Sunday, June 26, 2005

The myth of the perfect dress

After approximately 50 dresses, five cities, and only one remote possibility, I've come to the conclusion that the 'perfect wedding dress' is a lie. A myth. A vicious fairy tale told to eager brides to sell more magazines and 7 lb. dress books and give any woman an apoplexy and empty wallet so that she'll actually think there's The One For Her.

It's like finding a man all over again, and just as exhausting.

Only this time, it's worse. There are pictures of the one you think you want, the one that could be the one, the ones you know aren't the one (but maybe they are too!), ones that look good on others, ones that won't look anything like the photos on you. You know they're all on 5'10" models that weigh 90 pounds, but you don't care.

After two weeks, you're a Dress Slut, trying on everything in white, ivory and --gasp! -- "diamond white" that you can get your -- or the saleslady's -- hands on. You lug around your own lingerie. You rip out pictures to show to the salespeople, none of which are in stock in that store. None of which come in your size. None of which, even after you try them on, are 'the one'.

You see all the girls in the stores, with their dresses on, murmuring "This is it" in that hushed, happy voice reserved only for really expensive shoes and exceptionally good hair days, and you see how nice and pretty and bride-y they look in their dresses, and you think, "They found theirs; surely I can find mine!"

You don't realize then that that hushed voice is one of relief, of resignation. Finally, they're thinking. I can stop now.

So you go to another store. Then another. Then another town. Then a neighboring city. SUddenly you find yourself on a four-hour road trip with one drafted bridesmaid and one sleepy friend and wonder how it ever came to this.

You're seeing a million dresses: on other women, in stores, in magazines, in your head. They all run together, like the guys between your junior and senior years in college. (That guy from the bookstore --what was his name again? What was that Watters dress number?) And none of them are yours, and it feels like failure. You're a slutty dress Spinster. You're not going to get married after all, because there's not one out there for you.

And here's the thing: you can't give up. Because you have to wear something. Preferrably a dress. I.e. not blue jeans, not a nice white suit (because let's face it, you'd have the same damn trouble finding a white suit), not even a cute bridesmaids dress. And just like you thought you'd never get married, but you don't stop dating because you hear the stories about how that friend of a cousin of a friend ended up marrying the guy who pointed out that her car was leaking radiator fluid on a business trip she had to make for a colleague at the last minute, you don't stop looking.

Just like you want to believe that True Love is just around the corner, you want to believe the dress is out there too. If you're honest, though, you make yourself see that The Perfect Dress, much like Vin Diesel, is not coming. And at some point, you find one you like enough to deal with for the rest of your life and get over it.

Sunday, June 12, 2005

Where's Agent Starling when you need her?

In other news, if anyone's seen my mother's mind, please return it to her. Because she's obviously effing lost it. She's one fava bean and chianti away from earning herself a muzzle and British actor to portray her in a creepy-ass film. (Perhaps Thandie newton would do nicely? She played a dead girl in [i]beloved[/i], surely evil won't be much of a stretch?)
She's tried everything else to "help" me lose weight. She's whined. Written nasty notes. Sent me BMI charts. Berated me in front of others. Made nasty comments. Tried bribery.
Now we're on to blackmail.
We co-own the condo I live in. (long story involving stupidity with money). Fiance (understandably) doesn't want to live in a place where she will have control. Can't say I blame him. So tonight, I explain to her that I'd like her to sign over her half of the condo to me, I'll pay whatever, etc. Her immediate answer:
"If you get down to a size 14, I'll consider it."
And I thought it couldn't get worse than "If you don't lose weight, [fiance] will leave you," and "Don't make him start looking at those slender women!"
Guess I just wasn't imaginative enough.
So now, we're considering calling the whole thing off. No wedding, just find a place of our own to live together after a quickie JOP thing. Just cut mother and her money out completely.
Pisses me off to no end that this has to be an option. But we can't afford anything near what we were planning with her help. So we're in a position now to tell everyone "sorry, wedding's off."
And as WIC/Childish/That-Other-Site as it sounds, I kinda wanted the big to-do. I wanted the ceremony, the dress, the party. And now it'll just be this sort of sad, furtive thing with just me and him cowering in our poverty. And it kind of scares me that that's what the beginning of our life together is going to be. meh. i need a drink. Or five. I've got until the end of the month to decide. Or jump off a high roof.

I hate that this has become a battle of wills instead of a joyous occasion.

I hate that I feel so fucking small and powerless.

I hate feeling so pressured. I shouldn't feel this way. This should be fun. Not pressured and angst-y.

Wednesday, June 08, 2005

One less thing.

The Dresses have been ordered.




which is great, because now I can do other things:

like figure out what the hell I'm going to wear.

why does that idea make me queasy?

beginnings, endings, and oh yeah, the invites are in.

I've severed contact with the ex/friend, and frankly, it's not fun.

At all.

I mean, not even a little bit.

The knowledge that I'm "doing the right thing" tm doesn't help me at all when I'm by myself and lonely at night and Clary's not around and I don't have anyone to talk to or laugh with.

Just like I told Clary and him, it's dangerous that I seek out validation/fun/closeness with someone -- even mentally, even emotionally, even with someone I know I'll probably never a)meet and b) be in a relationship with again other than Clary. Clary saw it as a threat. He saw it as simple truth, and though I didn't like it any more than he did, and I wanted to scream at the hurt in his voice, he just accepted it and said, "Okay."

But we get on so well. He gets me. He had me at hello. We were more than friends for so long, friends for even longer.

And I can't even send him an invitation to our wedding. The lovely blue shiny pocketfolds with thermographed white cardstock and navy ink that don't have my and his names in them, but mine and Clary's.

I wish he could come, and I could see him, even if it were for that one day and it was to say goodbye. Because something tells me it would have to be goodbye after we met.

I'm scared. What if Clary never, ever knows me or connects with me the way he did? What if I have to go through life with no one that understands me like he did? The man was willing to take on my mother, for chrissakes. I budgeted for him to get him a great christmas gift. We talked for hours about nothing. He knows me like nobody else -- sexually, mentally, everything but physically.

And I guess that matters too. He's got the fantasy advantage. He never burps without saying 'excuse me', he never walks around in old family reunion t-shirts and underwear, he always says I look great, even when I don't. If we were ever to meet, I'm sure he'd be just as problem-laden as Clary and perhaps worse.

There are reasons we didn't work out, after all: I'm selfish, he's moody, neither one of us is anything close to fiscally responsible, we're both into immediate gratification, and I don't have a lot of faith in either of our abilities to stay faithful for the long haul.

But I feel like I'm missing something. And what I'm missing is my friend. I'm not going to think about how much.