonsense about a 'mailbox'? I thought a white pillow case (or a fancy sham to be classe') would have worked perfectly. I was going to stuff it like I do with Halloween candy. Sans the shaving cream and eggs.
It was a whirlwind of last minute forgot-to-dos that I felt helpless against. And imagine me sitting there on my couch, lazily sipping a cup of coffee only a few days prior, pompously thinking I was on top of the game. Heavens no. I should have been using that leisurely afternoon to double check the tuxedo orders that would inevitably leave two groomsmen walking down the aisle with the wrong collars. Or maybe even spent the afternoon printing out the seating chart that ended up having to be rush ordered the day before and picked up in Hauppauge. Who the hell lives in Hauppauge?
But all that aside, it brought me such joy the morning of the wedding when the circuits kept popping because there were too many blow-dryers working at the same time. Running up and down the basement stairs really gave me that last-minute workout that all brides really don't get to experience enough. No need for a StairMaster. I've got it covered, thank you. I'm just waiting for my lip-sweat to start beading and falling down my chin then I'll be all set.
I think it might have been 104 degrees in my house that morning and not a breeze in the entire state of New York. I had a towel wrapped around my neck like I was watching a Jane Fonda work out on VHS (I just assume they haven't converted them to DVD). Hold on .. my washing machine cycle is finished. I do that stuff now. I'm a wife.
... ... ...
Where was I? Ah, yes. The wedding. The night before the wedding Chris, myself, his brother Steven, my best friend Emily and my mother would be running around doing all the jobs that the attendants skipped out on. Off to Michaels to buy a mailbox. A frame for the seating chart? Oh no, of course we didn't get that yet. We'll swing by and do that after we head to HAUPPAUGE. We need to wash all the votive holders for the tea-lights? Why didn't my servant do that already? What do we pay her for!?? Oh that's right. This isn't a Louisiana plantation in the nineteenth century. I'll do all 100 them. Easy as cake. Cake. Cake. Did anyone drop off the cake topper to the catering hall? ..
Finally it was out of our hands. There was nothing more that could be done and I came to the reluctant realization that if it wasn't done by now, we would go without. I would have to let everything else roll off my shoulders, even when the limo driver accused me of not telling him I needed the aisle runner. "C'est la vie", right? I might as well be eating a croissant I was feeling so French. I could probably heat it up on my forehead. But there are some moments that stick with you. Some profound memory that you won't forget, despite how seemingly insignificant to the day they might have been. While still laying in bed, something like 5:30am, my mother rolled over, smiled and said, "It's your wedding day!" To which I opened my eyes, sneered and said, "Don't remind me."
And in spite of all of that, I got married. I was standing behind the glass doors of the church entrance, only able to see the blurred, distorted faces of the guests that had joined us that afternoon on September 4th, 2011. My arm was tucked into my father's, my dress was fluffed, the music started and I took the first shaky step through the front doors and into the rest of my life. 3:26pm. There was a photo taken at that very moment and if you look closely it almost looks like I'm dragging my father along with me. Either I was too excited or he was thinking of bolting to the door before too many people noticed. If I was a betting woman ...
My mind, so fixated on smiling and looking at everyone for 'photos ops' nearly forgot that Chris was waiting on the other end of that walk. I finally looked up, caught his eye and thought, "Oh, Chris is here!" It was sort of the equivalent of him knocking on the front door because he forgot his keys and me greeting him with a shriek of joy and, "I haven't seen you in so long! I'm so glad you stopped by! Come in! Come in!" I don't know how I forgot, but I just did. And there he was, smiling nervously just the way he did when he proposed. I expect to see that smile again, but not for a little while. I think that makes its special.
Everything felt serene and surreal at the same time. It wasn't really happening. I was too young. I was still a little girl and this was just play-time. How could I be a wife? I still wipe my nose on my sleeve when I can't find a tissue. I still flips socks inside out when I haven't done laundry. I figure if I put tin-foil on a cookie sheet, I never have to clean it. How can someone think this is appropriate? It felt like I was getting the 'go ahead' nod from some pimple-faced teenager at a roller coaster sign that reads, 'You Must Be THIS Tall to Ride' and I was clearly a few inches short of 'THIS'. Someone would notice. And if not, I was obviously going to fall out of the coaster's safety harnesses and plummet to my premature death. No, I'm not comparing my marriage to my premature death .. well, I just did but that wasn't my point. I just felt like I was somehow cheating. Like I was getting away with something I wasn't allowed to have yet. When was my mom going to stand up and say, "Moo, (my nickname since I was, say, 2) you're just a little too young for this. Here, hop down. We'll get you a boyfriend instead. One that's just right for my big girl." This is so weird, but, that never happened. They let me go though with it and I didn't even fall out of the safety harness.
Oh and girls, I put a little vaseline on my finger earlier that day. Helped the ring slide right on! Princess Kate has nothing on me. But it's always a good idea to tip the groom-to-be in on the "twisting" technique. Push and twist. Push. and. twist.
The reception. Unfortunately we only had an hour long reception, including the cocktails, so it went by extraordinarily fast. Oh no. I'm mistaken. We had a cocktail two-hour, and a four and a half hour reception. My mistake. Either way, it went by very fast. Here are some things I remember from the wedding. The rasberry champagne in the bridal suite was perfection and so utterly necessary. Two .. maybe three glasses down the hatch. Both Chris and I made a face when the band leader tried to pronounce our last name and butchered it on the grand entrance. Our first dance went well, Chris held an even tempo the whole time. A grand champagne pop. Maybe salad? Was there salad? No, it was shrimp on a pastry. I remember the shrimp and I'll admit I only remember the pastry part from pictures. So that's half a point. I remember 'Poker Face' and how I was glad they chose that Lady Gaga song, it's my favorite. I remember wondering if I told them it was. I remember 'Jailhouse Rock' because I requested it for my dad. He loves that song. Then it transitioned right into 'Hound Dog', how clever; an Elvis Double Feature.
I remember the speeches very well. Both Emily and Steve did a wonderful job and both of them took shots at Chris. That was the best part. He stuck his face in a napkin he was laughing so hard. It might have even been from embarrassment: bonus. Emily spoke about how she knew Chris was the one for me and Steve spoke about how he knew I was the one for Chris. Who knew a slap on the ass and a 'friendly elephant' knee to the posterior would make such an impact. And who knew butts would play such a large roll in our lives. Well, I sort of always knew.
I remember starting to eat dinner and unsuccessfully taking a few bites before being whisked off to do 'the rounds'. I wanted to talk to everyone and sit down at each table, but I knew there was only a limited amount of time to see everyone who had come. I think you'd need a 7 hour reception to really enjoy everyone's company. But again, I only had the hour. I danced so hard my side started to ache, so I went and sat down on my dad's lap. When I got up, his older brother took my spot. A great photo followed. I didn't cry during the Father-Daughter dance, but I made sure not to look up at my mom at any point, that've ruined me. There were camera flashes everywhere. I got so used to having my picture taken that I even told my dad to lower his hand so they could see our faces. I was becoming a pro. The cake cutting. Chris turned to my mom and gave her a little laugh and a nod. She swore that if he smashed it in my face, she would murder him on the dance floor and stomp on his corpse. That was his way of teasing her to the very end. He fed me nicely .. and I put some frosting on his nose. Photo op.
"I'm so happy you came." "It's so nice to meet you." "Thank you for coming." "So nice to see you." "Thank you for coming so far." "I'm so glad you're here." "Thank you." "Thank you." "Thank you." "Thanks." "Are you having a good time?" "Thank you." "Let's get together after all this!" "Thank you." I wanted to be gracious but my cheeks hurt from smiling and my tongue felt dry. Where was my bridal attendant when I need a drink? Oh there she is, walking behind me and carrying my veil. That was so weird. Don't get me wrong though- I just put out an ad on Craigslist to see if an intern wants to dress in medieval garb and tag along while holding my purse. Someone will.
I think the last song of the night was "Shout", but I'm not 100 on that one. It was definitely played though .. so half point. I couldn't find my purse at the end of the night, my bridal attendant already had it waiting for me on the table as we were leaving. Maybe she'll answer my ad. We got into the limo and we were exhausted and mildly cranky. We asked the driver what some of the weirdest bridal experiences were, sort of trying to trivialize any of our short-comings that day. He told us a story of a time when he was driving a groom to the church and on the way he asked to stop for a drink. The limo stopped at bar and ten minutes passed. The driver, Jim, went into the bar to try and keep things on schedule. "I'm not going", the groom said. Right then and there I was so incredibly thankful that Chris just showed up.
All in all, there's no way of being prepared for the day. Nobody warns you about all the little things that leap out at you last minute. I walked down the aisle without a runner, but I bet you nobody noticed. Two groomsmen wore different shirts, but I bet you nobody noticed. At some point my flowers got swapped with a bridesmaid and I had the wrong bouquet, but I bet you nobody noticed. It's great to try to get everything done. It's honorable to give it your best shot. But in the end, as I learned, it's more about the fact that we just showed up.
So in the end I got the ride without being THIS tall. I didn't get caught. I held on tight. I closed my eyes and before I knew it I was white-knuckle, looping through the air. So if you're fearful that you're not THIS tall, that you won't be allowed, that you're not old enough.. Just get on the line because you never know who's working the ride that day and YOUR tall might just be tall enough.
There's the dryer signal.
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