Hi everybody, I’m Sandi, and I’m addicted to wedding planning.
And I haven’t even started yet.
Remember when I used to write about my family and funny things that happened and celebrities and shopping?
And now for the next year it’s looking like I’m just going to document the downward spiral of a wedding planner?
Hey – did you realize that I am still in my Year of No Shopping and I’m planning a WEDDING?
Did you realize that I am in the ULTIMATE Pinterest contest WITH MYSELF right now?
Did you realize that I called Keenan 9 times yesterday to talk about the wedding colors and we haven’t even picked a date yet?
Here I am thinking all along that I’m a Rachel and then I get engaged and it turns out I’m a total Monica. I mean, I have a binder.
Poor Keenan. I’m sitting here surrounded by wedding magazines and 2,000 Pinterest pins and pictures of wedding cakes and I can see the look on his face and it’s saying “I ask this girl one little question and give her one little present and now I have to talk about socks for the next year” and then I’m like “hey Keen, do you like these chair covers?” and he says “whatever you want” and then I’m like “If you don’t care about chair covers then you obviously don’t want to marry me” and he’s like “can someone tell me how I got here?” and I’m like, “hey Keen, do you like these napkins?” and then my family crushes up a Xanax and slips it in my drink, probably.
I have one photographer who wants to be my best friend (she’s actually fabulous…if she doesn’t watch it with the “OMG WEDDING!!!!” emails she’ll end up a bridesmaid), wedding venues who don’t want to tell me their available dates until I set foot on the property, so they can see what a sucker I am and then try to rope me into having an outdoor wedding on Christmas Eve in a blizzard, and Wedding Paper Divas giving me an anxiety attack with their emails about magnets and save the dates and cardstock and 42 fancy fonts that look exactly the same, and my dad who said that we have to pick every single song the DJ plays for the entire 5 hours because we “don’t want any Bruce Springsteen and Steppenwolf (WHAT?), we want to DANCE” and my mother who keeps giving me little scraps of paper with the “best Bed Bath & Beyond” to register at EVER. And I’m like, “register? I just spent the last 2 weeks staring at my left hand. Can I get a minute?” and she’s like, “you need china” and Keenan’s over here asking my dad if he can put electricity in the shed and we can just live there.
The other day I found myself on two different photographer’s websites, watching their engagement photo session portfolios just scroll through 200 pictures each, simultaneously, side by side. My mother found me 45 minutes later just staring at the screen. “One of them might not even be available,” she said “helpfully” – “and then that makes your decision easier.” I had never thought of them being booked already. Panic commence, stat.
Do you think planning a wedding is easy because it looks super fun and let’s be honest, you’ve already planned your wedding on Pinterest from the comfort of your couch, wine, and yoga pants?
Let me put it this way: God created the world in 7 days. It takes at least a year to plan your average wedding.
I’ll just let that sink in for you while I’m over here, trying to decide between 14 different appetizers all made of crabmeat.
Meltdowns: 1.5 (After the Great Photography Incident, my mom said “Is this 2 meltdowns, then, San?” Keenan responded, and I quote, “Come on, Mrs. Di. You know that one was only a point five.” This is why I’m marrying him.)
Months to go: TBD!
On Thursday Keenan & I went to the Flyers game to celebrate our one-week engagement anniversary.
Yes. We’ve become those people who celebrate minor anniversaries. We also posted pictures on Instagram to commemorate the date, so, yeah, we’re pretty embarrassing. Also, we hold hands in grocery stores.
I don’t know anyone who’s celebrated a one-week anniversary since high school but it was actually fantastic and if we decide to do it every week you’re just going to have to get used to it (I hope, because I am almost at 10,000 views on my blog FINALLY and I really want you to keep reading!)
Unless this is the first entry you’ve read, you’re aware that I am not exactly a sports person. How can I illustrate this point? I called my father from the Flyers game to ask him if he could see us on TV and then said we were close to the Flyers dugout.
So. That happened.
Keenan was actually supposed to take my cousin’s husband Dennis to the game but it turned out he had PTA conferences because apparently we’re grownups and have work commitments now (ugh), so I was evidently his second choice, which is OH so romantic – tell it again! So I suited up in my Flyers gear aka my sister’s adorable new orange shirt with lacy sleeves that I stole out of her drawer while she wasn’t home, and we went.
We actually had a great time and if you’re into people watching/judging, a hockey game’s probably the best place to do it because there are some crazy-acting people there. I am trying to be tactful so I won’t mention the number of people in full-body orange spandex and/or pajama pants. Except that I will, and there were 8.
Also I learned some things about hockey. Namely, that I can follow it, and it’s actually much more exciting than I expected. My brother & I used to play NHL ’97 on the Playstation when we were pretty young and it felt a lot like that, only no one used our patented technique of “You check the goalie, and I’ll score.” (Why not? It’s a great technique!)
Hockey guys are tall. Much taller than they look on TV, and even taller on those ice skate stilts. Also – fast. They’re so fast! Now, I’ve been to the Ice Capades before (predictably) and this was almost as impressive in some ways, sans the outfits/lack of glitter/helmets/toothlessness. But also – why are they allowed to fight? Why is sportsmanship not even a thing in hockey? I saw quite a few guys smash their stick in anger and one guy had his face squashed right into the wall and there was an awful lot of punching that no one seemed interested in stopping and I just can’t imagine two golfers just ripping off their collared shirts and going at it.
But the most important thing I learned about hockey is that engagement rings look insanely sparkly under the lights in a hockey stadium so I’m pretty sure we picked a venue and it’s on the ice at the Wells Fargo Center. Because I live there now. Me and the Zamboni.
The one problem was that I kept thinking about getting killed by a puck. Family-induced-paranoia alert! There was that poor girl who was killed by a flying puck a few years ago, and then of course there was Ross Gellar who also was hit in the face with a puck, and I just don’t think I could withstand the humiliation of being broadcast live on tv with a bloody face.
Also, engagement pictures. So I fully intended to use Keenan as a shield should a puck come flying at my head. Which I did not tell him then and which he is just learning now, assuming he is reading this blog. (Hi, Keen!)
Official wedding update count:
Attention everyone who’s ever loved my blog for the Pinterest stories, the shopping embargo, the celebrity obsessions, the neuroses, and the chronically crippling indecision: your life is about to get a whole lot better.
I am trying to very Middleton about the whole thing, be demure and “oh, this old thing?” and not just start telling the AMAZINGLY romantic proposal story to random strangers in the grocery store, but it is a real effort.
I’ve started to obsess over Pinterest again. Ok, still. Ok, always. Ok, I can’t breathe.
So, ok, fine, I’ve been pinning things on Pinterest for a while now. It’s to the point that when I showed my mother some of my ideas, not only was it abundantly clear that I had been pinning for longer than, oh, the TWO days that I’ve been engaged (ENGAGED!), but it felt like I was showing someone my diary or my overflowing laundry basket or the inside of my purse – something that I hide from people so they don’t think I’m totally insane. But then I’d remember that I am ACTUALLY getting married, and it’s normal to look at things, and I’m like, “YAY, look at my 5,206 ideas for wedding dresses!”
Also – I’m not allowed to shop! Remember? Yesterday, as a matter of fact, marked MONTH SIX of my no-holds-barred-no-shopping-non-extravaganza! I know. I can’t even begin to explain how crazy it is that this has actually happened – but NOW WHAT?!
How am I supposed to plan a wedding without shopping?
Well, I guess we’re going to find out.
And I am going to do it like Kate – calm, sophisticated, collected, whatever the opposite of neurotic is. (But there will be no maid of honor white dress wearing – that is out of the question).
Even the least neurotic version of myself could probably make most people wonder if I’ve thought about being medicated.
Wish me luck! And, if you’re smart, stay tuned. This is going to get good.
This is the first cop-out-like post that requires almost no work on my part that I’ve done, but I think it’s worth it.
Remember those “survey” forwards everyone used to do on AOL in, like, 9th grade? Well, I don’t have access to those, unless you could the trauma therapy that I could use to access those long-buried memories, so I can’t post one of them here for your enjoyment slash my abject horror. (Oh my God, but can you imagine if I could? Survey: “Are you crushing on anyone right now?” Me: ” mayyyyyybe……………”)
But remember that point a few years ago when people started getting “retro” and doing things that used to be cool, in an ironic way, while wearing Converse? Kind of like people now are holding giant phones to their ears that are plugged into their tiny iPhones, and growing mustaches, and wearing shirts that look like they previously belonged to somebody probably homeless?
Well, I just found a survey I filled out on Facebook in 2009. And I think it’s worth reproducing for you, right here, right now.
PS I am basically the exact same person as I was when I was 24. I am having a weird time-traveling feeling about this whole thing.
25 Random Things (bc I don’t have the strength to resist anymore)
by Sandi DiWilliams (Notes) on Saturday, January 31, 2009 at 11:53am
Once you’ve been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it’s because I want to know more about you.
(To do this, go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, type your 25 random things, tag 25 people, then click publish.)
1) I like filling these things out because they fulfill my OCD-fueled compulsion to write everything about myself in list form.
2) I have this really crazy memory and can recall whole conversations word for word and also can quote, like, entire pages of books. I once wrote a book analysis with direct quotes without having the book with me. I am a freak.
3) I look like a totally different person every few months because I can never decide on a hair cut or color. This is the longest my hair has looked the same in YEARS.
4) So this is pretty obvious but I am in love with my family. Let’s just get that straight. They are the funniest people in the world. When my siblings are all in the same room, I don’t even talk, I just try to breathe through my hysterics.
5) I don’t use drive-throughs because they give me anxiety attacks. I have literally cried in the Wendy’s drive through. Too much pressure. To avoid the same problem in restaurants, I read the menu online before I get there. Then I just pretend to read it while I’m at the table, but I have already picked out what I want. I’m totally crazy. The jig is up.
6) I really and truly believe that I will be published one day. My deadline for myself is this year, and I realize that sounds unrealistic but trust me, I’ll figure something out. I can feel it.
7) I hate the cold and I hate the heat. I don’t know what to do about this. I really don’t like weather at all. Also I hate air conditioning and I hate heating. I spend all winter in my car alternating between the heat and the AC because I CANNOT get comfortable. Fall is the only season that I enjoy and/or am not allergic to, and that lasts like 15 minutes. Totally uneven and unfair. Damn summer people. I will never understand you, and then you get your way.
8) I love my birthday countdown, but have never liked my actual birthday. I used to cry every year at my birthday party when it was time to open presents and everyone looked at me. Also too much pressure.
9) In college my friends thought it was funny to mess with my OCD and touch one of my arms to make me touch the other one to even it out, nice things like that. It was really mean but now they’re much nicer and when we go out to eat they all wait until I pick a chair so I don’t get the wrong one and “fall over.” Normal.
10) I wish I had a fantastic, jazzy singing voice. I secretly believe that I do, I just don’t know how to get it to come out.
11) When I was 11 years old, my parents told me my mom was pregnant and apparently my reaction was, “You are SO embarrasing.” I wish I remember this because it seems totally hilarious to me, but evidently I have blocked it out. Emotional scarring.
12) I write down every funny thing I hear people say. I have a huge compilation of funny things said by friends, family, teachers, etc. When I re-read it, I laugh hysterically.
13) Studying psychology gave me med student syndrome, and I was afraid I had every disorder I read about, even the really scary personality ones. I do have (self-diagnosed, but I’m a professional) OCD, though. That’s obvious.
14) I worship America’s Next Top Model and develop a girl crush on the girl with the shortest haircut every season. I have a thing for boy haircuts on girls, I guess. I don’t think this is that weird.
15) I am obsessed with comedians and funny people period. Truthfully, I do not like people who are not funny. My family is funny and my friends are all funny and I think I’m very funny (made obvious by the fact that I laugh at everything I say) and I’m sorry but we don’t really like un-funny people. That is not very nice but it’s true. I have also decided that my husband needs to be funny, but if I had to pick between me finding him funny and him finding me funny, I would like for him to find me funny. This is a strange way to determine husband eligibility.
16) I really like my name and am obsessed with names in general. I have lists of names that I like. This is weird.
17) Me & my sister used to want to kill each other but now she’s pretty much my favorite person. She’s totally hilarious and pretty awesome. I do still want to kill her frequently, though.
18) I am a grammar nazi and therefore my family calls me Poppy. I correct everyone’s grammar and spelling and I know it’s obnoxious but I literally cannot stop doing it. And I’m sorry to tell you this, but I’m judging you based on your grasp of grammar and your ability to NOT mix up “your” and “you’re.” It’s not hard. PS, when you write a caption under a picture it is NOT correct to say “Sandi and I.” Just please stop it.
19) I am completely reinventing myself this year. That was a new years resolution, and shockingly I am actually doing it. I am, perhaps for the first time, getting to know me. I’m pretty cool. Haha.
20) I take so many pictures that people get mad at me. I’m sorry, it’s a compulsion. I once went on a 5 day cruise and took 800 pictures. I wish this were an exaggeration but truly, it’s not.
21) I have three jobs and only one of them actually utilizes the insanely expensive 6 1/2 years of education I’ve compiled since high school. My schedule is ridiculous and I drive all over the planet every day, but I really don’t know if I want one full-time job. This is so much more fun. It is physically impossible to get bored.
22) I am really afraid of making decisions but I know I need to get over it. I’m definitely attempting to do so but sometimes it’s so much easier to let someone else do the deciding. People get really mad at me when I say “I don’t care” but truthfully, I don’t! If I care, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, you just pick the damn movie.
23) I met my best friend in pre-school when I was 2 years old. We went to school together from then until we graduated from St. Joe’s, where we were roommates. She calls me to tell me little random stories and leave me voice mails about how bored she is while driving. We like to sit at a bar for hours and acquire free drinks and make fun of everyone we see because we think we’re better (we’re going straight to hell, but we’ve accepted it). People mix us up even though we look absolutely nothing alike. And of course, she’s totally hilarious.
24) I have this problem estimating height. I am completely convinced that I am the same height as everyone I see, unless it is a really dramatic difference – like a foot. Otherwise, I think we’re all the same and then I see pictures and I’m like, what, am I slouching? Are you standing on a table? What is happening here?
25) I have always been obsessed with the final sentence in terms of writing. I feel like I should always go out with a bang. I would spend more time on the last sentence of a paper or something than I would the rest of it combined. I still do that when I write. I would like to have done that here, but sometimes things don’t work out as planned. Oh! That’s my other thing. I am no longer worrying about “plans.” So, in that case, I’m just going to say goodbye
So here we are again.
Me apologizing to you, you pretending to forgive me.
It feels like a power struggle. And you’re winning. But I have to say: sorry not sorry this time. I’ve been baking ten thousand cookies and reading Silver Linings Playbook (recommend!) and playing this ridiculous online game that my mother got me hooked on (do NOT recommend) and fighting off urges to go shopping for a spring wardrobe (it was 5 months without shopping on March 13, and I want to die), and also trying to maintain my body’s will to live.
I’ve had a minor illness.
Which is what I want to talk about today. Going to the doctor’s. I know, it’s been done, by every single comedian who likes to say, “Hey, what’s up with doctors?!” but I have a new perspective, and I’d like to share it with you.
Going to the doctor is like going to a psychic. Does that sound weird? You have no idea. These are the thoughts that go through my head. I’m letting you in for a sneak peak of my neuroses. You’re welcome.
I never go to the doctor, because I pretty much never get sick. But lo and behold, I’m hacking up a lung for 2 days over the weekend and 3 days straight at work until finally Karen at work says, “Uh, maybe you should go to the doctor?” which is office code for “You’re totally grossing me out & we can’t open the windows at this time of year & I don’t want to look rude by whipping out the Lysol wipes right in front of you but really, gross.”
So I went. I’m sitting in the waiting room with lots of elderly people and little kids, starting to feel really awkward, and coughing into my elbow like all the signs on the walls tell you to do. The signs at work just tell you not to get sick, because they don’t want you taking days off. The signs at the doctor at least pretend to care, by offering helpful hints.
By the time I get to see the doctor (who knows my family, so that’s super weird, and he’s looking into my eyeballs with a light and asking about my dad, so that’s great), I have convinced myself my death is imminent. Sure, this morning it was only a cough, but he starts recording my symptoms in a laptop and before I know it he’s making “hmmm” noises like he’s trying to solve a crime on Criminal Minds and I just know I have something awful and also, probably he’s going to want to hospitalize me in more of a mental type institution because I haven’t stopped talking the entire time I’ve been in the room. I’m just babbling on and on and at one point almost start tearing up when I mention that my job is pretty stressful, and then I’m apologizing when he’s looking up my nose because come on, really? And he says, “Believe it or not, I do this for a living” and this is where the psychic part comes in.
You know how a psychic just seems like they know what you’re thinking, even though they’re probably just guessing, or using context clues, or stole your wallet and studied your ID earlier? Well, that’s how it was in the doctor’s office. I’m like, “I had a really sore throat over the weekend” and he’s like, “Was it sore?” and I’m like, “YES!” And then I add, “I was thinking it was allergies, but then I started coughing a lot” and he was like, “Were you coughing on the third day?” and my mouth just dropped open like, you totally know me. Then he was like, “Do you have any pain?” and I panicked, like, Oh no, DO I? and after thinking about it for a minute I said, “Just my lungs hurt a little bit when I cough,” and he nodded like, I know. I know they do.
Right when I’m about to ask him if anyone has a message for me from beyond the grave, he says “I think I know what you have” and I brace myself for the worst and he announces:
And I am so embarrassed.
But he is so right.
And just as I am beginning to feel very, very stupid for going to the doctor’s for a cold, he adds the greatest words I have ever heard a doctor utter:
This is it. It’s official. I have reached celebrity status. Should I be checking into a rehab to nurse this aforementioned exhaustion? Do I need to be prescribed some kind of special spa treatment that will enrich my hair & exfoliate my skin & make my pores shoot out rays of sunshine? Do I need plastic surgery?
I am the Lohan. Minus that ratty hair and the pesky drug habit.
He tells me to get more sleep and not take work so seriously, and to get my throat checked, because it sure sounds raspy, and am I sure I’m not a smoker?
I left the office feeling like I’m floating on a cloud made by Christian Louboutin. I pull my purse in front of me and shield my face with my hand, making it to my car without encountering the paparazzi, I assume because they only narrowly missed me.
A twenty dollar copay is pretty good for a psychic, I think. And totally worth it to make me really rock those big sunglasses and the messy-on-purpose-because-I’m-sick hair like a celeb on her way to check into a “facility.” But he was really wrong about that smoker thing. This voice is au naturale. And probably exacerbated by exhaustion.
But don’t tell anybody. I don’t want my business in the tabloids.