I just told someone, “I’m getting married next Saturday.”

I’m. Getting married. Next Saturday. Well now, that’s exciting, isn’t it? It is! It’s also like, really soon. And as much as I’ve talked about things I need to get accomplished before May 21st, it didn’t exactly register that this is all actually going down. Finally.

Today I booked our final night in Rome (I’d been holding off to get a stellar deal on a hotel we couldn’t otherwise afford. It paid off – there will be a spa!), ordered the antipasto and fruit platters, confirmed pick ups for the wedding ring, cupcakes and wedding cake, finalized hair and nail appointments and then drank more coffee. It’s go time!

Tonight, I paint door jambs. Call me old fashioned, but house guests should have door knobs on their doors, I think.

Monday, marriage license. Tuesday, my maid-of-honor/sister arrives and then after that, my dad and a flood of siblings and their babies. E (or Ari for you FishBlog lifers) arrives Friday followed by more New Yorkers and some Bostonians. Somewhere in between there I’ll do stuff like run to Sam’s Club for napkins and tiny plates and toothpicks with fancy tops. Also, talk to the minister about the ceremony. We’re simple folk; we just want to say, “yep!” but even that involves a process. Then it’s the non-rehearsal rehearsal dinner and game on!

Among my last minute epiphanies came the realization that, when we were robbed, the Bad Guys got all my music – including the Wedding Playlist. So, uh, we’re gonna roll with what I have on my iPod. If we walk back down the aisle to Eternal Flame, it’s not because I chose it; it’s because WE HAD TO.

And on the forty-third day she rested. In fact, she got a massage. And she saw that it was good. Really, really good.

By the time the move was over Sunday night, I couldn’t lift my arms without all sorts of internal alarms going off. So, yesterday I made the executive decision that me and my aching back, we were going for a massage. I did the little, Can We Afford This? dance for a bit, but pfft! Can we really afford for me to be broken? I think not.

I feel worlds (WORLDS!) better. It’s been about two weeks since I could even bow my head and now I can look down at my feet and even check my blind spot like a real, safe-for-the-road driver. And my thumbs aren’t tingly anymore. Bingo!

There are still far too many unemptied boxes to go taking any “after” pictures, but I’m guessing by week’s end, I will be inundating you all with them.

T minus 11 days until the wedding. Supposed to have a fitting on Thursday – because if trying on the dress for the first time nine days before the wedding isn’t totally calm-inspiring, I don’t know what is. Rock ‘n  roll.

Sixteen days.

Wedding Update
Cupcakes and wedding cake ordered. Ha ha yeeeah, I just did that. Like, 10 minutes ago. Can you tell how proficient I am at being a DIY bride? Le sigh.

As much as he swears it won’t be, I worry this whole event will be a letdown for the Boy, because as far as weddings go, it’s not very well… put together. The things I care about at this wedding are 1) that the people I love dearly are in the same room and 2) that we end up hitched. That’s it. Even the dress stress is strange – it’s really a product of getting my heart set on something that my head knows simply doesn’t matter. Not in the long run, anyway.

This marriage is hugely important to me; it’s no secret that my feelings about the wedding aren’t nearly so profound. What I do care about is what other people will think about how much I don’t care about wedding things. Disappointing people. It’s probably the biggest reason I didn’t want to do it. People judge things. They just do, even if it’s not conscious. And when it’s things that don’t matter – like what you do for favors or whether or not you went to the trouble of bedazzling your cocktail napkins – all I can do is throw my hands up and say, Eff it!

My actions clearly say something about my priorities. I may have just ordered the wedding cake, but the honeymoon has been planned for three months – right down to tickets for museums. And I’ve worked until midnight every night for the last four weeks to make our house homey. But somehow, I haven’t managed, in almost a year, to choose the wines for the reception or get all these new, bright silver hairs dyed for the photos. I promise I’ll shave my legs, though. At least to the knee.

Still no dress, by the by. Did I tell you that the seamstress said I’d lost weight? Yep. In my boobs. Since I first met with her over the winter, I lost an inch and a half off the bust and like, half an inch off the waist. Life is just mean sometimes.

House Update
The base is built for the dining room benches. Part of me is wishing I’d made one side a foot longer. Eh, leaves more room for an extra chair – and less for regret.

Office is painted!

I finished priming the Room from Hell (the one with all the wood paneling we had to scrape) around midnight last night which means tonight I get to paint the very last room in the house. The very last! And then I fall into an enchanted sleep so deep it will require the kiss of Timoth Olyphant to break the spell. What? That’s how these things work.

All the new doors are being installed RIGHT. NOW. Having run out of time and available staff (we, uh, might have broken the Dork Lord’s parents), we have hired a handyman to put in all the new jambs, doors, baseboards and trim.  He gave us such a fantastic price (and every assurance he would be so gentle on our new floors), it would have been stupid to attempt that circus act by ourselves. I cannot wait to have a bathroom door. While the blue plastic tarp is lovely to behold, it’s not exactly made for privacy.

When I’m done with all this, I’m going to make a list of good experiences (J.J. in Home Depot’s Kitchen & Bath department) and bad (Coker Flooring’s sales rep who repeatedly asked to deal with my “husband,” and who seemed so surprised when I didn’t hire him) and lessons learned (if it’s plastic, it doesn’t belong behind a wall). Also, I’ll show you the sketch-to-completion development of our cabinets and storage benches, because of everything we’ve accomplished, that process was the most fun.

Eighteen days.

After an exhausting trip to the mall on Saturday, I have earrings and undergarments. Add those to the shoes lost somewhere in the packing mess and it’s almost like I have something to wear to my wedding!

My seamstress is an absolute delight and if you ever need services of that kind, I would recommend her in a heartbeat. She seemed momentarily concerned about the fabric remnants – they’re very narrow and in uneven lengths – and the likelihood that the dress could actually be crafted from them, but then she was all reassurances so I have put my worry away. For now.

The house is coming along. Or creeping along, I should say. These last few projects seem to drag and drag – especially with Sunday’s moving day swiftly approaching. But, the floors are now refinished a gorgeous dark walnut and there’s not a HINT of dog smell anywhere to be found. Success! While I wish we hadn’t been forced into the floor task (our refinisher said that while he and his crew were sanding, their eyes were watering from the smell), I cannot say that I’m not loving the aesthetic upgrade. Guh-orgeous.

The bathtub is also gorgeous. I’m so happy we kept it. Some bathroom counters and a couple of sinks would be nice, but I’ll content myself with a pristine porcelain surface on which to rest my tushie whilst I soak off weeks of construction grime. And drink wine. Out of the bottle.

Tomorrow, the replacement doors arrive and by Friday, all of the doors, baseboards and shoe molding will be in place. Not painted, mind you, but in place. I’ll paint them next year when I can hold a paint brush again without wanting to JAB IT IN MY EYE.

Tomorrow, the carpenters come to build the storage benches in the dining room. My original sketches were more complex than the finished product will be, but that’s what happens when you run out of money: value engineering. When the contractor called to confirm that I wanted them left unpainted, he seemed to question the sanity of my decision.

“There will be gaps that require caulking prior to the first coat of primer,” he said, leaving an amusing, patronizing pause between us.

“Caulking? What’s that?”

“…”

“Kidding. We’re prepared to prep, prime and paint. Don’t worry.”

“Okay. I wasn’t sure of the level of expertise here, but it sounds like this isn’t your first rodeo.”

“Mmm, well, this probably is our first rodeo, actually, but we’ve been on this bull for weeks now.  We learned some things pretty quick.”

My realtor sent me the MLS for our home so I was able to download some “before” pictures. Then I’m gonna make a nifty slideshow so you can see the fruits of our labors! It’s funny how nervous I am about that, though. Dooce always gets downright nuh-asty comments about her decorating choices and we chose some pretty… specific colors and applied them rather liberally. Philipsburg Blue (Benjamin Moore), Bolero Red and Castle Path (both Behr). One house, three colors. And that’s it. Because we are nothing if not consistent… or really, really tired of sorting through paint swatches.

I’m getting married in three weeks and last night was the first time I felt, even in the slightest bit, like a bride.

Event planner, travel agent, project manager, bookkeeper, cleaning crew, construction worker, courier. Every day, an endless combination of roles – but never once bride.

“I know, I know, you’re trying to get out of here and I just want to play,” the seamstress said, smoothing my hair to pin a feather in it. “But playing is the fun part.”

She stretched a birdcage veil across my face and gave a self-satisfied, Mm hmm. “Oh, yes. That’s very nice.”

I looked in the mirror and tried very hard to imagine it all coming together. The pile of fabric on the daybed in her spare bedroom pieced together in an actual dress. The paint on my nails coming from a manicurist’s bottle and not a two-gallon jug of Killz primer. My friends and family in the same room instead of addresses on a reply-to-all.

It was brief. A quick flutter of excitement. Anticipation.The birdcage didn’t suit me, but it did something. I sighed and smiled.

Then there was a text message from the contractor, followed quickly by an auto reminder to send the mortgage payment, and blip! that something was gone. But for a minute, I got it. And it was sort of nice. Like playing dress up and having your sister braid your hair and making sweet, naive plans about the future.  Really sort of nice.