I may as well change the name of this blog from “thishit” to like “planning your wedding is about as fun and magical as slogging through the scorching desert while all of humanity points at you and laughs”, because from here on out, THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GONNA GET FROM ME.
So here it is. We had it narrowed down to two places for the reception. One was a classic ballroom with questionable faux-italian design and the other was a victorian mansion-turned-restaurant with questionable choices in wallpaper. I liked them both. Katsumi liked the both. We were at a stalemate. Then the restaurant owner called up and told me that there was another bride who wanted the site, and could I let her know within the next 24 hours. I panicked, and after a night of tossing and turning I decided that Victorian it would be. I was uncharacteristically happy with the decision, which frightened me a little.
then on Monday night I brought some friends along to the restaurant for an evening of “makeup and martinis” and came to the horrible realization that all the rooms are about the size of postage stamps. Literally. And fitting everyone in there would mean splitting the party onto both floors of the house. And the wallpaper is dark and scary and the lighting is bad and my mom wants to use their centerpieces which are silk flowers in pots from the Christmas Tree Shop instead of making our own like I wanted to.
But the real problem is the split-level scenario. How do you split up the wedding guests by FLOOR? I mean, even in a ballroom everybody knows that the seating chart carries with it some kind of “ladder of importance”. There’s always that one table shoved in the back corner with some random hangers-on who sit there looking miserable, talk to nobody, then leave as soon as the cake is cut. THEY DON’T BELONG – AND THEY KNOW IT. That’s why they leave. So imagine then that you have to make hangers-on of HALF YOUR GUEST LIST by putting them upstairs: Away from the bridal party, Away from the music, and Away from the bar.
I stayed up all night slowly rocking to and fro while chanting the refrain “this is not my perfect wedding, this is not my perfect wedding” and sipping warm gin through a straw. I was willing to chalk it up to PMS and the bad makeover, but I felt like shit all day on Tuesday too. We’ve already put down our deposit, but at this point I’d almost be willing to eat the $500.00 just to be able to have our reception somewhere else. Somewhere… brighter.