Married Folks: It’s a Conspiracy.

There are soooooo many things married people don’t tell you about getting married:

You have to pick wedding colors ( I honestly thought you just put shit together and hope for the best)

There are literally 1000 tiny bitty decisions to make (I had to answer 50 questions from my florist, 10 from limo people, 30 from bakery, reception hall – don’t even go there, invitations were a mess because some people apparently like to be refered to as Mr. or Mrs, song choices – crap shoot, programs, mass songs, budget issues, photographer interviews, dj interviews, bridesmaid musical chairs, relatives and their wahala, future in-laws and outlaws, people you forget to invite, seating chart politics, rsvp wahala, program, seating cards, decor, and don’t forget that the catholic church will interview you like you are about to join the CIA and make you go to pre-wedding classes, agree to abide by rules of liturgy as you make the 100 hundreds of decisions about your readings, psalms, readers, gift bearers, and worrying if your guest have booked their hotel rooms, and giving side eye to guests that ask you to book their hotel rooms….)

I digress.

Where was I?  Ah, -
You have to whiten your teeth (da heck … my teeth are ajar as I type damn crest stripes)
Bridezillas are not fictional creatures (your brain goes  on a fritz and it seems like every one is out to ruin your day)
Anything that will go wrong, will go wrong.  No matter how hard you try.
You start to ask God to give you another set of relatives in your next life.
By a month to the day, you seriously consider strapping a mini bottle of vodka to your garter under your dress.
By two weeks to the day, you mentally case the church to see where a private swig is possible

Okay … enough for today.  Am off to take my ativan and hopefully it kicks in sooner than later.  If I return to this post, then it did not kick in…

What? I already feel …

…married.

That’s what I told my boss this morning when he asked if I was ready for my last week at work as a single gal.

In all honesty, a lot has been hitting me lately.  It finally hit me that I have never really minded being married to a white guy and being part of an all white family until I learned that none of them knew or really wanted to do the “Wedding Wobble.”  Not even my lily white DJ and fiance’s high school mate knew about it.  In an email he said:

“In all my 200 weddings I have never heard of the Wedding Wobble.”  Is it a regional thing?”

I replied:

“No, it’s a black thing.”

I had a brief second of doubt as to whether I wanted to be married to a white guy who whenever I picture him doing the wedding wobble, I collapse into giggles.  He dances like my dad.  My dad cannot dance, but thinks he can.  Oh Lord, I will spend my entire time on the floor laughing.

It suddenly hit me that people will soon start wondering why this Nigerian chick has a German name.  Especially at work.  I mean really German.  Not Gewurztraminer German … but really close.  And his mother’s maiden name?  Oh thank the good lord for his small mercies  …  let’s just say it ends with ………….steiner.

It  just hit me yesterday that I will never have “my” anything.  We went to Target yesterday to buy floor lamps. We have  been sprucing up the place in preparation of my parents’ arrival.  I asked at check out if I could have a frappuccino.  He said no and then gave me a lecture on trivial spending.

I did not say a word but quietly fumed at the nerve he had.  This is a man who last Friday, signed me up for Sirius.  That is $100 per year plus equipment.  I don’t need or want Satellite radio.  I have my favorite fm stations but somehow he got it because we talked about it and “we” agreed.  On the up side, I can now borrow the mustang whenever I want and not hear him bitch about not being able to listen to Howard Stern.

It just hit me, that I can’t wait to get married so everyone will leave us the fuck alone and move on to the next couple.

Marriage?  I can’t wait.  This should be interesting.

Warning: This Post is a Novella

I started my wedding planning a year ago so that I could have a decent relaxing few weeks before the day.  You know what they say, if you want God to have a good laugh, tell him or her your plans.  So I told my family to get my parents their embassy appointments A YEAR AGO.  But like typical naija they lollygagged until the last minute.  When my parents failed to meet their 214B immigration policy (prove they will return … actually my mom forgot where I worked), I lost it.  After sitting in my the district director of my congressperson bawling my eyes out … (thankfully she understood the problem since her daughter just got married), I spent all day yesterday making copies, sending documentation to my congressman’s office so they could have the Justice Department re-interview my parents as soon as possible.  Eyin blogville please keep us in your prayers oh.  If they had interviewed six months ago they would have been eligible to re-interview again and hopefully get visas.  I now have a healthy distrust of having family members in Nigeria make plans for you.  I am soooooooo pissed.

Then – on  my way home – my physician called me.  Now  I love Dr. B but I was not in the right frame of mind.  She was calling because I had apparently been downing a lot more Vicodin than I usually do.  My stress pill Ativan seems not to be working so I had been relying more heavily on the Vicodin.

“Dr. B, I am so busy and stressed right now that I really don’t have the time to take care of my health.  I just need to get through this wedding.”

I should be doing better because two months ago, I picked up a copy of a young adult novel called ‘The Space Between’ about the adventures of Lilith and Lucifer’s daughter, Daphne and how she traveled to earth to save a suicide from entering hell.  For some reason, the book sent me into a tailspin.  I had a full blown panic attack and had to have emergency medication sent to my pharmacy.  After that episode, Dr, B called me in and handed me a bunch of prescriptions and said, “we are going to get you through July.”

But I digress.

Any way after I got home last night, I said to Turtle, “I am getting drunk tonight.”

“Buffalo Wild Wings?”

“Yup.  Let’s go!”

Now, I have not been drinking like I used to due to all the medications I have been taking.  So of course my tolerance level was dangerously low.  I slammed a Bahama Mama, then proceed to drink five cosmopolitans.

The last thing I remember is taking a shower and going to bed.

This morning I got up and the kitchen looked like there had been a food fight.

“What the heck happened?”

“Well,” he began, “When I found you, you were going through two bowls of rice and stew.  And you had chicken meat and bones in your hair.”

Me: *blank stare*

“Apparently someone can’t handle their booze.”

“I knew that was coming.”  I sniffed, tilting my head up in an attempt to appear dignified. “I am going to be late for work.”

Well.  I have had a lot happen lately, attended two wonderful showers and having a third today at work.  Yay!  I love gifts.

I visited Nashville a month ago and ate at the best Italian themed restaurant I have ever seen.

I met an aspiring singer.  I think her name is Ashley Edwards or something like that.  I hope she makes it.

Actually there were musicians everywhere.

Saw the Parthenon replica.  Impressive and totally not suited for Nashville.

I had to go bar hopping…….

 

All in all, a neat town.  Wish I thought of having my bachelorette party there.