cindy's world

Wow, I’m behind. Not having internet at work sucks ass. It really blows. …It sucks AND blows. a-whoo a-whoo a-whoo!

I got a bad-news call from my bridal party’s dressmaker earlier in the week saying that the fabric Mr. W’s daughter had chosen for her dress design is no longer available, and that she would have to select a different fabric or a new color. Of all people to have this happen to, it would be Daughter, who is slippery-er than an eel when you’re trying to get a hold of her. I left a couple of unreturned voice mails on her cell. She finally picked up on Thursday afternoon and I explained the problem to her. She was sad, but to my surprise, offered to come with us that evening to select a new fabric. Mr. W and I had an appointment to view and choose our engagement photos after work that day, and the studio was only blocks away from the dressmaker’s shop. Daughter canceled her volleyball event with her friends and drove out to my work to meet up with me.

We hit a couple of snags at the dressmaker’s, as certain other fabrics weren’t available to go with the second fabric Daughter had selected, but I think eventually we did arrive on something Daughter was relatively content with. Next was the engagement photo appointment. Daughter oohed and aahed over how I turned out in the photos, but I was less impressed. I mean, the photos looked pretty, blah blah, but can they photoshop me any more?! I know what I look like in the mirror, unless all my home mirrors are distorted, and in these photos they narrowed my face, lost my chipmunk cheeks, and I could swear that at least on one pose, they totally CUT OUT half my upper arm. It just makes me wonder what *I* would’ve looked like in these photos, not this strange girl they’ve created by manipulating my likeness. Mr. W and Daughter disagreed with me and said it’s clearly me in the photos and Mr. W thinks that when I see myself in a mirror, the image that enters my brain is distorted by anorexia anyway, but they both did agree that Mr. W himself apeared to be severely airbrushed. He looks something like a man-boy in some poses, instead of the man I’ve come to love when I look at him. I guess this way, we appear to be closer in age… =P

Anyway, out of the many poses the three of us viewed on the large computer monitor, we only selected 15 to purchase. The makeup lady and her husband the photographer had their favorites, and they kept raving about certain features on me that make me “model” material, such as the way the corners of my lips angle up when I smile (apparently a lot of their customers angle back or down, like Kate Winslet), the great teeth, the way my body is SO unlike an Asian’s body because I have a chest and butt and proportionally smaller waist. She complained that most of her Asian customers’ torsos are shaped like a square. She REALLY pushed for purchase and blow-up of one photo in particular (her “favorite”) in which I slightly had my back to Mr. W as I lounged on a chair, and her mouse pointer kept traveling embarrassingly to circle my chest and delineate the arc in my back as she explained the figure thing.

Okay, I just did a similar pose right now from my computer chair and looked in the mirrored closet door, and the woman apparently photoshopped out the definition in my deltoid and tricep! I know that traditional Asian women are totally anti-tone and don’t think it’s feminine, and they’re always telling me to stop weightlifting, but I WORKED HARD FOR THAT DEFINITION! I wanna see the “before” pictures!

Wanna hear something more exasperating? I tried to take photos of myself to illustrate my point, but either 1) the flash kept going off ruining the photo, 2) taking the flash off made the exposure time longer so it was totally blurry, or 3) finding a setting that turns off flash and does the steady-hand thing changed the lighting (or maybe I turned funny) so that you can’t see definition in the photos after all, altho it’s clearly in the mirror.

*sigh*

(As w/all my photos, resting your mouse pointer on it brings up a caption.) But anyway, see what I mean? Chipmunk cheeks. Please ignore the glasses, messy hair and jammies. I just got up.

Oh, and the studio, as I expected, absolutely does not sell the digital images. You pay for every print you want.

After I got home, I grabbed a bag of DVDs Busykitty Vanessa had wanted to see and brought them over to her place, as she was on lockdown for 10 days after her surgery. I met the last sister I hadn’t met yet, and the three of us ended up chatting until I was dozing off on Vanessa’s comfy couch. MAN her TV is huge. I’m happy to report Vanessa is recovering well and her doctor doesn’t expect the lab to return any significantly bad news. Oh yeah, my Happy Bunny jammies (above) was a 30th bday present from Vanessa!

Speaking of no bad news in lab results, I see my doctor had left me an email regarding my pap last week. I’m gonna read it and I hope I don’t have another abnormal pap that requires further cutting, like last time! *crossing fingers*

Mr. W and I had our engagement photo shoot today. It was at a makeup/photography studio that also rents and sells wedding and special occasion clothing and accessories. I had so much fun! The hair/makeup lady is the woman I’d already booked my wedding day hair and makeup with for both myself and my bridesmaids. She looked at my face and said that she feels I’d look great in the newest trendy “funky” messy updo. What she did was reserve some hair in front for long side-split bangs, and the rest were knotted up in sections with the ends sticking out like a little fobby singer. She’d left a few thick curls on the bottom like in the Victorian days for the evening gown and bridal dress shots but put everything up for the traditional Chinese dress shots. The below isn’t a great depiction but it’s the best I can find online.

My mom and her good friend, our realtor’s wife, came directly from Tai Chi to watch us take photos. The photographer and makeup lady (who are husband and wife) were very sensitive to Asian parental interference. The makeup lady asked me discreetly whether having my mom in the photo studio with me during the photo shoot would distract or bother me. I told her it’s fine. Mr. W said that he saw both the photographer and makeup lady put their fingers to their lips, signaling to my mom and her friend that they are not to butt in or criticize. I think it went well, with minimal criticisms from my mom.

The first dress I put on was an incredible spaghetti strap corset-top ballerina dress I saw on a mannequin. It looked kinda like this but with vertical corset panels and pink accents. I asked if I could try that one, and the makeup lady said thoughtfully, “I think it will fit.” It fit to a never-before-experienced T. The waist was narrow enough for me but still accomodated my bust and usually the two are never right on the same outfit. The shoulder straps were the perfect length when usually they’d be too long since I have a short torso, and the side panel was high enough to go right under my armpits without cutting off and creating armpit fat like so many sleeveless tops do to me. My mom was even agape when I walked out with that dress on. Mr. W winked at me. “You’re the first to ever wear this one for a photo shoot,” the makeup lady said. With my odd proportions, I’ll bet that if it fits me this precisely (and the fabric and style did not have much give), it doesn’t fit many other people. Seeing that I was aglow in this dress, the photographer took extra photos of me wearing it. Mr. W was my accessory in a handsome classic black tux.

Next was the classic white wedding gown with a giant ornate train. My real gown does not have a train, so it’s nice to have these photos. This off-the-shoulder dress was wide for me in the middle, but they must’ve sensed it because they mostly had me standing with my side toward the camera, or sitting in this dress. It was ai’ight. The cut was something like this, but beaded and not corset-top. Mr. W decorated these poses by changing to a red bowtie and cummerbund.

The last outfit was the classic overly sequined traditional Chinese dress. It’s cut similar to this, but pink and beaded to death. It was SO beaded that not only can you not see fabric, but it hurt to put my arms down. If I hugged someone wearing that and pulled away kinda fast, the huggee would be shredded into ribbons. No one would ever be successfully raped wearing that dress. It took two tries to find this dress in a size that fit me. The first one that the makeup lady brought to me fit so baggily that the sleeveless part hung over my shoulders and looked like cap sleeves. I walked out and said that I think this dress is too loose. My mom looked at it and said, “It IS?” I pulled three inches of excess fabric out from my side. She said, “Oh. And I told her when she brought that dress out that it would be too small on you.” Of course she did. Mom looked at me again. “Did you lose weight?” she asked.
“No. I’m just not as fat as you always think I am.” My mom looked a little hurt yet thoughtful, but any further discussion was squelched as the makeup lady brought me the same dress in a smaller size and pulled the curtain closed, separating us. This second dress was skin tight, hugged every curve and had the leg slits cut scandalously high, but my mom kindly only said complimentary things as I walked out in it. Mr. W was already changed to a grey old-fashioned tux with a tail, looking pretty swanky. Together we looked like East meets West 1920s.

The photographer and makeup lady consistently complimented us throughout the shoot, telling us we’re naturals, that they got perfect shots in the first try and hence didn’t have to reshoot the same pose or take multiple shots, raving about my great smile and great teeth. I think my mom was impressed at the shots, too. The photographer kept running back to my mom and her friend and showing them the digital image he’d just taken on his camera, involving them enough to make the shoot interesting for them. I would’ve liked to take shots where my expressions were different, but they just kept telling me to do my teethy smile, which they loved. There was one pose where they had Mr. W on his knee offering me flowers and jewelry, and I jokingly did an eye-rolling “not good enough” expression with my hands on my hips, followed by a Southern belle swoon with the back of my right hand on my forehead as if he were offering me the prize of a lifetime, and everyone laughed, but the shot the photographer took was one of my peering over my shoulder at the jewelry box with a happy smile. Mr. W said that the guy’s used to taking photos that you’d want to pay extra to blow up and have on display, and goofy shots don’t sell in the same way. I guess that’s true; I wouldn’t blow up and frame a giant photo me looking like a greedy gold-digger to hang over the fireplace mantle of our new home, and it wouldn’t be an appropriate engagement photo for display at the wedding venue.

…or WOULDn’t it be just so ME to have untraditional goofy shots?!

I need to make up for the quality of my posts lately which, I admit, have been about as interesting as a strange kid coming up to you and telling you about his current 2nd grade science project, and you don’t like kids, and you flunked Science, and you don’t understand English. So here’s something kinda “wrong” that I did a couple weekends ago. (What, you thought I’d make up for bad writing with GOOD writing? Ptthh.)

Last Sunday when Mr. W and I were at my parents’ having dinner, my mom asked when our appointment for engagement photos were, and she said she wanted to come along. I don’t know why she wanted to be there, but as I’m trying to be charitable to my mother, I said optimistically that if she comes, she could decide whether she likes the way this lady does hair and makeup, and see if she wants to book a hair/makeup appointment with her on the day of our wedding. My entire bridal party is going to. But really I was imagining my mom being a total backseat driver when she’s there. “Can you make her makeup lighter? How do we make this look natural? I don’t think her hair should be that high. Can you block off her face a little bit with hair on the side so her face looks smaller? I think she’s wearing too much eye makeup. Can you do something about her skin? I tell her to eat more fruit so that she wouldn’t have all these pimples but kids these days *sigh* never listen to their parents.” And then during the photo shoot, “I think her arm looks too big like that. Can you make her look thinner? Cindy, don’t lean forward like that, you look so unspirited. I don’t think that’s a good pose. Hey, do the peace sign!”
My mom snapped me out of my daydream grimace by asking whether we need to bring anything, like changes of clothing or my bridal gown. I told her that no, the studio will have everything. And I’m not going to wear the bridal gown until the wedding. She asked, “They’ll have men’s clothes, too?”
“I’m sure they do, cuz they told me all he needs to have with him are black socks.”
“JUST black socks?” my mom said jokingly.
Mr. W joined in. “So I’ll just be naked with black socks on? That might be weird.”
And here’s the wrong part. I said thoughtfully and yet without thinking, “Hmm, that’s true. Maybe you should have three black socks.”
Mr. W laughed. One of my parents laughed, and I don’t remember which one. But because the other one didn’t laugh that much, it hit me that I’ve now directly inferred to, AND produced a mental image of, the penis attached to the man who is doing their daughter.

Wrong!!

Tuesday evening was wonderful. I’d decided it was time to get a trim since I was spending entirely too much time peeling split ends when I was supposed to be working, so after I got home after work, I rifled through my coupon box in search of local haircut discounts. I’m not loyal to any particular hairstylist or salon, so I usually just go to what I can get cheap, be it Supercuts, Fantastic Sam’s, Great Clips. This time I dug out a promotional coupon for a free haircut at a local salon (not a chain) which was in a “welcome to the neighborhood!” coupon book the City mailed me when I bought this house 7.5 years ago. No expiration date was printed on the coupon, so I called the salon and asked if they still honored it. The receptionist was amused at this coupon, since it apparently wasn’t in circulation anymore the past 6 years, and checked with the owner of the salon. The owner, Donna, said she’d honor it and asked me to be in at 6:45p. That gives me a couple of hours to feed/water my coworker’s cats (I’m cat-sitting since she’s in Vegas for a few days) and I decided to go shopping for my own dress to wear to Mr. W’s niece’s wedding this Saturday.

After shopping at a few local discount clothing stores, I decided that the problem with today’s trend is that they all look like maternity wear. Everything is high-waisted (or empire-waisted) with tons of fabric floating underneath, so that all the shirts and dresses look like babydolls. I’m short and curvy, so if you take the widest part of my chest and just drape fabric down to the widest part of my hips, I become a giant rectangle. Mr. W’s daughter is very tall and slender, so the current fashion is pretty flattering on her, making her look more fluid and less gangly. And then a thought: should I be stocking up on this unflattering fashion right now for future use AS maternity wear? Cuz with my luck, when I actually am pregnant it’ll only be hip-huggers or high-waisted bottoms and form-fitting tops in style. After trying on many many dresses that looked cute hanging there but terrible on my frame, I found myself in the discounted department store Ross. I grabbed a ton of dresses I thought might have potential and the first one I tried on was a fitted dress so amazing on me that I had to step out of the dressing room to see myself in the 3-angled mirror, in case the dressing room mirror was a freak circus elongating one. I still looked shockingly nice. I tried on the other 3 dresses I had in there, and none of them looked decent, so I was pretty sure it wasn’t the mirror. I tried on the first dress again, admired its tiny cap sleeves that surprisingly didn’t make my arms look huge, the form-fitting body that surprisingly hid my fat due to the dark brown and maroon print, the asymmetrical V-shaped skirt hem and upper-body-elongating deep V-neck, and bought it. $9.99. Even if it dissolved after I wore it it’d still be worth it. Despite the fact that Ross is notorious for its long slow lines which I did observe as I walked in, when I was ready to pay there was nobody in line. I quickly got out and made it to my hair appointment exactly on time.

Donna, the salon owner, did my hair because the other stylists working there were independent contractors renting space so she did not make them honor an outdated coupon for a free haircut. Donna asked me what I was looking for in the haircut, and I explained that my hair was entirely too long and shapeless now, and I needed a trim. Maybe about 3 inches, my wedding makeup artist had told me, so that she could still do a messy up-do for the wedding in a few months. Donna started snipping away and since we were on the topic of weddings, she mentioned that her daughter (whom she’d dragged in there to work the receptionist desk for her that day) is also engaged and was looking for a venue. So the three of us, since all the other stylists had left by this time, had a nice talk about weddings and experiences and venues. Her daughter Alison and I appeared to share the exact same brain when it came to weddings, practical and thrifty to a fault, totally non-girly, so our chat was very productive. I mentioned I happened to have my wedding binder in the car (passed on to me from Anny’s wedding), so after the shampoo I ran out to the car to grab it for Alison to examine. As Alison made photocopies of useful information in there, we talked about what a great coincidence it was that I was there, since I happened to find the coupon, Donna happened to be working, she happened to have forced Alison in to keep her company, and I happen to have the wedding binder with me. At the end of my free haircut, I tipped Donna $5 and she gave me a “new customer kit,” a mug, pencil, and coupon for $5 off my next appointment. She ended up lopping off about 5 inches, I’m a little nervous about it being up-do-able, but I love it. It’ll grow another inch and a half by the wedding.

Figure-flattering dress: $9.99
Complimentary haircut: $0.00
Looking cute, younger, and feeling like I helped someone with something she was stressed and lost about: Priceless.

Oh, and the chipmunk cheeks seem unnoticeable now, too. My original theory was that it wasn’t that my cheeks got rounder, it was that my neck got skinnier, but now I think it was the hair.

I had 4 tasks today.

1.) Call my HELOC people and demand why I was told I could lock my interest rate twice for free but everytime I call, I’m either told I can’t lock it, or am given the runaround. I left messages with two employees of my bank and the one who’s new to me called back. He explained fixed rates vs. variable rates locks to me, and it’s all clear now. I’m happy with the information I received. Turned out the way the first guy explained it to me was misleading and I’d misunderstood the “rules.”

2.) Call the wedding catering company and demand why I was charged 18% as “service charge,” which I took as tip, and then was taxed the standard tax rate over the service charge, cuz last I checked it’s illegal to tax me on a service tip. The food coordinator explained that the service charge is taxable, because it’s actually a fee used to pay the worker’s wages, and not a tip. Darn.

3.) Call the bridal gown store and demand why I was charged so much for the gown alterations. I spoke to someone in the alterations department who was not there the day I did the alterations, and told her I had questions on my alterations order. She nicely got my ticket and answered each of my questions and concerns. She said my alterations lady marked “take in zipper” in error when it should’ve been “take in or let out sides”, but that it wouldn’t create a misunderstanding with the seamstresses because the point of alterations were clearly pinned and they could tell the zipper was not to be touched. $95 is the “standard fee” for this on bridal gowns, she explained, and especially because my bodice has pleating/ruching. So okay, fine. If it’s standard I’m okay with it, altho my opinion is still that it’s high. What about the hemming that they charged me $150 for? I told her my dress has no lace on the bottom, no multiple layers, no embroidery or beadwork that has to be redone. “I’m gonna have to talk to my manager about this charge,” the lady said, and put me on hold. She returned within minutes and said, “This is a mistake, the charge is supposed to be $120. Maybe she didn’t know. I’m going to write on this that you get $30 credit. When you come back to pick up the dress, make sure to tell them about your credit.” I knew that the register automatically printed out $120 and they had to add a separate transaction of $30 for a reason. And I knew that my alterations lady had written $120 and then got talked into changing it to $150. Scammers. So I asked whether the $30 credit would be paid to me in cash. She said no, it’s store credit. What am I going to do with store credit? I’ve purchased everything I was going to from that store! She said to talk to the front cashier when I got there and maybe they could do something, like credit my card since it’s already prepaid. Well, it’s better than nothing.

4.) Saved the best for last. I was to meet up with Mr. W’s daughter and go dress shopping with her since neither of us had anything to wear for Mr. W’s niece’s wedding this Saturday. Daughter finally decided last minute to come with us to Vegas to attend this event, so I invited her dress shopping with me. She met me at Mr. W’s house, we went to a new upscale shopping plaza where she not only scored a very pretty flirty sundress and belt on Mr. W’s dollar (he gave me $60 for her dress allowance, her total ended up with me pitching in another $2.50, so she did pretty good), but she scored a job interview at that store for tomorrow. Now that’s productive. I tried on a few things at various stores but couldn’t find anything that I thought looked good on me. We then gave up for the evening, I treated her to dinner at a place she recommended with good 1/2 pizza/salad/soup combos, and then we came back cuz she still had schoolwork to do. She came in, showed off her new dress to her dad, gave me a hug, offered to go back shopping with me anytime this week if I wanted to give dress hunting another shot, and was off.

#4 was my favorite task today.

Bridal alterations: My mom had nothing bad to say about the dress. She was charmed by its simplicity. She even went so far as to state that my arms actually DON’T look big in this particular dress. She tried to call my dad to have him come to the dressing area to see me in the dress, and I overheard her tell him it looks very good, but he didn’t want to go thru the hassle and opted to wait outside in the store area. The alteration lady had to bring up my skirt a lot at the hem, and bring in the attached petticoat a lot. I tried the dress on first with that bustier that gave me nice push-up cleavage but also pushed fat up everywhere else, and remarked how I hated the bubble of fat that rises above my bodice due to the bustier. The alteration lady (who was not the lady I spoke to on the phone who forbade me to NOT wear a bustier) suggested that if I’m more comfortable without the bustier, that she can simply stitch in bra cups inside the dress. Really? Off the bustier came and instantly the dress was so incredibly more comfortable, it felt like jammies. Sure I look flatter in the dress now and I had to pay for the cups, but it is worth the smoother silhouette. Due to the loss of excess fabric from the bustier, my dress has to be taken in half an inch on either side of my ribs along the vertical seams. Then they said if I have my veil, they’ll steam it for me and smooth out the wrinkles along with the dress cleaning after alterations. So I just said screw it, I’ll buy my veil right then and there. My mom called my dad in for his opinion, I walked out to the store area in my pinned up dress, and when my dad saw my dress he exclaimed, “So plain?!” My mom said almost defensively, “I like plain and simple.” My parents helped me pick out a veil, and I ended up with a simple single-layer short veil that cost less than the one I was gonna order online, anyway. I was content with that purchase. What I am NOT content with, and grow increasingly salty about, is the fact that my alterations cost more than my bridal gown. I seriously think they ripped me off. I noticed that instead of marking the spot on the alterations ticket that said “Take in or let out sides,” which the price chart in the dressing room listed as “$35 and up,” after some Spanish instruction from another lady, my alteration lady marked “Take in zipper” and wrote $95. I know zippers probably take more work, but they didn’t touch my zipper! Also, the price chart listed hemming the skirt as $75 and up or something like that, and they charged me $150! WTF! I could tell the lady had written $120 and then the other lady babbled something to her in Spanish so this lady then changed it to $150. When the alteration ticket was rung up at the register by the front cashier, the amount for each item was so much that they had to break it down and ring it up as separate items. “Take in zipper” was rung up twice, once with $65 and another with $30. “Alter skirt – hem” was rung up once for $120, then itemized again as “Alter skirt – take in or let out” for another $30. Clearly they’re overcharging beyond what their computer is programmed to charge cuz they did not take in the skirt, they merely shortened the hem which apparently had a maximum charge on the register program as $120. I’m so pissed off right now even tho it’s so many hours later, cuz the more I examine the alteration ticket, the more I feel they deliberately ripped me off. I didn’t even need a bustle done and the price is outrageous. When I went with Mr. W’s niece to a Vegas branch of this same bridal shop, she had the hems done, inches taken out (she’d gained some weight since the dress purchase), and bustles put in, and it came out to about this much or less. I’m so gonna call them tomorrow and have a fit.

Dad’s tuxedo: Mr. W came by my house and picked me and my parents up after we got back from the bridal alteration appointment, and drove us to his tux guy. I can’t believe how suave a man looks in a nice tuxedo. My dad looked instantly younger, slimmer, classier, and richer. He opted for the same Chaps (by Ralph Lauren) tux and vest set that Mr. W and his groomsmen got. He also picked up some nice onyx cuff links/buttons set as well as second set of unique blue stone cufflinks. My mom was so charmed by my dad, in a tux for the first time in his life, that she got this giant smile on her face and pranced over to him, hugged his arm, and said, “I wanna marry you again!” My mom’s gonna look pretty swanky herself in her custom-made mother’s dress, so they’ll make a handsome couple at the wedding.

Mr. W treated us to dinner at some fish restaurant near the tux place, and it was expensive food. My parents split their plate cuz the waitress misunderstood them when they placed their order, but it worked out cuz we were all ridiculously stuffed. I was pretty salty by this time about the alterations cost, so I didn’t even protest Mr. W paying for everyone. Tomorrow is a Chinese festival holiday where we get to eat one of my favorite foods, glutinous rice steamed in long banana (?) leaves, and we’re gonna have a great meal at my grandma’s for lunch, then we’re all going to deliver invitations to the older generation of relatives and family friends to whom mailing an invitation would be an insult. I’m gonna find some time in there to call the bridal place and ask arbitrary alteration cost questions to see how they price me.

I’ve been good about gymming Thursday (did it on the way home from work) and yesterday (did it during lunch) because the freak cheeks are really inspiring that way. I also sucked down some dandelion root capsules yesterday because my Gym Trainee swears by them as a natural diuretic to debloat. She takes 1/3 the dose and pees out more water than she knew was in her. I took maximum dose (3 capsules each time) and it didn’t do squat. Either it’s not working for me, or I’m NOT bloated, which means the cheeks are here to say! Waaah!

Mr. W made my dad a tuxedo appointment with his contact for today at 6pm, and my mom and I have that bridal gown alteration appointment at 3p, so apparently my dad decided to come with my mom and me so that we’re all together and could hit both appointments as a family. My dad is gonna be sooooo bored at the bridal fitting. But maybe he could distract my mom from criticizing me too much.

Okay, I’m now off to the gym to do some massive cardio round, my parents will meet me at the bridal place at 3, we’ll all come back to my place, Mr. W will come here to pick us all up, and then it’s off to the tux fitting. I get to hand them their invites that they’re gonna hand-deliver to their friends, too. Then we can have dinner together and hopefully meet up with our realtor to talk about house-hunting for real. If you think that sounds productive, my mom has already been up for 5 hours doing tai chi and country line dancing at a local park that offers recreational classes and is now shopping at a nearby store, and my dad’s been fishing since the buttcrack of dawn.

What’s up with my chipmunk cheeks? Gah. I don’t get it. It’s not like my body is that bloated. I mean, I’m not at the lowest weight I’ve ever been, but I shouldn’t be fat enough to look like I’m hiding marshmallows in my cheeks. Is there such a thing as cheek lipo? But if I really AM fatter than I think (bathroom scale still not working), I’m sure my mother will tell me on Saturday. An hour ago she invited herself to come with me this Saturday to my wedding gown alteration appointment. She initially invited my dad along, too, but I convinced her he wouldn’t want to go to something like that. I can hear her now when she sees the dress on me for the first time. “I still think you should get something with sleeves to cover your big arms. Maybe they’ll take this dress back as a trade-in. Want me to go ask them?”

But it is my fault if I did chunk up. Due to our current child molestation trial (my court reporter discovered that the common denominator among child molesters appears to be ownership of a van. Hence, if I am ever a mother I will not buy a van or befriend anyone who owns a van.) running late into lunch and our marriage license appointment yesterday among other factors which mostly translate to “we didn’t feel like it”, Gym Trainee and I missed our noontime workouts this entire week. But we did walk Monday, Tuesday and today at lunch to run our various errands. We probably put in a solid hour of walking the first two days. Today, however, the walk ended at a local Mexican food restaurant, I ate half a wet burrito that had such a spicy red sauce that the heartburn lasted me through the afternoon, well into the evening, through my gym workout after work, and made me so sluggish and sick that I took way longer breaks in between sets than I should have. I’m sure the crumb donut and half a cookie I had before I left work (leftovers from the jurors) didn’t help, either.

I’m a house mouse with chipmunk cheeks.

Poor Mr. W. He’s cranky. He just went to bed warning me I’d better not keep him up. We had a very productive Wednesday. We’d applied for our marriage license online and made an appointment to sign and pick it up at our lunch hour yesterday. Those suckers are expensive! $61.50 just to get the County’s permission to officially forfeit our respective freedom and sovereignty. (“And you magically become property!” my head supervisor said.) And to think, when same-sex couples are allowed to legally marry after mid-June, the Registrar-Recorder offices in California will be flooded with even more people, cash in hand. To capitalize a little more, there were signs all over the offices saying if we’d like a photo to memorialize the event of getting our license, it’s $10.

After he dropped me back off at my work, Mr. W went to his third acupuncture appointment. He said it’s working, the pain has dramatically lessened and the area around his buttocks have stopped hurting, but the deeper layers of muscles are still in need of therapy. So today, from what I heard, the needles went even deeper. *heebie jeebies*

When he was done with acupuncture, he came over to my house, picked me up, and we went to his place to pull an all-nighter stuffing envelopes and preparing our wedding invitations for mailing. Even tho we joked that it would be an all-nighter, I really didn’t think it would take very long. I figured he’d design the informational insert as I typed addresses in the labels, we’d print it all, cut and assemble, do an assembly line thing. We started around 7:30pm after a Costco run and worked until about 1:30am. I rather enjoyed myself; the fruits of our labor were very aesthetically pleasing and the methodical assembly made me feel very productive. I can’t say Mr. W had as much fun, though, judging by his sighs and grunts and occasional complaints. Nevertheless, they’re ready for mailing tomorrow. I walked up to Mr. W’s son and hand-served him our very first guest invitation. (No I didn’t wake him up. Yes he’s still up right now as I write this.) He excitedly examined the envelope, its labels, and carefully tore the envelope open. Pulling out the contents, he made exclamations about how nice everything looked, impressed we’d put everything together ourselves in an evening. Yay! That’s a whole lot off our plates! *checking stress meter level* Still low.

When we were in Vegas visiting Mr. W’s family for Mother’s Day weekend last month, we went on a double date with Mr. W’s gamer brother and wife to watch a musical show performed by the Scintas. Toward the end of the show, one of the Scinta brothers told us that their late father, who used to attend their shows, always asked him to play the theme song from “The Godfather.” The Scinta brother would scoff and say, “Dad, this is a conservative Jewish crowd tonight, they’re not gonna wanna hear ‘The Godfather.'” Each show that the father would make the request, the brother would laugh it off and explain it’s not appropriate for the venue or it doesn’t fit in with their routine. Their father passed away fairly recently. The performer telling the story paused, then told us how he wished he would’ve played his father’s request every time his father requested it. Then he sat at the piano and played a beautiful rendition of “The Godfather”, at the end of which he raised his hand to the heavens, looked up, and blew his father a kiss.

So I’m doing the inconvenient thing of spending the night before my wedding at my parents’ house, because my mom wants the tradition of the symbolic daughter-leaving-the-parents’-house-to-be-wed. I’m following my mom’s oddball insistence that I wear the highest high heels I can find in my wedding dress and that my bridesmaids wear lower shoes, because it’s important to my mom that we make up for the height differences in the girls. (I.e. I’m short.) These things don’t matter to me in the long run, but I know it matters to my mom. And I never want to have a day when I wish I could’ve done something small to make my mom happy but know that it’s too late. Learning vicariously is a gift that is better than turning back the clock.