If you know us, in real life, you know (and are dreading the fact) that we’re getting married in a church. We’re having a full mass, because my mom wants us to, and also because my mom wants us to. However, I don’t actually “attend” church, per se, although I’ve gone through all the sacraments, and Katsumi’s last mass was probably the one where they dumped water on his head.

We’re getting married in the church I attended from age 3 to age 18. While there, I had an active role in the music ministry, so like, EVERYONE in the church knows who I am. My parents attend every week, sometimes more than once, and donate a substantial portion of their income to the parish. Everyone knows who they are, too. My preschool teacher works in the rectory and is in charge of organizing the weddings.

Cut to March.

I call up to put a date on hold. My preschool teacher answers the phone, asks me questions about my life these days, and where my “home parish” is. I tell her that HER parish is my home parish, it’s where I grew up. She asks me where I currently attend church. I reluctantly say that I don’t exactly attend church, and yarn on about my connection with my home parish and how when I do attend, I really like it to be at the Home Parish. (sick of it yet? ME TOO.) After much wheedling, she puts me through to a priest. He tells me I need to start going to church before I can put a date on hold. He tells me that I need to get a letter from the pastor at the church I’m attending saying that it’s ok for me to get married at a different church. I say, I need to put this date on hold NOW. I say ok ok, I’ll go to church, and then all of a sudden, this priest on the other end of the line is the one who’s going to marry us.

This is not the guy “we” (my mom) wanted to officiate our wedding. But apparently, rectory wedding booking is like some kind of first come first serve deal where whoever you talk to is who you get.

I tell my parents, they hit the roof. Make phone calls on my behalf. After much hand-wringing and strife, my father tells me that all is well – I just need to talk to the Preferred Priest and make it official.

Me being me, I procrastinate for three weeks then call, hungover, on Friday.

Cue montage.

Cut to Friday.

I call, ask to move my wedding ceremony from noon to two. My preschool teacher answers the phone and is unhelpful and full of attitude. Tells me that the Preferred Priest told her that when my dad talked to him he told my dad that I’d have to talk to the First Priest and tell him he WOULDN’T be officiating our wedding. Does that make sense to you?

Me neither.

But apparently, before I can change my ceremony time, *or* the priest, I have to go back to First Priest, tell him he sucks, then deal with this Preferred Priest and go back to the issue of me being a heathen.

So basically, I’m back where I started. And I’m ready to fucking scream.