more to come...
and somewhere in there, i've gotten wrapped up in 'dress shopping' and designing invitations ... and who knew there were so many goddamn different types of cakes with columns, tiers, and i wouldn't be surprised if there were ones with live fauna from the catalogues we've been looking at.
and somewhere in all the planning, the hubby-to-be and i have started traveling into the future with our imaginary money, my hesitant womb, and half a pack of oreos. that's right, we've been talking about kids and houses, and watching too much 'telly' with these nanny shows. Xtreme Nanny ... she'll bust your kids up, wolverine style ... but damn, they won't need they're dodies anymore! (dodies=pacifiers) the shows are ridiculous, and the children are even worse, but these are the shows we watch while wedding planning. (i should mention that i think we're going to plan the entire wedding on the internet, and this is how technology should gift us its convenience. sacred my ass.)
not to mention, i'm getting married in ireland.
now, in general, americans aren't exactly considered royalty in the greater europe area. but i haven't had too many problems while living here. i live here, i lease an apartment, i work a full time job, i attended school for a year, and i know my way around galway very well by now. everyone treats me just fine, chats about my hometown, and asks how long i'll stay in ireland...
until you go wedding dress shopping. then apparently, you're the bane of their existence, and you've no right being an american in their shop. let alone a tattooed, young american on her own (no bridal mother in sight).
i, as it appears, become pure scum on their shoe. i find this hilarious to a point. then things get nasty, and she starts to make little comments (with a smile on her face so that they could be questioned for their intention) about my size and/or attitude. for a while, i resist those. then, i'm sorry, but my inner american gets the best of me. and that little bastard wants out. it wants to tell her what's up, and that the fuckin customer is always right and if not well then i'll give her an ol'fashioned whatfor.
it doesn't just burst onto the scene though ... it creeps out in snide little comments of my own to my bridesmaid and the good friend who has accompanied me ... in the privacy of the dressing room when myself and said witch are on our own.
let's just say i don't think i'm welcome there anymore when i told the second bridal assistant to 'back off' and that statement wasn't necessarily followed by so much as ridden by a 'damn bitch'....
it's just ... well, you'd think people would learn.
let's just hope the weakling at the china shop backs off at first warning.
i'm getting the hang of this bride shit.
