To Whom it May Concern

One teensy little detail that I'd not given very much attention to (until last night) was addresses.

I've been in the process of compiling our addresses so that when I'm done assembling our save the dates, in a perfect world, that they'll be ready to be slipped into a mailbox. Hands clean. Done. I had no idea how silly of a girl I am until last night. As soon as J proposed, seriously adorable, he started a spreadsheet for our musical choices because that's one thing he's a huge stickler for. He also started a tab for addresses. And all those little return addresses I'd been ripping off mail for the last two years, those puppies came marching out and made a home on our spreadsheet. Easy, right?

But what about those divorced women who kept their married names? What about those married women who didn't "retain their maiden names," but instead hyphenated? What if one of those women is a doctor? And her husband is a retired Army Officer? And good gracious, do we really have an Esquire coming to our wedding??? Sigh.

They say the devil is in the details, but when you're as anal retentive as J and I happen to be, you'll forgive me for stressing for a few days that we've labeled everyone correctly, carefully spelled out each "Virginia" (dear God, please don't let me be that girl who invites people to her wedding in Virgina). You can imagine I'll be running every single spellcheck, GREP, and crazy searches that InDesign allows.

Hey, at least my up-til-midnight bloodshot eyes aren't nearly as red as last week's!

Hungry Eyes

One of our most unique Christmas gifts this year was from J's mom...and it came in the form of dance lessons! And of course we realize this is in prep for the wedding, not just like a gift certificate for jazz class (still, that would've been equally as awesome).

It should come as no surprise that I was a teensy bit more excited about these dance lessons than J...there may have even a hand clap or two from me, if we're being honest here. I'm smart enough to know the only reason J will go to these sessions with me is to make our first dance at the wedding a little less nerve-wracking, and for that, I will accept his willingness to learn the foxtrot, or the waltz, or maybe if I'm reeeeally lucky....the Merengue.

On Friday night, I stayed at home to unwind after a long week of wedding stuff. Just me, the dogs, a glass of wine and my first crush, Johnny Castle. I don't have the time to tell you how near and dear Dirty Dancing is to my heart. But I do have the time to tell you that for the first time since I was a kid, the thoughts of "that could be me!" came rushing back. Thoughts of J strutting into dance class in tight black pants, matching shirt, oversized shades, devil-may-care hair, with his jacket flung over his shoulder (yet hooked on his finger) a la dear Patrick Swayze excited me. It got me thinking.

We're totally doing the lift.

Radio

I hate the radio. I hate the "personalities," I hate the banter. BUT -- yesterday, I heard a Ja Rule song as I pulled into the parking lot. And that started my day off wonderfully.

And then it got me thinking...where the heck has Ja Rule been since, umm, 2003? I smell a comeback, people!

Panic in Level Three

We were kindly reminded yesterday that if we don't get our save the dates out soon, half of our intended guests will have made other plans. When I say that I came home from the gym, ate a quick dinner, and sat back down and worked until 11:30...can you even begin to imagine the shade of red of my bloodshot eyes? I look like I've been out on an all-night bender. Ouch and yuck.

Consider the first tidal wave of bridal panic as having struck its target yesterday. Part of the procrastination for me is that I'm in two weddings before my own. To me, my wedding is light years away! To J's West Coast family members, it's a few short months out.

But the good news is I should be able to get them out the door by the first weekend in February. And I'm forcing myself to stick to that date.

Out of order?

We have a funky, modern-like scale. One that requires batteries. One whose batteries are almost dead right now. So almost dead that when I stepped on the scale, instead of displaying my weight, the digital readout just said, "LOW."

I kind of like it. :)

It's so ur-gent.

When I was in college, there was a funny little tradition with my girlfriends. Specifically Joanna. Whenever we'd come out of a movie or restaurant, we'd check our cell phones to see who'd called us. More often than not, it was usually zero. But being the wise crackers that we still are, we'd say, "Geez, FIVE missed calls???" It never got old.

So imagine my surprise when I was leaving work yesterday (Side note: Uncle Sam keeps my cell phone locked up farrrr away from my desk, so I usually check it once at lunch and then pick it up on my way out of the building), and I see that I've missed EIGHT calls? And THREE voicemails? And THREE "urgent messages"??? First off, I didn't even know what this crazy urgent text message sent from my voicemail was, but it brings me back to: someone way reeeeally trying to get a hold of me. And from an unknown number at that.

Just having made it through the conclusion of "Jetta: A VW in Crisis, part 83" I am still on edge when I receive phone calls from unknown numbers, especially during the day. That's when evil insurance companies (not my own!) like to do their bidding. I called my voicemail.

Urgent message 1. "Hi, umm, this is ________ from the City Treasurer's office. I need to speak with you about the license and paperwork you sent in for Leo last week. Please call me." Hmm...can't figure out what would be urgent there? Is Leo being deported? Have they found out this is his first city license in 5 years? Are they back-billing me?

Urgent messages 2 and 3 were quite similar, only the young man was audibly more nervous at the end of the workday. So I called him back. Do you know what that poor underpaid city employee told me? That he'd misplaced my check for Leo's license in what he kept reiterating as a change over to a "new process." And could I please, pretty please oh please, get a new check in the mail to him so he doesn't get in trouble?

Perhaps it was the fact that I was prepared for impending doom, perhaps it was because I was in a good mood at the end of the day, or perhaps it was knowing that this young man had spent his day agonizing over how this unknown person-on-paper would take this news. It isn't a commercial business, after all, where he could just comp me the $5...this is the City we're talking about. And I'm sure working in the Treasury office he's dealt with his fair share of REALLY PLEASANT PEOPLE.

After taking control of my giggles (seriously, this man was being so polite and I counted no less than 10 "I'm So Sorries!"), I said, "Don't worry about it, it's a Monday, things happen." And after about 10 "Thank Yous!" I got off the phone, chuckled a little more, and silently prayed that this little bit of humor, some patience and a dash of understanding would initiate the next round of good karma. Better yet in my case, Car-ma. Either way, Leo will be a legal man come Friday.

Patterns

Last night, we were still completely exhausted from our New Years ski trip. But when the future mother in law invited us over for dinner, it didn't take but a quick glance at our empty fridge to know that we'd suck up our low-energy levels for free din-din.

After we got there, J's mom says that his grandaddy left something for us. Seeing as how he's getting ready to move into a retirement home, there was no telling what this "something" might be. I was completely unprepared for it. He gave us his mother's china. Twelve place settings of J's great grandmother's hand-painted china. It's darling and exquisite and formal. But it is amazing. And now it's our wedding china.