Wedding Dress Giveaway

Nothing like getting elbowed in the face by a thifty, hipster LA bride and threatening your fellow So Cal fiancees to slugout in the name of free wedding dresses..

A Ghost Story

I know it's after Halloween, but I have a ghost story. 4 years ago on Halloween, my enterprising, big hearted father offered my long-term boyfriend a job with his company back in Memphis. We were living in Los Angeles, a town my boyfriend hated, a place that was mysterious and fickle and playing hard to get. I loved it. My career was going nowhere, but yet I loved it. He accepted the job. He moved to Memphis and a year later we were engaged. Six months later he broke off the engagement, unable to handle the pressure of family's influence and because he claimed he wasn't ready to grow up. I was devastated, but as the dust settled, i was secretly relieved. I had bought myself some more time with my still very demanding, fickle girlfriend LA.

I happily married my husband a couple of weeks ago. We just got back from our honeymoon and had just learned his company was most likely going to be laying him off. On Halloween, the phone rang. I answered, and ghosts flew out of the phone. It was my father, offering my husband a job in Memphis, albeit with a new company, one that didn't seem prepackaged with the "token job"label on it like last time. Its a job that actually makes sense for my insanely talented but struggling husband, a job we had discussed independently of the offer. It's a job that would most likely be the death of his ambition to be a musician. I want him to be happy. Is this what compromise means?

And then there's me. How do I say goodbye to a city I've fallen madly for, warts and all? How do I say goodbye to my friends, the tamales, the crack in my ceiling, my neighbors, crumbling downtown movie palaces, farmers markets on Sundays, the ocean, the career that never really was. I just want the luxury of saying goodbye on my own terms. I don't know if I'm ready. I feel homeless, already broken up from LA. I don't know if she wants me back.

Music to be Married By

As the wedding industrial complex would now have us believe, a couple getting married is beholden to their guests. It is no longer enough for a wedding guest to enjoy the sweetness of the ceremony, a signature cocktail while the newlyweds disappear for a chance for the bride to unzip and become reacquainted with oxygen, or the reception dinner with its “action” stations, chocolate fountains and ice sculptures of neck-entwined swans in love. The wedding guest is also required a “favor,” a la toast the couple, do a couple of rounds of “We are Family” and head out the door with a bag of almonds for your trouble. This trend actually got started by those superstitious Europeans of centuries past, where wedding guests would be given five color-coded almonds; the number to represent the indivisible nature of marriage, the color to represent the five wishes of marriage: happiness, fertility, luck, a Mercedes and a realtor in league with the Messiah.

Brides cognizant of this ancient tradition still offer Jordan almonds to their guests, but the latest in wedding favor trends by far is the mix CD. This is the grown-up, more sophisticated version of the 1980s mix-tape that was composed of songs taped off the radio by holding one’s “boombox” up to the stereo speakers after obsessively calling FM 100 to request that killer Atlantic Starr song. Today’s wedding CD is a surprisingly sophisticated affair with a clever, professionally photographed picture of the couple on the jewel case, a pithy title (Tony and Tina’s Greatest Hits!) and a laser printed list of the songs. This is where the CD as favor makes me shudder.

I am marrying a Music Snob who is marrying an unrepentant pop lover. On early dates I would be very careful to have the radio on a safe, cool-friendly station like KCRW, where I would hair toss and giggle to irish-african harmonica or station fundraising. But then I got lazy, and we’d turn on the car to find Gwen Stefani warbling proudly on Kiss – FM or worse- a Justin Timberlake CD. My fiancé is a musician, so a CD favor makes perfect sense (as does his loathing of ex-boy band members). But what to put on the CD that doesn’t forecast matrimonial doom? To paraphrase Nick Hornby, if his and her record collections can’t have a conversation, why bother? I am no better than my European fore-brides who sweated over making sure the right colored Jordan almonds made it home with every guest lest their marriage be mocked by those lightning-tossing gods. I can picture our cute CD with our cute mugs, and I can imagine the conversations on the way home: “Willie Nelson and The BeeGees? Tom Waits and Xanadu? Uh, is it too late to take their china back to Macy’s?

In my defense, the assortment I started to put together would be stamped with the hipster seal of approval – Al Green and Elvis to honor Memphis, our ceremony site, a little Lyle Lovett and Dolly Parton to extend the country metaphor. Some Madeline Peyroux Jeff Buckley and Nina Simone to round things out. But then I got worried. Would it look like I was trying too hard to be cool? I like every single song I selected but what about my family? Would they see through this charade of effortlessly cool matrimonial mixing, the same people subjected by me to Def Leppard, Bobbie Brown and yes, Atlantic Starr mix tapes?

I’m gonna let my trendier bridal sisters pose for their album covers and gleefully smoosh together Elvis Costello and Diana Krall (as no doubt they like to do themselves). Me, I’m gonna let my guests eat cake – or cookies that is – baked by my wildly talented cousin. Because when you consider that the average wedding guest has to pony up for a plane ticket, a wedding gift, a shower gift, hotel expenses, a new dress and hairstyle, they truly deserve a favor. So they’ll be taking home a little edible reminder of our day, one that’ll go down much more smoothly than Edith Piaf and Tupac.

Bride is the new Black

I'm off to Memphis this weekend for the last time before the actual wedding and Saturday will bring about an event famous in my part of the world

The church lady shower.

This entails about 60-75 women who set you down with finger sandwiches and iced tea and proceed to lavish crock pots upon you. I've never been good about opening presents in front of other people but I figure now's the time to be initiated. But since we set up the registry for donations to Hurricane Katrina victims, maybe it won't be so bad. Lots of Oxfam cards. And maybe some of the nice Lenox silverware...The Fiance convenienty wrangled an invitation to Nashville so I'll be flying solo at this one. But I'll be grateful for the warmup - how does one greet 450 guests in one night?

Cloned Bride

This creative pair said "China patterns? Shmina satterns!" and opted for one of the most orignal registry requests I've ever seen. I am so putting CLONED BRIDE on my wish list. And everyday we can reinact the ceremony, and we can try on different hairstyles and dresses and it'll be like our wedding every day for the rest of our lives. And maybe she can vacuum and take the dog out.

Wife in training.

Wife. Wiiiffffe. wifewifewifewifewifewifewifewifewifewifewife. Say it fast and it doesn't sound like English anymore, maybe an exotic type of housefly grub. Certainly not anything someone would actively choose to be. But here I am, the caterer booked, the dress altered, the ring sized, the wedding coordinator sending me War and Peace-long emails that start like,"If this was my wedding..." Yes there have been the dreams of tsunamis (we both had that one on the same night), the one where the florist is in charge of doing my hair, the ground falling out from underneath, but I'm still in the game. Why? The boy, obviously. My parents, interestingly.

The boy is the most beautiful man I've ever met, inside and out. He' s the kind of person who kinda scares me sometimes he's so good. How he flosses every night, finishes tasks after he starts them, gets checked out by men more than I do. And he's in that category of sickeningly talented people who is good at everything he does, like juggling, math and making the four year old diva upstairs fall head over heels. But then he gets into his mysterious broody, cranky sessions, like a tropical depression suddenly creeped in overhead, and I feel better about not flossing, eating meatloaf at 11 PM and trying to be a wife to such a fascinating creature. And then there are my parents who will be celebrating their 35th wedding aniversary next year. Their love is a force of nature. A big F-you to starter marriages, red-state divorce statistics, and Brad Pitt and his claim that people aren't meant to stay together forever as he expertly juggles third-world mistress orphans on-camera. Maybe he is right. He probably is. But my parents make a compelling argument for why staying together is so...wonderful. My mother told me The Secret behind their marriage the other day. Don't let anyone ever tell you marriage is easy. I was having my hair cut by a 29 year old hipster with no shoes on who proudly confessed to having been married and divorced twice. (It must be hell trying to keep up with trends at Fred Segal) he said that once the passion died, what was the point?

It's exactly the point, my mother would contend. That's when the hard work really starts, when two people jockeying for mirror space and drinking out of the milk carton have to get creative, resourceful, brave. Anbody can cut and run. It takes a soldier to stay in it for the long haul. My mom told me that that on her wedding day, she didn't think she could love my dad anymore than she did at that moment. She said it is staggering to witness, after the fights, the gravity, the seasons, years, taxes, cat hair, just how much more she does today.

And that's why I am marrying the boy.