The invitations have been mailed out. The caterer has been hired. The DJ has been hired.
I find myself strangely detached from all the planning. I'm sort of letting the cards fall where they may. If it rains, it rains. If people come, they do, if they don't, fuck 'em.
I just want a party. People are raising eyebrows when I say it's a barbecue or that kids are invited. Whatever. If you want a 4-star wedding go hang out with some celebrities. If my steak and burgers menu and my "bring your bathing suits" invite and my tequila shots and heavy rock and roll are too much for you, don't come, ok? It's my wedding, not yours.
That's what I feel like saying anyhow. But I don't. I just get aggravated or make a face or shrug.
I hope half these people don't even show. I hope it's my immediate family and some close friends and a keg of beer. We'll party into the wee hours of the morning, after the kids have passed out on the lawn and I will not miss anyone who didn't come because they had other plans and my wedding was just a barbecue, so why should they arrange their schedule around it? I mean, if it's not a 100 dollar a head sit down dinner in a fancy restuarant, it's not a real wedding, right?
Either way, I'll still be married at the end of the day. I'll still be driving out to Port Jefferson the next morning to take our one day honeymoon at a waterfront hotel. I'll still be a bride and the fact that you were forced to eat a hamburger at my reception won't make it any less so.
Anyhow, I just want to thank my sisters:
Jo-Anne, for taking all the planning on herself, for arranging everything and taking over and doing a damn fine job.
Lisa, for not getting upset that I'm sort of stepping on her toes by getting married before her long-ago planned June 2003 wedding.
Oh, and if anyone wants to join us the Friday before the wedding (August 23) for a night of debauchery and celebrating, I'll be hosting a pre-wedding bachelor/bachelorette party. No, there will not be strippers. But there will be jello shots.
Now, I have to go think of new ways to make my relatives shake their head in disapproval at me. I'm thinking having Choire pop out of the wedding cake.
I haven't had a cigarette yet today. I'm one cranky bitch.