Allow me to set the scene for you. First, we must take a trip back in time. Back to a simpler era. Back to the days of Nirvana (the group, not the state of mind). Back to a time when “Talk to the Hand” still made you cool. Back to a time when I was a mere 14 years old. True, my 15th birthday was just weeks away. Still, I was scarcely into my teen years and I was suddenly the Maid of Honor to my older sister and best friend. That’s a big responsibility.

As you’ve probably noticed from my excessive Maid of Honor blogging, a lot goes into that job. Dress buying, party throwing, wine drinking, toast writing… It’s exhausting. At 14 and nearing the end of my freshman year of high school, just days before leaving a tropical paradise to move to North Eastern Virginia and abandon all my friends, acting a MoH was a bit much for me.

Instead of the white lace, fancy cake, champagne flute, snooty favor shower I put on this summer, my sister’s shower was a bit smaller. In fact, I did very little to it at all as my mom had to shoulder the brunt of the responsibility. And the bachelorette party? Um, yeah, I was 14. Skittles, anyone?

So now we jump ahead by 12 years. I’m 26 and have had a few more shots at this MoH thing. I’m even willing to say that I’m pretty good at it. Still, how does one make up for a lack of MoH skills from more than a decade ago?

Enter the fondue party. My sister was in town this Christmas for a wonderful visit. There was much fun had by all and several nice holiday moments including gift buying, gift giving, and some much needed pizza and beer.

The day after Christmas I decided to throw a little shin dig for my sister to honor the age-old and time honored girl bonds of sisterhood. Since the pizza and beer had been done, I wanted to try something a little more interesting. Being a huge fan of all things cheesy (both literally and figuratively), I decided that a fondue party and movie night would make for a nice evening.

When I say fondue, I ask that you bear with my foodie-geekiness for a bit and don’t jump to the conclusion that I nuked a block of Velveeta and tossed in on the table with a loaf of bread.

Oh no.

This evening saw two cheese fondues, a beer and cheddar dip as well as a brie and white wine offering. (Admittedly, the beer/cheddar wasn’t spectacular, though I still think the flavor was good.) We weren’t content with just cheese at this fondue extravaganza. With the help of another sister, we also had a white chocolate and cranberry fondue as well as a dark chocolate and caramel dip. Yum.

As if it wasn’t tempting enough to just eat our way through the cheeses and chocolates with a few large spoons, we had to go all out with the dippers.

First, because what brie can be served without fruit, there was a plate of apples and pears. The meat tray saw German sausage, lil’ smokies, and roasted chicken. We had broccoli and cauliflower available. For funsies I bought and roasted fingerling potatoes. Aside from the fact that they’re fun to say and super quick to cook, some of them are actually purple inside and out.  What’s not to love about that?

Still, what would fondue be without bread? Let’s not forget the platter with cubes of sour dough, whole wheat baguette, and pumpernickel as well as whole wheat pitas and honey wheat pretzel twists.

And for the chocolates? Bananas, strawberries, and two kinds of pound cake sat on one platter while biscotti and chocolate mint candies sat nearby.

Add a few lemon-raspberry shortbread tartlets and a ton of liquor and you’ve got the basic idea of my kitchen table. Not bad, huh?

Well, about 45 minutes into the world o’ cheese and wine, somehow someone ended up in my closet. Don’t ask me how. I don’t know.

While there, a wedding veil was discovered tucked up on a shelf. No, I don’t just own a wedding veil in case of emergencies. After her ceremony, Johanna had left her veil at the Bed and Breakfast in Vermont and, being the good MoH I am, I brought it home with me.  We just never got around to getting it back to her.

Upon the discovery of this wonderful and magical accessory, someone jokingly suggested that my sister try it on. Which she did. Inevitably, the sight of the wedding accessory got everyone talking about the wedding events of this summer. After a wistful sigh in which my sister expressed her own longing for having had such a great experience, someone speaking from a haze of blueberry vodka and Sprite suggested that we give her a bachelorette party now.

Now? A bachelorette party? With no planning? With no set agenda? With no warning? Yep. A bachelorette party.

Before I knew it, my closet was disassembled and anything remotely sexy or fancy was tossed about and tried on a variety of different bodies until everyone was wearing red or black (the fake wedding colors), and each person was made up, curled, and decked out in Mardi Gras beads (necessary to show that we were there together). Nice bags were pulled out of the closet with reverence. The card game “Never Have I Ever” made it into a bag on the way out. A veil was pinned in the hair of our false-bride. A wedding was quickly organized. The groom, a handsome commercial pilot, was thrilled about the upcoming nuptials. The wedding would be a small, romantic affair on New Year’s Eve. Just family and a few close friends, but held in a beautiful old church with an elegant reception to follow.

The “bridesmaids” were each armed with information about the groom, the wedding, and the bride’s favorite things. When this ragtag non-wedding wedding party arrived at the bar, we marched straight into the karaoke room, grabbed a few song books, and began to fill up the song sheets.

Before we knew it, heartfelt dedications were going out to the happy couple and their future. Drinks were being downed at an alarming rate and the “Never Have I Ever” confessions began bringing blushes in the most old fashioned of the group. (Ok, so that would be basically just me, but I blushed!)

A few hours later, with everyone drunk, dizzy, and delighted, we arranged for a ride home from the bar, afraid that the seven blocks might just be too much for us in our current condition. We made it safely home, picked up a few cute guys (as is necessary for any good bachelorette party—remember, ladies that just because the bride is off the market doesn’t mean you shouldn’t all enjoy the chance to look for love yourself!), and spent the next few hours talking about a variety of subjects ranging from inappropriate to bawdy and a little touch of “awww” thrown in for good measure.

The next morning, through a fog of hangovers and headaches, we pieced the night together. Between a few sober(ish) memories and the miracle of the digital camera, soon most of the night was put together. As the bridal party slowly made their way to the shower, one sloooow and painful step at a time, I threw together a fairly nice brunch from the fondue leftovers. (Ahem, say hello to a French Toast bread pudding with white chocolate, cranberry, and a touch of caramel sauce; home fried fingerling potatoes with broccoli; and an apple, pear, and orange fruit salad with lemon curd.)

All things considered, I was pretty impressed with the event. In fact, of all the fake bachelorette parties I’ve ever thrown, this may be my favorite. After all, we started with an elegant and fun dinner, we bonded with our shared mascara and dash to accessorize, we sang our hearts out and hit several group acts giving full honor to Cyndi Lauper and the other sirens of 80’s Girl Power, and we still managed to work in two boys and a brunch. Not a bad showing.

While it wasn’t exactly the same as an elegant bridal shower, I’d like to think that in some small way I’ve reached a karmic MoH balance. Anyone else in the mood to not get married?

Our bride sat down in a chair by the bed while a friend of hers got out the super-fancy, really expensive, high-quality, I could never wear it because it was way too nice makeup.  Johanna sat patiently as Rebbecca did weird and wonderful things with foundation and eyeliner as Jade, the flower girl-to-be, curled up in a ball of four year old exhaustion and tried to fall asleep under the veil.

A few minutes into the fray, as I was still in my capri pants and tank top, I was called downstairs.  The groomsman and his fiancee had graciously gone to pick up flowers and food.  With the bride mid-makeover, no one was sure where things needed to go.  One of other bridesmaids called me down and said that they all agreed the safest bet was to call “The Queen Diva” to come and figure things out.  I was actually more than a little flattered.  Who knew I had diva potential?  Off of a Karaoke stage, that is. 

Upon a quick consultation with the wedding planner, we agreed that the flowers should go to the church where they could wait patiently in water in the cool church basement until we arrived.  I carried the tray of wraps to the porch and then went back to the driveway as the cake had just arrived.  The woman who baked the cake weighed about as much as it did, so I hefted the confection into the reception hall before heading back to get ready.

Heaven love her, our hearty bride was enthused when I told her that lunch was here and I was asked, very politely, to bring back a snack.  I came back bearing tuna and turkey wraps for the upstairs ladies.

At this point, one bridesmaid was waiting patiently downstairs in her dress, feet up, enjoying the substantially cooler air of the porch (easily 15 to 20 degrees cooler than the upstairs dressing space).  While I would have loved to frustrated, a) there wasn’t much room upstairs and b) she was 7 months pregnant and needed to rest.  It’s hard to be frustrated at a beautiful pregnant woman in a bridesmaids dress.  In case you were wondering.  I went back upstairs to begin getting ready, picking at one of the extra tuna wraps on the way. 

I made it upstairs and began the laborious task of switching into my underwear.  After scrambling into the new strapless bra, I was torn between squeezing into my new tummy-shaper or just praying no one would look at my little belly.  Unable to bring myself to crawl into the shaper, I went into the bathroom where our resident makeup artist was drying her own hair.  I’ve known her for a while, but we’ve never been what you’d call close friends.  That said, I’ve always admired her for her honesty.  I turned to her and said, “I know you’ll tell me the truth.  Do you think I need the tummy-shaper?”  She responded with, “Put the dress on without it and I’ll let you know.”

I slipped into my gown, sucked in my gut, and turned to face the music.  She called me on my gut sucking and exasperatedly told me that she couldn’t get an accurate read that way.  I let my breath out and was given the OK to go sans tummy tucker.

About this time, the heat of the Vermont day was getting intense.  I’m a sweater.  I know it’s not lady like.  I know it’s not classy.  I know it’s not attractive.  But there it is.  As we were all getting ready, I carried a small wash cloth with me to wipe the sweat off of my face.  It was not good. 

As I was reapplying the super-important antiperspirant, Johanna declared she was ready for her dress.  I may have made a mad dash to the room to help her dress, but that part’s a little fuzzy.  At this point, all the bridesmaids were dressed and upstairs to help her with the last of her prepping.  The bridesmaids had gotten together via email and, with the help one of bridesmaid in particular, created a mixed CD of fun friendship songs.  We had the CD humming away in the background and all the girls gathered for the big reveal.  Dress on, necklace fastened, earrings in, and we all stood back to take in the sight.  There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.

Tune in next time for the ceremony itself!

That said, let me just walk you through the trials, tribulations, exultations, and exhaustions of being maid of honor.

I arrived at dusk.  It was a lovely Vermont-y evening.  The swell of Lake Champlain hung heavy in the dense air, so different than the thin, dry air of my native Colorado.  I was delighted to see Johanna after not spending much time with her this summer.  We said a quick hello and immediately began planning our attack on her To-Do list.  We swung by the mall to run a few errands and then took the picturesque drive home to the farm on which her parents live.

The moment I walked in the door I was greeted by a small bundle of kindness and energy that Johanna informed me was her mother.  I’d been looking forward to meeting her for a long time and I was not at all disappointed.  I felt right at home in Johanna’s house and we went back to the To-Do list. 

Top of the list included finishing the seating chart.  One of Johanna’s other friends helped her assign the tables, but we were faced with taking the abstract and placing it on a large board that would satisfy her fabulous wedding planners.  This meant typing up the tables, deciding on whether to call them by number or song title (it was a very musically themed wedding) and it meant printing, reprinting, resizing, and gluing until the seating chart was finished.  It looked fabulous.  While I played with the font sizes to keep things even looking, Johanna and her mom fixed the favors that had gotten destroyed by the post office.  That’s a whole other story and will make me far too angry to post.

We finished the seating chart, the CDs were replaced, bridesmaid gift bags were completed, boxes were packed, and we decided it was time for bed.

Cue the next morning.  It was a lovely Friday and the last day before she got married.  That actually meant more stress about the details of the wedding than the marriage.  Further proof that my friend was ready for the big plunge.  But I digress.  This isn’t about her commitment to one person for the rest of her life.  It’s about my drama.  So let’s get back to it, shall we?

I took a quick shower and after getting dressed joined Johanna and her mother in the kitchen where her mom was making traditional Italian wedding cookies.  Seeing as how she’s Italian and her daughter was getting married–it made sense.  And it was lovely to see that he mom took the time to work on that.  It was very sweet.  I stayed to help (meaning quality control–someone had to test the cookies) while Johanna helped feed the animals on the farm and then hopped in for a quick shower herself before we went on a whirlwind of errands.

We drove into town in pursuit of a cable adapter, last minute gift additions, items for her parents, manicured nails, and check-in at the quaint bed and breakfast we would be staying (there were more, but most of that day has blurred).  That meant a quick change from our running around clothes into the nice dresses we’d wear to the rehearsal.

We walked to the church, boxes in tow, to set up the necessary items for the next day.  Programs, bubbles, a flower girl basket, a ring bearer pillow, and so on found their way into the safety of the church basement.  Of course, this was after learning that through a miscommunication, the wife of the best man had been waiting at the church for four hours with her two young sons.  Oops. 

About this time the other bridesmaids began showing up.  Let me say how truly lovely they all are.  And how hard it was for me to relinquish my role as the only bridesmaid in attendance.  Every time someone offered a suggestion I had to remember that, as Johanna pointed out, you have a bridal party so that you have a wealth of support and help available to you.  All of which I accepted when I realized that if we had nothing else in common, all of us where there with a great mutual love for our friend.

So post-rehearsal (at which point we found out that a key in the piano was out of tune, but we decided to ignore the issue) we all went back to the B&B, brushed our hair, and went to dinner.

In the 13 montsh Johanna spent planning this wedding, I never saw a Bridezilla.  In the three days I spent in Vermont, I became Maid of Honor-zilla.  This first really peaked out at the dinner.  Some friends of Johanna’s parents own a great little restaurant in a town near the B&B.  They offered to close the restaurant at 8:00 for the rehearsal dinner.  When we got there at 8:07, people were still getting food and having their drinks refilled.  In fairness, to afford the killer discount they gave the family, the restaurant needed to serve up until the last minute.  Fairness, however, was not on my mind.  Instead it was something more akin to “Finish your iced tea and get the hell out before I hoist you over my shoulders and use your body to barracade the door.”  Apparently I’m secretly a violent person.  After offering Johanna my intimidation of the other patrons, I was told that should they not leave soon, she’d take me up on it.  Since the owners were family friends, I decided to merely project the anger out of my fiery eyes instead.  It took longer, but I got them to leave.  Ok, maybe it wasn’t me, but I’m totally taking credit.

Dinner went well.  In fact, it was a huge success.  The bridesmaids gifts were lovely.  Johanna gave us all jewelry to wear for the occasion, a picture of her with each of us at a special moment, and a little gift specific to our relationship.  They made us all a little misty.  I delivered my DJ script to the kid they had on deck to run the music.  Since I sometimes DJ weddings here in town, I had a pretty comprehensive script written out for the guy.  I promised not to hover over him at the reception since it was fairly self-explanatory.  Yeah… about that….

So after the dinner we headed back to the B&B for some much needed rest.  Since the good friend who was going to come with me had to cancel, Johanna stayed with me in my room.  This was nice as it gave us a chance to hang out a bit before the big ceremony, but it was also helpful as we hit two minor panic attacks between the hours of 12 and 2.  First, the rain hit.  Vermont rain, for those of you who don’t know, it big, heavy, wet, and loud.  It’s great if you like rainstorms, but if you’re worried that the PA system will get wet or that the parking area will be too muddy, it’s not so good.  I offered to go down the stairs, outside, across the lawn, and into the barn to check the PA system, but she declined.  Instead, we focused on her sudden desire to add to her vows.

The vows they wrote were beautiful.  I got choked up printing them out.  However, her fiance is a touch overly eloquent at times.  The way Johanna’s mom described it is that Travis wrote a novel (3 paragraphs) and Johanna was ee cummings (7 lines).  English geek that I am, that cemented her mom in my Cool People category for life.

She reworked her vows a bit and we fell asleep.  Up early, we sat down with three of the four other bridesmaids to a delicious breakfast of homemade quiche and fresh strawberries.  This B&B rocked my world.  We spent a calm morning before the madness hit.  Everyone ran for their showers and Johanna and I learned what every other woman apparently knows from birth: Don’t wash your hair before a big updo.  Somehow that was not in my DNA.  We neck-down showered and hopped in the car to the salon. 

Because we were in such a hurry the day before leaving the nail place, two of my toe nails got really messed up.  We’re talking ugly nonsense.  Because there were so many people getting hair sprayed and only two hairdressers working, I hopped next door to the fancy spa and uttered words I never thought I’d hear myself say. 

“Hello.  I’m having a pedicure emergency and the wedding is in four hours.”

Thank God the woman behind the desk didn’t laugh.  Instead, she walked me and one other bridesmaid into the back room, helped us select colors, and then brought us back to the front desk.  She actually fixed my toe nails in front of the reception area so that she could still answer the phone and take payments from the real, non-insane customers. 

A few coats of polish later, I was in the chair at the salon being coiffed and sprayed.  My hair looked wonderful and the woman, who had known Johanna for 14 years, was just as sweet as could be.

The entire lot of us piled back into two cars and headed back to the B&B for our frantic prepping before the actual ceremony.

There is so much more to tell but as I’ve only gotten this far and we haven’t even touched the prep, the ceremony, the storm, or the reception, we’ll finish that in a separate posting.

More to come, everyone. 

This was a very busy weekend.  I am moving (more on that later), so I spent most of the weekend walking between my car and my door whilst carrying box after box of books (why did I ever decide that literacy was a good idea?) and almost as many boxes of kitchen supplies (maybe fasting is the way to go).  After countless of trips between homes and a few too many runs to Walmart, I needed a break.

Sunday morning I took a few hours to sit in a cool, dark movie theater to watch Mamma Mia.  The movie was adorable and there’s something about a hairy-chested Pierce Brosnan belting out ABBA with an overly earnest look on his face that just lifts your spirits.

Post-movie, I went to the store and came home to unpack.  As I pulled into my new parking lot I could hear the strains of happy music floating from the nearby park.  It was the annual Gay Pride Festival and it was a two-minute walk from my new house.  I decided it was fate that such a hip and cool event would be going on during such a sunny afternoon and I decided to meander over in an attempt to support the local community and work on my aforementioned tan.

I made a point of digging out my bathing suit top as it is the only thing I own without sleeves.  I felt that it would behoove me to tan in something simple so that I wouldn’t have the criss-crossed tan lines I’ve been worried about.

Wearing my halter bathing suit top with confidence, I wandered into the warm sunshine, proud of the work I had accomplished and determined to come home tan.

A few drag queens, some rainbow beads, and one mass commitment ceremony later, I came home with renewed energy ready to dive back into my work with my tan sinking in to my welcoming skin.

Then I looked in the mirror.  In my brilliance, I took my purse with me to the Pride Fest.  I figured I’d need a bag for the goodies I’d find.  I found goodies.  I also found a big white stripe along my shoulder where my huge purse rested.

Go me.

The party, as so many parties before it, began with a dress.  Or more correctly, with a dress fitting.  I arranged my dress fitting for the day of the bachelorette party partially out of time constraints and partially as a nice way to tie the wedding themed evening together.

Johanna and I arrived just in time and hurried to the back fitting room where, rocking bride that she is, she helped squeeze me into my tummy-tucking undergarments before helping me slip into my dress.  Per the instructions of the seamstress, I brought the underwear I’d be wearing on the big day as well as my dyed-to-match peridot shoes, complete with rhinestone buckles.

The woman, as she was pinning my gown, looked up at me and asked, “Are these the shoes you’re going to be wearing at the wedding?” 

Johanna couldn’t contain herself and slipped out, “Yeah, Kari.  How many pairs of peridot shoes do you own?”

While the David’s Bridal lady wasn’t amused, Johanna and I got a great little chuckle.  We finished up and headed downtown for our big night. 

Never having been very good at surprises, I was quite please with myself when I shocked Johanna by telling her that in honor of the occasion, I’d gotten us a room at the Hilton that was walking distance from everything we needed downtown.  Further wowing her, I’d asked my fabulous sister, Liisa, to decorate the room with appropriately cheesy bridal stuff.

We walked in to a room full of streamers, balloons, booze, feathered masks, a shell bra, a glowing wand, and lots of other silly details that made the whole night perfect.  The three of us began laughing and preparing for the night out in our best on-the-town clothes while sipping champagne and bedecking Johanna in a veil, a sash proclaiming her Miss Bachelorette, a lollipop bouquet, beaded necklaces that came with a “hottie whistle” and “Bachelorette on the Loose” shot glass, and our very own genuine-imitation Louis Vuitton. 

When we were appropriately attired, we ventured out into the streets, walking past a restaurant I generally avoid because of their ninja umbrellas.  As we walked by, sash and veil a-waving in the breeze, someone asked, “Is this a bachelorette party?”

We got to the hip martini bar where the cocktails began to flow and the designer french fries filled up the tables.  All the girls who arrived got a goodie bag complete with hand-decorated penis cookies, Mardi Gras beads, toy rings, customized buttons which proudly proclaimed “I’m With the Bride!”, assorted candies (among them lips, hearts, kisses, wedding bells, and you guessed it, penises), and bubbles. 

We stayed at the bar playing Truth or Dare and Never Have I Ever (incidentally, I learned details of the lives of these women that may create a need for therapy while simultaneously ensuring me blackmail fodder for life) until we decided it was time to meander.

After a few group pictures we split up and a small contingent decided to continue the evening.  After a quick slug of whiskey from a stranger we met outside (yes, that really happened), the five remaining women made it the one block to the next bar where we proceeded to grab beverages and head to the room o’ karaoke. 

This one stop saw a table of English teachers nearly maim a DJ for insulting the 5 paragraph essay, a declaration of love from a drunken soldier, several free shots, a bait-and-switch with the veil, and one big dance number.

We left this bar only to walk about 7 blocks to the next, picking up stray boys along the way like samples at a Sam’s Club on Sunday.  They followed us to the bar where they bought more drinks, more shots, and there was more laughter.

We trickled back to the hotel room, leaving some boys behind, picking up more on the way, and landed in our fabulous room where we proceeded to have more champagne, some cake, and lots of potato chips.

Our drunken bride-to-be got into a political discussion with a man who wanted to take her sash home and eventually four of the original women fell soundly asleep after kicking out all of the strange hotties we’d collected.

The next morning, one brave soul left early to seek her own bed, leaving the original three of us awake, still drunk, and suddenly hungry.

We, of course, ordered room service and turned on the television to watch the annual 4th of July Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Competition.  Did you know this year they only had 10 minutes as opposed to the 12 from years prior? 

Our drunken giggles lasted through breakfast, through repacking, and just long enough to get us safely home where we collapsed on my bed.  For some reason, lunch seemed like a good idea and we left in search of substinence. 

By the time we reached Old Chicago, the hangovers had attacked.  A few hours later, the three of us had parted ways. 

To commemorate the occasion, we have two disposable cameras with God only knows what on them, a few lingering strands of beads, and the hazy memories of a kick ass party.  Wish you could have been there.

It’s an interesting shift from working on the bridal shower.  For that party, everything was classy and delicate.  I wanted things to be lovely and elegant.  For this party, I’m buying party jewelry from the dollar store and creating penis-shaped sugar cookies. 

Yes, I said penis-shaped sugar cookies.  I have borrowed a set of cookie cutters from a friend and tonight I will begin the trial run of the cookie experience.  For the bridal shower I made three different attempts on the cake before I was fully satisfied with it.  For the bachelorette party, I feel that a certian amount of prep work is also necessary. 

I’ve never decorated a penis cookie before.  I’m a bit stumped as to how to do it properly.  Should they be cartoonish?  I’ve envisioned a smiling little Johnson, possibly with a saucy little wink, wishing the Bride-to-Be good luck on her nuptial journey. 

Should I go for authenticity?  The decorating will take more work in this case and may call for some odd additions of decorative supplies.  Someone suggest coconut and another suggested chocolate sprinkles.

How accurate do I want these to be?  Are they Kosher cookies? Do I work from a specific image or, like most art, do I strive for that perfection which life cannot reach? 

For the cake, I brought a version to work to share with co-workers and managers alike to a) kiss up a bit, and b) gain feedback on the decoration and flavor.  Now, it’s a given that I’ll have more cookies than necessary and I feel that it would be silly not to share them.  And I’d like some opinions on the penile treats and my decorative abilities.  Despite that, I have a sinking suspicion that bringing a plate full of penises to work may reflect poorly on me. 

Perhaps I’ll sneak in one or two for those special co-workers who can appreciate a good cookie.  In the meantime, I’m left contemplating my options, running potential decorative designs in my head, and feeling just a bit naughty for the giggles that I can hardly suppress. 

I confess that we hit a few snags on the way.  The day before the shower, two yesses suddenly became noes.  (And yes, I looked up the plural forms of “yes” and “no” and this is the correct spelling.  So there.)  Then the day of the shower, one no became a yes.  Bit of a scramble there, and no doubt about it.

Still, with the addition of a place setting, a quick update to the manager, and the flawless grace that only a harried maid of honor can possess, the shower began smoothly. 

Once everyone was settled in their seats, we began with a simple introduction.  Each person introduced herself, shared how she’d met our blushing bride, and, if she had one, shared an embarassing or touching story.  Once the introductions were out of the way, we leapt into the games with reckless abandon.  Ok, so maybe you don’t leap into paper quizzes about wedding quotes with reckless abandon, but we certainly moseyed into the games with impetuous enthusiasm.

My English Geekiness knew no bounds as our games consisted of three different levels of wedding-themed mad libs, a fill in the blank quiz (complete with word bank), and a matching quiz.  I have to tell you that while I was worried for a bit that the games were too themed or too cheesey, the guests seemed to really enjoy themselves. 

Because I didn’t do the cooking for the shower, I felt compelled to make a cake.  I just couldn’t celebrate the wedding of my best friend without baking something.  I brainstormed for weeks to create the right shower cake.  Finally, I was struck with an epiphany of a cake that would wow the guests and cement my reputation as a super cool Maid of Honor.  Now, before you read on to learn about said cake, you should be warned that it was delicious and beautiful and the mere description could prove painful for those who were unable to participate in the eating.

For those of you brave enough to continue on, allow me to tell you about this cake.  First, I used a cake mix.  Now I know what you’re thinking.  Cake mix?  But I thought the point was a home made cake?  The horror!  Calm yourself, reader.  The cake mix was merely the humble building block of this confection.  What started as a simple white cake saw the addition of almond extract, finely chopped white chocolate, and a raspberry swirl.  Toss in a fantastic raspberry filling, two fluffy layers, a good coating of frosting, and a creative decoration with sliced almonds and fresh raspberries and you’ve got yourself one heck of a cake. 

For those of you who took a break from the posting until the cake discussion was over, welcome back.

To sum up the event, the food was great, people had a good time, the geeky games were a hit, and Johanna seemed to enjoy herself.  In fact, she wrote me a spontaneous shower haiku later that afternoon. 

It was fun and I was thrilled to be part of it. 

A few days ago, Johanna and I decided we’d go to the store and take a look at some options so that I could order the dress in time to make any adjustments before the wedding.  We walked into David’s Bridal armed with catalogues, style numbers, and a pen with which to take copious notes.  First things first, we handed our consultant a list of multiple style numbers and my size and then traipsed to the dressing room to await the parade of gowns. As we waited, we turned to the catalogue and found a fold-out spread of dresses, including the gowns we’d chosen.  We immediately began circling those we’d already selected and began making a list of new styles to hand off to our friendly consultant.

The dresses arrived and I started the arduous task of slipping into an upper-body bra and then slid into dress after dress.  Some were flattering.  Some were awful.  I tried on gowns of red, black, yellow, green, blue, and God help me, pink. (The horror!)  I tried on gowns that were floor length, tea length, knee length, A-line, empire, strapless, halter-top, silk, chiffon, expensive, cheap, well-made, and poorly constructed.

After each dress, Johanna made notes in our catalogue.  We used a very complicated scale of 1-10 (most dresses fell between a 5-7) and then editorialized further with a variety of happy faces and notes of our initial impressions.  We bandied about terms like “peacock-butt” and “mermaidy.”  After a couple of hours, we narrowed it down to two dresses.  Both dresses were flattering but they were too different to make an easy choice.  We retired to the nearby Panera to grab lunch and discuss.  Once at the restaurant, we spread out our dress choices and contemplated the pros and cons of each option.  The primary concern was length.  Did I want a short dress or a long dress?  If I got the long dress, would I shorten it during the alterations phase?  Would the dress still work as a tea-length number?  We finally decided that the longer dress was the more attractive of the two, but was it the right dress?  Leave it as is or shorten the skirt?  We didn’t know how to handle the situation.  What to do?Suddenly, I was struck with an epiphany.  I tore the legs off of a picture of a woman in a short dress and slapped them onto the picture of the woman wearing the full-length version of my dress.  It looked great!  That decided it and we went back to David’s Bridal, full of tasty Panera and laughing at my Maid of Honor ingenuity.

I plunked down a credit card not long after that with the dress number, size, shoes, and bag to match.  A very productive day.

This weekend is the bridal shower.  I have been planning this for weeks.  I’ve got most of the favors finished and strewn about my living room floor.  I’ve got the sheets for the games printed and color coded.  I’ve got prizes labeled.  I’ve got cakes ready to be frosted.  I’ve got my RSVPs in and I’ve contacted the restaurant with my final concerns.  I’ve been a Maid of Honor before, but I was too young to really participate in the planning.  I never had any money to buy dresses or host parties.  I feel like this is my opportunity to prove that I’ve earned the Maid of Honor title.  You know, there’s more to it than just wearing the dress and giving the party.  You have to be there to talk the bride down from her pre-wedding panics.  You might need to elbow nosy consultants out of the way.  Quality-check invitations.  Run interference between bickering guests.  Keep things going smoothly so that the bride can enjoy the event.  It’s quite the responsibility. 

And I am enjoying every minute of it.  Sure, I was up past midnight making favors.  Ok, so I’m on my third practice cake before the shower.  Still, I’m having a ball.  I am so excited for Johanna’s wedding and I am pleased to be part of it.  Besides, in a few years when it’s my turn, she’s going to owe me so big!