NotJustAHatStand

So. Where to start?

First of all, thanks for all the lovely comments on my last post (and over at Drama Queen's). I've become rather too used to people being nice to me and telling me how lovely I looked. It's lucky the Boy is here to keep me down to earth - he told me I looked wide the other day when I asked if a particular top looked ok or not. If he'd called me fat that would be bad enough, but WIDE? As in 'Caution, Wide Load'? I was most upset.

The wedding was ... amazing. Hard to describe without sounding overly sentimental and sickly sweet and smug-married-like. Suffice to say it went like clockwork and I enjoyed every second of it. The weather was beautiful. I managed not to fall over, or cry, or spill my dinner down my front, or any of the horrors I had imagined. I did fluff my vows slightly, but only a little bit, and the worst that happened was a bit of a stern look from the minister. It really couldn't have gone any better, and I feel very fortunate indeed that we had such a beautiful day. It was lovely seeing all our family and friends getting together for our benefit, eating and drinking and having a good time.

I wasn't nervous at all beforehand. I'm normally a bit of a worrier so this was something of a revelation. I thought the bridesmaids would have to scrape me off the ceiling come 2pm but I was calmer than they were. I got some butterflies when I realised that guests were arriving - somehow the only people I had considered were the immediate wedding party, I had completely disregarded the fact that 60 other guests were descending on the place, so when I remembered about them I got a bit nervy. But other than that, I was cool as a cucumber. Most unlike me.

The rest of the day went by in a bit of a blur. I couldn't finish my dinner (which I was gutted about), and had to go up to our room and take my dress off, as in eating nearly three courses I had lost the ability to breathe out completely. When the Boy came to find me for our big entrance into the evening reception and our first dance as husband and wife (which was to this version of 'Dream A Little Dream Of Me' if you're interested in the outcome of this argument), he was already a bit tiddly. By the LAST dance, he was completely trollied, and spent most of the song leaning on my shoulder, getting further and further down the longer the song went on. By the time all the guests had departed and we finally got back to our room, I had to undress him (and not in the good way) and put him to bed before he fell over. I, however, was sober as a judge but not for want of trying.

It all seems like a looong time ago now.

I feel like I should reward anyone who's still reading for all my bleating on about the wedding, so I'm breaking with tradition and posting some pictures of me and Hubby (hee!). So long as you don't tell anyone, okay?








I've decided (or rather it was decided for me), that I'm going to take the Boy's name after all. As everyone probably knew I would. I'm keeping my maiden name as a middle name, and the Boy has agreed to do the same, which is a pretty good compromise. I do feel old being Mrs Teeny, and yes, I do still immediately think of his mother whenever someone calls me by my married name, but I'm sure that will pass.

Won't it?

Labels: Wedding

I'm sure I should be doing something other than posting to my blog right now but all that's left on my to do list are things like 'clean bathroom' and 'wash dishes' and I've just had a spray tan so I can't get my hands wet in order to do any of those things (which I am GUTTED about). This means that the Boy will have to do them, especially because he has invited people round to the pigsty that is our flat tonight (but don't even get me started on that).

Roo's results came back from the vet on Saturday, and I am delighted to say that the lump on her leg was not cancer after all, but a mass of fatty tissue (niiice).

So. Everything is arranged, and all there is to worry about now are natural disasters, last minute changes-of-heart, or sudden and drastic weight-gain. I had a dream the other night that I weighed myself and the scales told me I was 17 stone. I had to go and try on my dress immediately to make sure it still fitted (it did).

I'm amazingly calm - I thought I'd be a gibbering mess by now. The ratio of nerves:excitement is leaning towards the latter. I'm super excited to put my dress on and see the Boy's face when I walk down the aisle. I'm looking forward to wearing my wedding ring, and going on honeymoon. I can't wait to finally, after seven and bit years, stand up, make my vows and hear the Boy make his. Because that means I can get fat and he can't escape.

I still can't believe that neither of our dads will be there to see us get married, but I'm sure they will both be looking down on us. And spluttering in horror at the wanton money-spending that has been going on in their absence.

As much as I'm looking forward to the wedding, I'm not going to miss the constant phone calls from people asking me what's happening about the cake/piper/catering/favours/flowers/minister. I'm not normally the most organised person and it's been a bit of a struggle being the person who co-ordinates everyone and everything. But I've managed it and so far there's not been any major disasters (there's still time though).

The thing I am most nervous about is the fact that, against my better judgement, I didn't get my passport renewed. I will have eight months left on my passport at the time we're returning from honeymoon - I know the rule is you have to have six months left on it at the time you're coming home, but I wish I'd got a new one, just in case. Two months doesn't seem like a very big margin of error. What if I counted wrong? What if the rules change on the day we fly out?

Ah well, it's too late now. My next post may be from a Malaysian detention centre.


See you after the jump.

Labels: Cats, dreams, Travel, Wedding

It's approaching 11pm on Friday night, and I'm just back from getting my legs (and various other bits) waxed. The only appointment I could get was for 9pm. How bizarre. It was kinda nice walking about Edinburgh though, the Festival's just beginning and it's actually ok when you're not battling your way through the milling tourists to get to/from work.

The reason for this twilight waxing is that it's my hen party tomorrow. I'm having a kids party for grown ups - including hen-party bags, vodka-jelly and ice cream, and a naked butler. I wanted to get a bouncy castle but it was going to be too expensive (the butler alone is £180 for 2 hours!) so I had to abandon that plan. My sister (Chief Bridesmaid) is taking her job alarmingly seriously however, and has apparently arranged 'activities' so goodness knows what's going to happen.

I didn't want to do the whole weekend away thing that seems to be the norm these days. Maybe it's because I live in a city that's fairly popular with the hen/stag weekend market, and the thought of tripping round Newcastle wearing a hot pink sparkly stetson, or losing my passport in Prague, made my toes curl. Not that there's anything wrong with that - the Boy had his stag do in Newquay last weekend and had a ball*. But it's not for me. So I'm having the party tomorrow, and my workmates are taking me out for a night on the town at the end of August. That probably will involve some form of pink sparkly headgear but I can handle it for one night.

*With the possible exception of the hour he had to spend wearing a Borat style mankini, poor thing.

I'm nervous about tomorrow, in much the same way I used to get before birthday parties when I was little - 'what if no-one shows up', 'what if the people that do show up have a horrible time', 'what if something goes terribly wrong and my mum doesn't see the funny side of all the willy shaped ice cubes'. You know the kind of thing. But I'm sure a vodka-jelly shot will ease those worries riiight away.

Posting might be, er, sporadic for the next wee whiley. As you can see from the title it's not long till The Big Day and things are a bit hectic. I'll try and post a picture of the naked butler though.

Wish me luck.

Labels: Hen Party, Wedding

I'm not a tall person. I just asked the Boy to measure me, and I am the grand old height of 5 feet and 3 inches. I'm a little upset because I've always thought I was 5'4 but you can't argue with the statistics. My hands and feet are also quite petite. I'm normally a size 3 shoe but this varies depending on the shop and the shoe - I sometimes have to wear size 4, but I also own a pair of size 2 shoes that I bought for a friend's wedding. My hands are pretty small too. Freakishly small, according to some people whose names I will not mention, Boy.

Despite all this, I don't think of myself as being particularly small - I feel like a heifer standing next to the director of my department, who is truly tiny. And I suppose I feel only slightly smaller than the average person. Today though, my modest stature was pointed out to me by two complete strangers.

I bought myself a pair of new shoes. They're little ballet pumps, in my usual size 3, and for some reason the snooty girl in the shop didn't think they merited a shoebox. She was waiting for my receipt to print and I heard her mutter: 'I can probably just fit these into a tiny wee bag'.

And so she did. She put my pretty new shoes into a bag approximately the size of a VHS videotape. I didn't mind too much as the weeny little bag will be handy for taking random bits and bobs that don't fit into my handbag to work, but still - just because the shoes are little they don't get to go in a grown up bag? As Snooty Girl was handing me the bag, I could see the Boy's mouth twitching in an effort not to laugh. This has happened many times to me in shops - some implied comment about being short or the size of my feet or my hands.

After the shoe shop, we went to a jeweller across the road to try on wedding rings. I told the camp jeweller what I was looking for and he went mincing off to bring back some for me to try on. When he came back, he asked to see my engagement ring, and I took it off and handed it to him. He squealed and said 'oh my god look at it, it's tiny!'

Then: 'I wonder if you've broken my record!'

Cue more mouth-twitching from the Boy. I asked what his previous record was but I never found out. As he sized my engagement ring he said, with the air of a zoologist who has come across a new species of beetle: 'Wow, I've never sized smaller than a G on an adult!'

So there you have it, my dimensions appear to be significantly smaller than average. I suppose this is a good thing (it's certainly preferable to being significantly larger than average), but it does make it awkward when it's only 39 days till the wedding and your perfect, meant-to-be wedding ring is going to take 6-8 weeks to be ordered in the freakishly small size you require.

Ah well, worse things happen at sea.

Labels: Shopping, Wedding

I have a typical Scottish complexion. For those of you who don't know, this means white. As in, milk bottle white. Pure incandescent white.

Now, my wedding dress is also white (actually it's ivory but, meh). The point is that my natural colouring means I blend in so well with the dress that you barely see me. So I went for a spray tan yesterday, as a practise run to see how I would look with a bronzed glow, in preparation for tomorrow when I get to collect The Dress, and prance around my mum's living room with it on.

So. I am instructed to remove all my makeup (gargh!) and am shown into a tiny room (really more of a cupboard) with a non slip floor, and a scary looking contraption with hoses and cylinders in one corner. The drop-dead gorgeous beauty therapist (why are they always supermodel material? Just to make you feel really inadequate?) tells me to remove all my clothes, gives me a plastic shower cap and a pair of paper pants to put on, then leaves the room. Why they feel the need to give you privacy when you're getting your kit off is beyond me - they're about to see you in all your glory anyway - but I'm sure they have their reasons.

So there I am, pretty much in the altogether, peely-wally in the bright glare of the spotlight directly above me, without the usual scaffolding and cosmetic enhancements of clothes and makeup, and all my wibbly bits and imperfections in plain view. Then Gorgeous Beauty Therapist comes back in looking, if it's possible, even more supermodelly. She fires up the contraption in the corner, and begins the process of turning me from pure brilliant white to healthily bronzed. She shouts various directions to me above the noise of the contraption - raise this arm, lift that leg, turn this way, turn that way, in, out, shake it all about. I feel like a Ford Fiesta in the garage getting a re-spray.

But by the end of it, I look more tanned than I have ever been in my life. When I go on holiday, I start off my natural white, then turn pinker and pinker as the week goes on. I then go ever so slightly brown, and by the time I've been home a week I'm white again. So it was a bit of a shock to see myself looking anything other than pasty white.

I got another fright this morning when I looked in the mirror. They advise you not to shower or wash until the next morning, so the actual tan, and the brown stuff they spray on you to make you tan, combined to make me look startlingly beige. Thankfully the colour calmed down a fair bit after my shower, so I don't look like I've been tangoed (hopefully). My colleagues didn't point and laugh when I came into the office this morning, so I'm taking that as a good sign.

I do have an amusing outline of pure white where the little paper pants were - I considered taking a picture of it, purely for comedy value, but I really don't think I can (or should) stoop to posting pictures of my arse on the internet.

Labels: Beauty, Wedding

Dear oh dear, is it really so long since I last posted something to this here blog? I've been (as ever) busy sorting out the details for my upcoming nuptials (I love that word, nuptials. It sounds like a tasty treat!).

The invitations that we thought about so carefully, matched with the colour scheme and agonised over, arrived the other day. They were the wrong colour. And I mean completely wrong - they were green. They were not supposed to be green. Once I regained consciousness I managed to sort it out (turns out the shop had put the wrong code on the order form, a code that meant GREEN). The new invitations in the correct colour are now on order at no cost to us and should be here just in the nick of time to send out.

We've also been sorting out our gift list. We naturally ended up going for the selfish, grasping option of just having a gift list in John Lewis. And may I say, the process of setting up a gift list is worth getting married for - they give you a little scanner that you take round the shop, beeping everything that takes your fancy! It's like being given John Lewis, wrapped up with a big red bow.

I'm also trying to decide whether I should get my hair cut into a fringe or not.

I had planned for my hair to be back off my face for the wedding and I don't want to look like I don't have any hair in the pictures (the photographer will probably want me to face the camera, right?), so I've been toying with the idea of having a sort of sideswept fringe. Sort of like this, but not so... emphatic. Or like this blonde chick, but less... blonde.

Bearing in mind that it's 8 weeks on Friday* till the big day (i.e. not long enough to grow out any rash hair experiments), should I get a fringe?

*Obligatory panic attack ensues

Labels: Wedding

Hoo-whee. It's been a busy old week (again).

First things first. I'm out from under my covers and I'm just back from a trip to the dentist.

Austin Powers has gone, and Teeny has returned. Woot!

I walked out of the dentist with a smile on my face today, for the first time in about three years. Despite my sore, bleeding gums and numb mouth, I actually smiled. I'm sure I was a pretty sight. Perhaps that's why children were hiding behind their mothers and saying 'mummy, I'm scared' when they saw me.

As I walked back up to the road, with a spring in my step, I could have started singing Zippity Doo Dah and doing that jumpy, heel-clicky thing. I maybe would have if my dentist wasn't in such a rough area, where exuberant singing of show tunes gets you, at best, a sovvy ring in the teeth, at worst, slashed. For the last three years I've been self-conscious of my teeth to the point where most people probably think I'm a miserable cow who never cracks a smile. But the feeling today of finally looking normal again, was worth all the traipsing back and forth to the dentist, the root fillings, the root canal surgery and, yes, even the Austin Powers temporary crowns.

So I'm very happy with my new wallies (which is a good scots word for teeth, Timbo!). I feel ready to face my public now.

Another significant development, which I'm afraid is wedding related - I had my first dress fitting on Saturday. Apart from it being too long (because I am short) it fitted me perfectly. And when I say perfectly, I do mean waist-cinchingly, bust-flatteringly, perfect.

And I still love it. I was worried that I was going to have gone off it as I couldn't remember exactly what the dress was like (which, I know, what a rubbish bride I am, other girls would have every last detail etched in their memory from the moment they first saw it. But not me). So that was a relief, because my mum has already paid for it.

I did end up buying different shoes, shoes that are not evil foot-munching bear traps, so I have to go back for a second fitting tomorrow.

But that's ok cause I get to play dressing up again.

Labels: Teeth, Wedding

I've kinda lost my blogging mojo recently. Real life seems to have gotten in the way slightly, and I've not had much time. The time I have had, I've been, err, having a bit of a fling with Bebo. It just happened, I'm sure you understand. It didn't mean anything.

I am also a little freaked out about the whole anonymity thing. I've not long registered on Bebo and Facebook and I found a referral in my sitemeter that scared me - someone searching for me by name, and coming across this blog. And I'm not sure I like that.

#peers over shoulder#


I had planned to write a good long post tonight, with a topic and proper sentences and everything, but I had the beginnings of a migraine - I managed to head it off with some drugs (legal ones, natch), but they also made me feel a bit queasy and light headed. So the good long post will have to wait till tomorrow. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, as it gives me more time to think of a topic. And I know you'll be on the edge of your seat till then.

Labels: blogs, Fitness, Life, Wedding

...is that it provides plenty of material for your blog.

I barely stopped all weekend, apart from Saturday night when I sat on my sofa in my jammies with a curry, watching The Queen on DVD.
On Friday night, the Boy and I went to visit my granny to wish her a happy 80th birthday. My grandad, who normally lives in a care home, was spending the day at my granny's house so it was nice to see them both together. My grandad suffers from dementia, so he can be quite hard work sometimes, but at other times, he's just like his old self. His sense of humour has always been razor sharp and this is one thing that hasn't been affected by his illness. As we were leaving, my uncle was taking my grandad into the lift and I said we'd take the stairs. Quick as a flash, my grandad retorted 'make sure you put them back'. It's moments like that you see that he's still the same man. He may ask you five times in the space of an hour what your name is again, but he still has a wicked sense of humour.

On Sunday we went to my cousin's daughter's (does that make her my second cousin?) christening. I've only ever been to a couple of christenings, so I don't really know the etiquette, but I don't know if the minister tipping holy water into the font from an Evian bottle is normal? Apparently he'd consecrated the font and hadn't noticed that there was no water in it - cue lots of rooting around in cupboards to find holy water with which to christen the baby. At least it was Evian, and not Tesco's own I suppose.

After the christening I took the opportunity to speak to my uncle to ask if he would give me away at my wedding (did I mention I was getting married this year?). I never thought I would have to ask someone to do this - of course I always assumed it would be my dad walking me up the aisle - and it was odd having to ask my uncle. When the Boy proposed, one of the first things I thought about (once I'd gotten over the shock, natch), was who would give me away. My dad's brother was the obvious choice for me - he doesn't have any kids of his own, and I think he'll be good at keeping me calm on the day. He's a fireman, so he's good in a crisis. It might be a bit weird because my uncle is my dad's double, but it was always going to be weird whoever was giving me away. Anyway, I'm glad I've asked him now, as it's the one thing on my To Do list that I've been dreading.

Oh, and he agreed by the way, so the bridal party is complete. Well, as complete as it will ever be, with the two great gaping holes left by both of our fathers.

So after all that, I was so tired this morning that I couldn't drag my sorry arse out of bed to go to the gym (#boo, hiss#). I did feel a tiny bit guilty about it, especially when the Boy ignored my attempts to persuade him not to go, but then I snuggled back into my pillow and felt a bit better.

Labels: family, Wedding, weekend

Things I have been doing:

1. Planning a good long post, that has a topic and is thought provoking (ish). That is not this post.
2. Freaking out about the hee-uge list of questions our wedding venue expect us to answer.
3. Feeling quite smug about my every-other-day gym attendance, but rather dismayed at how much of my evening it takes up - I have to go to bed at a NORMAL time, and I have to be ORGANISED. These things do not come easily to me.
4. Shopping for gifts - my granny's 80th birthday tomorrow, and a cousin's christening on Sunday. And I'm effing rooked.
5. Realising that it's just over four months until I get married. FOUR. MONTHS. Jesus H. Christ.
6. Writing a To Do list that is actually almost as long as my arm. I do have short arms, but that is still A BIG LIST #whimpers#
7. Randomly capitalising whole words, apparently. This is not a good sign.
8. Planning a bit of an overhaul of the blogroll (lots of new people to be added) and possibly a whole new template. (HA! Like that's gonna happen anytime soon - Ed)

So, in conclusion - busy, tired, and a teeny bit stressed.

P.S. I have been keeping up with everyone's blogs, even if I haven't left many comments.

*Except that they don't show up in my template so I had to do a numbered list instead.

Labels: blogs, Fitness, Wedding

I've decided not to go ahead with any scary bleaching techniques. I realised how lucky I am to finally have healthy(ish) teeth, and that I shouldn't jeopardise that for the sake of vanity, especially when my teeth don't really need whitened. If I looked like a female Shane Macgowan then I could justify spending in the region of £500 on my gnashers, but thankfully I don't. I've just had too many cups of tea. The photographer has already said he'll subtly touch up everyone's teeth in the pictures anyway.

So I called my dentist and made an appointment. He wants to see me for a check up before I can make the appointments for the crowns, so it's going to be a good couple of months before I'll start looking gorgeous again.* But I'm glad I've made the decision, I now feel like there's light at the end of the dental-trauma tunnel.

*Ha!

In other news, I've fallen in love with the most expensive wedding invitations I've seen in my search thus far. They are custom made letterpress invitations and they are absolutely stunning. Unfortunately they're also twice the price of any other invitations I've looked at, and I don't think we're going to be able to afford them. Well, when I say 'we can't afford them' I actually mean 'the Boy won't let me have them'. But I truly have fallen in love with them - they are totally in keeping with the wedding venue, they match my colour scheme exactly, and they are SO PRETTY.

Stupid budget.

Labels: Teeth, Wedding

When I was eight I was riding my bike down the hill at the end of my street. I decided to show off, and took both hands off the handlebars. Then I stuck my legs out.

Then I fell off.

I flipped over the handlebars, landed on my face, and skidded along on that for a few feet before coming to halt in a whimpering bundle of patheticness.

I did TRY to break my fall, but unfortunately I didn't do very well - I broke my wrist, and still I didn't manage to stop my front teeth coming into painful contact with the road. I burst my upper lip open, chipped one front tooth, and cracked the other. It's fair to say I was a bit of a mess. Once my mum and dad got over the shock of seeing my messed-up face, they took me to Accident and Emergency and I got patched up (I also bit the doctor when he tried to find out if I'd damaged the roof of my mouth). I got a cast put on my arm, my upper lip healed perfectly, and the dentist put a veneer on my tooth to cover up the missing chip.

Then, about 3 years ago, I noticed a lump in my mouth, in the gum above the tooth that had been cracked when I fell. My dentist told me the root of the tooth was infected, probably because some bacteria had gotten in through the hairline crack. Over the course of the following year I saw more of my dentist than I did some members of my family, as he gave me root filling after root filling, trying to get rid of the infection. Eventually he admitted defeat and referred me to the Edinburgh Post-Graduate Dental Institute. I then spent the course of the NEXT year going back and forward to the Dental Institute for increasingly unpleasant root treatment. It didn't work. The last resort was an apicectomy, which I've talked about here before, and which was possibly the least fun afternoon I've ever spent. But it did the trick - my tooth is now infection free.

After all this trauma, I've been left not only with an obsession for flossing, but with a discoloured front tooth. Which is awkward because, as the more perceptive of you may have picked up, I'm getting married in September. I'm one of those people who runs away whenever a camera comes out, mainly because I'm so self conscious about my teeth. I figure there's little point spending lots (and lots!) of money on a photographer if I'm dreading the pictures being taken, so I'm going to splash out on some cosmetic dentistry before the wedding.

I plan to have either crowns or veneers fitted to my two front teeth, but I thought I might as well go the whole hog and get them whitened too, so to this end I went to see a private dentist on Friday to ask about tooth whitening. She was, to say the least, a little odd. I explained why I was there, and she had a look at my teeth. She then spent a good 10 minutes going 'hmmm' and 'errrr' and staring off into space, apparently thinking, while I sat watching my lunch hour ticking by, and thinking about the £25 I had paid just for a 15 minute consultation.

Her conclusion was that my discoloured tooth could be whitened using a different bleaching method, which involves opening up the back of the tooth and inserting hydrogen peroxide, thereby bleaching it from the inside. This doesn't sound like something a sane person would volunteer for, but she assured me it wasn't so bad. She said I could also bleach my teeth in the usual way (using trays filled with bleaching gel that you wear at night), so my poor, delicate front tooth would be getting blasted by bleach, both inside and out. I'm a bit dubious about this - it's taken the combined efforts of my own dentist and the Dental Insitute two years to get rid of the infection - is it wise to go opening it up again and stuffing it full of chemicals for cosmetic reasons? Weird Dentist assured me this wasn't a problem, but went on to say that the treatment would probably end up costing somewhere in the region of £500.

I did say I would splash out but I hadn't imagined it would take quite as much... splashing.

Weird Dentist also said that just sticking a crown onto the problem tooth could weaken it even more (to fit a crown they have to file your own tooth down to a point). So now I'm even more confused than I was before, and worried that whatever option I go for is going to weaken my tooth. However I refuse to have my picture taken without having this tooth fixed - I want to look PLEASED about getting married, not sulky and self-conscious, which is how I look in every picture of me that's been taken in the last 20 years.

Nothing's ever simple...

Labels: Teeth, Wedding

So where do people stand on the whole wedding list issue?

Because I am having a MORAL DILEMMA, people.

The Boy and I already live together. We're lucky enough to have a nice flat, filled with lovely things. Sure, there are a few things in the likes of, oh I don't know, say John Lewis for the sake of an argument, that I would LIKE to own. Like this. Or this, if people were feeling especially generous. Ooh, or these! And this would be perfect for hoovering the crumbs off the Boy when he falls asleep on the sofa after dinner. But that doesn't mean to say I NEED any of this stuff. It would be nice, but we don't need it.

I feel kind of mercenary asking people to not only turn up on our wedding day in their sunday best, possibly take time off work (as it's a Friday) and book flights or train tickets to be here, but to buy us cool stuff that we don't need as well.* So I don't know what to do. On the one hand, I'm dazzled by the pretty things, but on the other I don't want to start off married life with a great big dollop of bad karma. This is my chance to make a difference. To do something selfless.

*Not that we would be ASKING people to buy gifts, of course. What do you take me for?

Wedding gifts are supposed to give you a leg up in your married life. But we don't need a leg up as much as some. Judging by the amount of money we've spent on other people's wedding gifts (which is not grudged), if we went for an Oxfam wedding list we could potentially provide a whole herd of goats. I mean, who needs a revolving spice rack to make their life complete? If that spice rack were in Zimbabwe or Mozambique it would be a revolving dust rack, and what use is that to anyone?

But, there's always the chance that people will look at the Oxfam list, chuckle and say 'Goats? Those kids! What will they think of next?' and go off to John Lewis and buy us a toaster anyway.

So what to do? Could we compromise and have both? Is it stupid and confusing and just plain WEIRD having two lists? Should I suck it up and go for the warm fuzzy charidee one, or the mercenary look-at-all-this-STUFF list?

#whimpers#

Labels: Wedding

As if I needed any more proof that there really is no going back now, I bought my wedding dress today. And the deposit cheque we sent the venue has been cashed.

So, um, I guess I'm getting married then...

#puts head between knees, breathes deeply#

Buying the dress was a bit of an anticlimax to be honest - I'd already decided on the one I wanted, so it was just a matter of trying it on one more time* and getting measured for it. I had been dreading that last part as I've put on a bit of weight in the last couple of years but I was pleasantly surprised.

*It's still beautiful.

Obviously you see women of all shapes and sizes trying on dresses in bridal shops, and I realise that I'm at the smaller end of the scale. This doesn't help however, when you go into the harshly-lit changing room, your sales assistant following you (looking like a walking mountain of silk, lace and taffeta) and she comes right into the cubicle with you. Then tells you to strip down to your undies and stands, waiting, until you do it.

I didn't realise they did this, so I was very grateful to a friend of mine for forewarning me. God only knows how I would have embarrassed myself if she hadn't. But it can be quite humiliating standing there in nothing but bra and knickers, with someone you only met 2 minutes before (and who is not a medical professional), no matter what size you are.

Anyway, the lady who measured me today owned the shop, and she designs and makes her own dresses as well as stocking lots of other designers (although mine isn't one of her creations). So I suppose you could say she knows her stuff, and after comparing my measurements to a little chart she announced, to the whole shop, that I was a '...perfect size 8! Except smaller in the bust.' I knew I was smaller in the bust than, well, most people, however I DIDN'T know that I had a 26" waist.

So what did I do after receiving this information? I went and celebrated with a piece of cake.

And now I am crowing about it on the internet. Because I figure I should make the most of it - I reckon by the time I hit 30 all the chips and cakes and bacon rolls I have eaten in my life (and there are A LOT) will catch up with me and I'll look like the Goodyear Blimp.

But for now? Perfect size 8, thank you very much. I may have a badge made.

Take that, high-street retailers*, with your tiny sizes and skeletal models!

*TopShop, I'm talking to you.

Labels: Shopping, Wedding

So I've found my wedding dress.

It turns out that I was right in this post - the one I kind-of-almost thought was the one, is the one. I've not ordered it yet because that would involve committing to get married and at the moment there's nothing really stopping me from running away and hiding come 7th September next year, because we've not handed over any money to anyone.*

I tried on a number of dresses on Saturday, but none of them really made me feel all that special. As soon as I put on The Dress however, I felt like someone had sprinkled Instant Bride Powder over me - despite the fact my hair was all windswept and I'd cut my leg whilst shaving and I had on blue pants. The only thing that worries me (other than the possibility I may put on my blue pants come the wedding day), is that the dress isn't how I pictured it. I had pictured something lacy and pretty like this but it's not. At all.**

I don't know if this is a bad thing or not. Is it? Help me please, Internet.

Sidenote: The hefty price tag was also put into perspective in the first bridal shop we went to. I was handed a questionnaire by the po-faced assistant asking all the usual questions about the wedding date/location etc, and there was a section at the bottom relating to my budget, asking me to tick the bracket that matched my budget. The top bracket was £7000-£9000, which thankfully, is waaay more than my dress. When I saw this I nearly swallowed my clipboard, and decided that I wasn't going to tick any of the boxes, because I'm pig-headed. And because I didn't want them to think I couldn't easily afford the most expensive dress in the shop.

Typical of Fiance and I we haven't really made any other wedding progress, although our hall cupboard is in great shape. We went back to the venue with both mums - cue much oohing and aahing. We asked if the place had their seal of approval for the wedding and the reply was that if we didn't book it, they would. So I think that's a goer.

But we still don't have a photographer, or a band. Or a finalised guest list. Or an estimate of how much it's all going to cost (other than 'a lot'). Or kilts, bridesmaids dresses, a florist, menu, seating plan, first song, last song, favours or most importantly of all - all honeymoon.

After arranging all that, I'm going to need a holiday. And possibly a mild sedative.

*I'm KIDDING, of course...

**I should clarify here that The Dress is very pretty, it's just not lacy or vintagey which is what I pictured. This post is just badly written.

Labels: Wedding

I can't wait for my wedding. As terrified as I am about the whole thing, I can't wait to put on my dress and make Fiance REALLY mean it when he says in his speech that I'm the girl of his dreams.* I'm excited at the prospect of being married, and being Fiance's trouble and strife (even more so than I am already).

However, I'm VERY excited about the honeymoon. Fiance and I have agreed that we're going to splash out as much as we can without having to file for bankruptcy and have the holiday of a lifetime, so I kind of feel like the world's my oyster (Fiance: 'Don't you mean OUR oyster? And while we're at it, it's OUR wedding remember!').

I'd always figured we'd end up somewhere like Mexico or the Caribbean but then I got this for my desk at work (my boss is fairly relaxed about the desk accessories we purchase on the departmental budget), and ever since I've been like a kid in a sweetshop. Whenever I have a spare minute at work I pore over my miniature world, picking out interesting destinations and planning itineraries that would keep us occupied for months on end, never mind the three weeks max that we'll be able to afford (or not as the case may be).

Fiance is fully on board about the whole 'holiday of a lifetime' thing, but he's a bit more practical than me when it comes to paying for the thing. He realises that, much as we would like to, we can't do both North and South America. Or China then Japan. Or Malaysia then the Maldives. Or Australia then Fiji. Or the Ice Hotel in Sweden then somewhere else to warm up.

It's such a shame, I have such a lot of good ideas. There's so many places in the world I want to see, I'm never going to be able to pin it down to just one. Still, it's not a bad decision to have to make!

*Not that I'm hinting or anything.

Labels: Holidays, Wedding

Oy. I've just realised it's Saturday night and I've not posted anything since Tuesday. I've not really been up to anything very interesting (until today, but I'll get to that later), and to tell the truth I've not really had anything to say. We've been pottering around the flat, shopping, eating, gardening (I know!), and just generally enjoying not being at work.

We had our mums round for dinner, which means I cooked an entire meal for four (homemade lasagne with salad and tarte tatin with creme anglaise for dessert, thankyouverymuch) without poisoning anyone or setting anything on fire. Both mums seemed to enjoy it, but they may have just been saying that because I was still holding the bread knife.

We also took Coco to the vet to have her stitches removed, so she is no longer my little Frankenstein cat, and is MUCH happier without that nasty buster collar on:
She's now back to her old self - terrorising poor old Roo and eating my houseplants.

On Hallowe'en we did the friendly-neighbour bit and had six groups of guisers round, including one child I wanted to keep for myself, purely for entertainment purposes and the odd bit of smooshing cause he was just so darn cute. He came round with his dad (while all the other kids had come round in groups), and when I opened the door he told me he was going to sing a song. I don't know what I expected, The Alphabet Song or something relating to the Teletubbies maybe. I certainly did not expect him to start belting out Blue Suede Shoes in a pretty darn good impression of Elvis. I was so impressed with both his voice and his guts for standing in front of a complete stranger and singing all by himself, I gave the wee lad extra sweeties and a round of applause.

But today, I actually did do something interesting - I went shopping for my wedding dress. We only went to two bridal shops but I think I may have found The Dress. I had an idea of what I didn't want, and I tried on a few nice dresses that kind of almost fitted the bill in the first shop. Then we got to the second place (a tiny boutique owned by a mad Polish lady who designs dresses and makes jewellery), and I realised the nice dresses I'd tried on in the first shop were actually nothing special at all. The last dress I tried on was one the mad Polish lady suggested, and not one I would have picked out myself but MY GOD that woman was a genius. I loved it. I'm trying not to allow myself to get too excited as it was probably only the 10th or 11th dress I've tried and it was also the most expensive dress of any I looked at today - by a long shot...

[Insert sarky comment from Fiance here.]

Labels: Hallowe'en, Holidays, Wedding

That I don't have one. I seriously cannot think of a thing to write about. Except the fact that I can't think of anything to write about.

I was going to write about Britney calling her baby Jayden, but all I can really say about it is that she's a hick, and continues to prove that fact every time she opens her mouth to speak or name her latest baby.

I then came up with what I thought was quite a good idea - I asked Fiance to give me a topic to write about and whatever he suggested I would come up with something to say about it. But he hasn't replied to my email. Evidently he's far too busy and important to talk to me until after 5pm.*

I thought of giving an update on my progress with planning the wedding. But I haven't made any.

I toyed with the idea of exploring why it is that I constantly need to trump when I'm sitting at my desk, but as soon as I nip to the corridor/loo/photocopying room to parp in private it disappears until the moment I sit back down in front of my PC. I dismissed that as it's too embarrassing.**

I considered writing about the book I'm reading (Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier), but then I realised that was just stupid as I've not even finished the damn thing.

So in conclusion, my topic for today is my lack thereof. The end.

* Or until he gets bored and phones me for no reason in the middle of the afternoon when our director is in the room.
** Dammit.

Labels: Celebrity baby names, Farting, Fiance, Wedding, Writer's Block

I woke up in a cold sweat at approx 4am yesterday morning after a dream about my wedding day.

My dress had gone missing, and I'd spent all morning looking for it. As a result, I wasn't able to get my hair and make up done, and I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. It came time to leave, and the whole wedding party was immaculately turned out and looking lovely, and there was me denim clad with bare face and greasy hair - they said there wasn't time to sort myself out and that I had to go as I was.

For some reason, before the wedding, I was to be paraded around my home town on a float (I know - WTF?!), and the whole town had turned out and were lining the streets looking disappointed at the state of the bride.

It was awful!

Labels: dreams, randomness, Wedding