We survived the weekend, but only barely. We camped out at the Falcon Ridge Folk Festival and dealt with both pouring rain and blazing sun. Not to mention a killer blooming onion. But I don’t want to say too much about that; I’m writing a story on the experience for Compass next week.

Not much movement on the wedding planning front, but now that I type that, I remember that neither of us has replied to the Wake Robin’s last email. Oops. James said he wanted to do it, but then changed his mind, and I haven’t done it yet. Guess I’ll be doing that now.

Our wedding bank account has a tidy sum in it now, thanks to Mom and Dad, and is earning some nice interest. If I ever get a contract from the freelance job I’m doing, I’ll be adding quite a bit, as well. I’m starting to feel optimistic about our chances of staying away from wedding debt.

As excited as I am for the actual wedding event, part of me just wishes we were married already. I’m really looking forward to calling James “husband.”

James and I had a little squabble last night that turned into me freaking out about him dying.

Sounds like fun, huh?

The weird thing is that book I was reading totally predicted it: One of the things women have to deal with during the engagement period is the fear that their partner will die or leave in some other way.

I trust James completely as far as faithfulness goes, so I’m freaking out about him dying.

And I’m not even freaking out about some random accident happening tomorrow. No, I’m freaking out that he’ll get heart disease at some point in the future (30 years? 40? 50?).

And I know it’s completely irrational. Okay, not completely. A lot of American men have heart disease. It really could happen to him. But why am I worrying about it now?

After I closed Harry Potter and turned out the light last night, I was gripped by this fear, this worry. As if it gained strength from the darkness and the quiet sound of James’s breath.

I was able to sleep, but my dreams were filled with anxiety.

Right now, the scariest thing about marriage is that it ties you so closely to another person over whom you have so little control. And I don’t mean control over what he does or where he goes. I have no control over what happens to him.

My own death doesn’t frighten me at all compared to how scared I am of James dying.

It’s been a hard week. On the one hand, I landed a freelance proofreading job. It’s really tedious, but it pays weel, and with our financial situation, who can turn down good pay?

On the other hand, it’s taking away from “real” freelance work (i.e., writing) and other things I might do.

And, of course, this has made me all stressed out. I can certainly understand James’s point of view after this week (he has a Cruise News this weekend, so it’s going to be hard).

What I feel the most guilty about is the housework. We have dishes in the sink from three days ago. Normally, I don’t allow that.

And I don’t want to. Unforunately, because of the Cruise News, I’m going to end up with most of the work. And really, I don’t mind. I am totally okay with helping out when he has work.

And he’s good about getting me dinner or a “thirsty drink” when I’m working. But he doesn’t do the laundry withour a push.

It’s weird, because there’s definitely a part of me tha takes pride in keeping the house neat. But there’s also a part of me that says, Why should it always be my job?

This whole gender roles thing? Gonna take some time to work out.

Last night Sarah and Wendy, owners of the strange little cat we’ve had staying with us for the last two weeks, stayed the night and took our houseguest with them this morning. Sarah’s mother was along for the ride, as well.

They told us all about Sarah’s brother’s wedding, which was a couple of weeks ago at the Botanical Gardens in New York. Sarah’s mother kept saying how elegant it was. Sarah stressed the importance of going around to every table; apparently some people felt shunned when they didn’t get a visit from the bride and groom. And the food. She loved the food. Wendy mostly remembered the bride’s mother, who freaked out about every 12 seconds and required Wendy about 100 people.

They also said they would be willing to go look at dresses in September with me.

We also talked about the budget dilemna: the three-hour bar vs. the five-hour bar. Sarah came up with the best advice I’ve heard yet. She suggested going with the three-hour bar for now and then adding on the extra hours if we find that enough people can’t make it to make it affordable.

Personally, it’s more important to me to have all the people who are special to me to be there. I hate the idea of excluding people so that we can have a couple extra hours of open bar. But this way (and the Wake Robin is very flexible; at least, so far), we can have the best of both worlds.

We got an initial contract from the Wake Robin on Sunday and the total cost was about $5,000 more than we want to spend on this reception. And this is not including the cake and dessert or the DJ/band.

So we send it out to our parents and look at ways to cut stuff. There’s some easy stuff, like the late-night snacks in the pub, but that only cuts about $230. Not much help.

But I looked at it closer, and I saw that the food and drinks are all included in the $99 per person rate. So the only way to cut it is to cut back on hours of open bar (we have 5 right now; I think 3 is reasonable, then go to a cash bar, but for some reason, Mom wanted 5) or to cut the guest list.

Right now we have 115 people on the guest list and are hard pressed to cut any more. At $99 a head, that comes to $11,385, only about $1,000 over what we want to spend. Not too shabby. So where’s the other $4,000 coming from?

Turns out it’s tax and gratuity. We can save 5% (most of the tax) if we pay in full by the New Year. That leaves us about $3,000 over budget.

$3,000 in tips? Is that insane? I’m going to have to look again, but I think that’s what it comes down to. Isn’t that like a 30% gratuity? I’m just doing quick and dirty math in my head. I hope I’m missing something.

As James and I were walking to the post office yesterday (we often do this at lunchtime), a woman caught up with us and said, “Excuse me, I don’t mean to embarass you, but did you know you have a big rip in your skirt?”

Needless to say, I did not.

I turned the skirt around and, sure enough, about three inches of the back seam had busted open. I was mortified. Not only had a stranger had to point out to me that I’d been walking through the center of Lakeville, that bustling metropolis, with my underwear showing, but it also meant that this skirt was, as I feared, not large enough to cover my nether region.

I’ve been trying to lose weight, on and off, for at least a year. I blamed the weight gain on writing my thesis, but since I’ve been done with that for over a year, I really don’t have an excuse any more. Since the engagement, I’ve been tackling weight loss head on. I’ve been working out four to five times a week, trying to eat more vegetables and fewer boxes of Annie’s mac and cheese, and only allowing myself a drink once a week.

Since the engagement, which was March 7, four months ago, I have lost 5 pounds.

5.

I put on that skirt yesterday morning relieved that I had something that fit. I bought more clothes as my weight crept up, but I didn’t want to buy a whole new wardrobe. One, I can’t afford it. Two, I want to wear the pounds of clothes I have sitting in the attic. So when I found this skirt in the closet and was able to pull it up over my hips, I was relieved. Something from the old stack that I could wear.

Then I ripped it. Probably because I insist in sitting on my legs in strange ways in my office chair. This causes the material to stretch over my rump. Or, in this case, to rip when it cannot accomodate said rump.

I plunged immediately into the pits of body loathing. I hated my hips and butt with such fierceness at that moment. And I mentioned some of this out loud to James.

He told me to stop. Cut me off. He didn’t want to hear it.

Which, of course, made me even madder. Now I had someone to direct my anger at other than myself.

We fought the entire way back from the post office, as we got into the car and on the entire drive home to change my clothes. When I finally ripped off the skirt and started actually crying, James’s demeanor changed. He took me in his arms and told me that he really does think that I’m beautiful and always has. He told me how proud he is of me and my exercising and changing food habits. He told me he admires my willpower. And he told me that my body is changing, that I’m getting firmer in some places and smaller in others, even if I can’t see it. He pointed out that I probably couldn’t have even gotten that skirt on at all a few months ago. He told me not to give up, because he could see improvements in my mood and energy that he linked to the exercise.

James talks a lot about wanting our marriage to be a partnership. I think that’s a fabulous way to look at marriage, but a lot of times I don’t really understand what that means. Yesterday, he showed me. When I was at a real low, he picked me up. That’s what partnership is about — filling in the gaps when the other person needs it.

jenny: oh, I forgot to tell you the wedding epiphany I had today in the shower

James: yeah?

jenny: Fairy princess!!!
jenny: with glitter and sparkles and I can wear wings!
jenny: and the flower girls can wear wings
jenny: and the bridesmaids!
jenny: wings for everyone!

James: you’re banned from making any wedding decisions

jenny: I like fairies!

James: oh and you can quote me on your blog

James and I sat down with Shaffin from the Wake Robin tonight to start going over some details on our way to making a contract. Shaffin is going to type up his notes in the morning and send us a preliminary agreement, including a non-deposit room block.

We picked out a preliminary menu:

Appetizers:
Stuffed mushrooms (both with sausage and veggie)
Brie and raspberries
Asian chicken skewers with peanut sauce

Entrees:
Prime Rib
Tilapia (exact preparation TBD; actually, the exact choice of fish may change)

Sides:
French provincal red potato salad
Grilled asparagus
Orzo salad

Salad:
Mixed green Ceasar

Mixed rolls

Pinot grigio
Cabernet savignon

I didn’t realize that they do cakes, as well, so we haven’t decided if we will use them or get an outside baker. Shaffin said either would be fine. He also recommended having mini-cakes (somehow different from cup cakes) so that people could sort of nibble on them all night and didn’t feel they had to eat a huge slice of cake.

We also have the option of having the appetizers served again after dessert, as people are dancing and drinking. A good way to make sure people are eating with their alcohol. We’ll have a 5 hour open bar, then a cash bar after that. There’s no time limit on the place and Shaffin said they’ll keep at least one bartended at the pub for those who want to stay up late.

James and I will be staying at the inn that night, so that might include us.

Shaffin was telling us that sometimes some people in the entourage (read: parents) insist on having the pub open for drinks before the ceremony. James and I both said firmly that we don’t want this. We want our guests to be sober for the ceremony. Shaffin said that was fine, but to talk to our parents and make sure they don’t give him a hard time about it.

Those are pretty much the main details we discussed. We will meet a few more times and do a walk through a couple of months before the wedding. Shaffin said we should also think about ways to personalize it, so that our wedding is unique. We have a couple of ideas, but I don’t want to go into them yet, as we hope to have some surprises for our guests.

And both Shaffin and James are pulling for a live band over a DJ, so I guess we have to start researching that.

“Okay, I know that streaking is out, but what about the gorrilla suit?”
— Dan, my cousin’s fiance, on wedding attire

I had a cute post planned for you about the cat we are watching for a couple of weeks, but I couldn’t get the photos the right size.

And now, my computer seems to be dying. This is not good. I am not happy.

So, if I seem a little distant, this is why. My poor little computer.