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Authors: Laura Wolf
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And Lord knows Stephen’s got plenty of cheapo friends who would just love to bring their gal du jour to a fancy wedding with a fabulous meal and an open bar—all free of charge. Well, forget it. That’s what Club Med is for. Go buy some beads.
Besides, being realistic, I know that our parents will want to include some of their friends in the list, so we’re bound to get up to eighty-five by the time all this is over.
Surprisingly, making the list, or rather agreeing on the list, was not as easy as I thought it would be. Stephen didn’t want me to invite my friend Jane because he can’t stand her, so I volunteered to bump her from the list on the condition that he not invite his ex-girlfriend Diane “I’m a Big Pain in the Ass” Martin. But he didn’t want to bump Diane since she invited him (without me!) to her wedding last year and he didn’t want to seem petty. I also wasn’t so crazyabout him inviting the guys he plays softball with on the weekends. I’ve only met them once. After hours of arguing we finally compromised with him inviting Diane and her husband but not the softball gang, and my not inviting Jane but getting to seat Diane off in some corner with my cousin Eddie, who suffers from chronic halitosis.
The one thing we immediately agreed on is that neither of us wants to invite Stephen’s brother, Tom.
september 24th
I still slip occasionally and call Stephen my boyfriend. It’s going to take a while to get used to calling him my fiancé. Especially without laughing. And by then it’ll be time to call him my HUSBAND!
september 25th
T oday was crazy. We had an early-morning staff meeting to discuss the December issue. I came armed with story ideas but somehow forgot that December means holiday issue. I’ve been spending so much time thinking about next June that the holidays just seem like a minor inconvenience on the way to the rest of my life. Needless to say, my pitches on sanitation negligence, cabbie cover-ups, and a profile on a woman who recycles hypodermic needles were met with hesitance. And when I quickly suggested a profile on city caterers (slyly figuring that the research could be useful to my wedding), Barry gallantly praised my “clever” idea, then sideswiped me by insisting that by the time the December issue hits the stands most of the city’s caterers will be booked for the holidays. Meanwhile his lengthy listof story ideas ranged from the ever-trite “Who Are the Men Who Play Santa Claus” to a search for the perfect eggnog.
Like anyone really drinks eggnog.
In front of all the other editors, associates, and assistants, my boss, Mr. Spaulding, made a point of asking me to submit a new list of holiday-oriented pitches by tomorrow. A serious blow to my image of authority. Besides, it’s going to be near impossible to make that list by tomorrow, since I looked at two potential reception venues after work today and have another one scheduled before work tomorrow morning.
The venues I saw tonight, a famous hotel and a swanky nightclub, were all wrong. The hotel ballroom was too big and the nightclub was fine until you turned up the lights. Both were incredibly expensive.
And our time is quickly dwindling. Soon we’ll be eight months away from our wedding. According to
BB
we may as well elope. So to expedite the process, I’ve given Kate a list of thirty-five potential venues to call and make viewing appointments. After all, we really are open to anything.
Except boats and riverfront restaurants. Stephen has an aunt who’s afraid of water.
september 26th
T his morning we saw a photographer’s loft down in Chinatown. Very hip, open, and all white. The right size for a group of eighty-five and could easily be transformed into a romantic setting with some clever decorations. The photographer even offered to throw in a couple of backdrops for free. But the neighborhood was too seedy. It’s one thing to step over restaurant trash on your way to a celebrity photo
Besides, being realistic, I know that our parents will want to include some of their friends in the list, so we’re bound to get up to eighty-five by the time all this is over.
Surprisingly, making the list, or rather agreeing on the list, was not as easy as I thought it would be. Stephen didn’t want me to invite my friend Jane because he can’t stand her, so I volunteered to bump her from the list on the condition that he not invite his ex-girlfriend Diane “I’m a Big Pain in the Ass” Martin. But he didn’t want to bump Diane since she invited him (without me!) to her wedding last year and he didn’t want to seem petty. I also wasn’t so crazyabout him inviting the guys he plays softball with on the weekends. I’ve only met them once. After hours of arguing we finally compromised with him inviting Diane and her husband but not the softball gang, and my not inviting Jane but getting to seat Diane off in some corner with my cousin Eddie, who suffers from chronic halitosis.
The one thing we immediately agreed on is that neither of us wants to invite Stephen’s brother, Tom.
september 24th
I still slip occasionally and call Stephen my boyfriend. It’s going to take a while to get used to calling him my fiancé. Especially without laughing. And by then it’ll be time to call him my HUSBAND!
september 25th
T oday was crazy. We had an early-morning staff meeting to discuss the December issue. I came armed with story ideas but somehow forgot that December means holiday issue. I’ve been spending so much time thinking about next June that the holidays just seem like a minor inconvenience on the way to the rest of my life. Needless to say, my pitches on sanitation negligence, cabbie cover-ups, and a profile on a woman who recycles hypodermic needles were met with hesitance. And when I quickly suggested a profile on city caterers (slyly figuring that the research could be useful to my wedding), Barry gallantly praised my “clever” idea, then sideswiped me by insisting that by the time the December issue hits the stands most of the city’s caterers will be booked for the holidays. Meanwhile his lengthy listof story ideas ranged from the ever-trite “Who Are the Men Who Play Santa Claus” to a search for the perfect eggnog.
Like anyone really drinks eggnog.
In front of all the other editors, associates, and assistants, my boss, Mr. Spaulding, made a point of asking me to submit a new list of holiday-oriented pitches by tomorrow. A serious blow to my image of authority. Besides, it’s going to be near impossible to make that list by tomorrow, since I looked at two potential reception venues after work today and have another one scheduled before work tomorrow morning.
The venues I saw tonight, a famous hotel and a swanky nightclub, were all wrong. The hotel ballroom was too big and the nightclub was fine until you turned up the lights. Both were incredibly expensive.
And our time is quickly dwindling. Soon we’ll be eight months away from our wedding. According to
BB
we may as well elope. So to expedite the process, I’ve given Kate a list of thirty-five potential venues to call and make viewing appointments. After all, we really are open to anything.
Except boats and riverfront restaurants. Stephen has an aunt who’s afraid of water.
september 26th
T his morning we saw a photographer’s loft down in Chinatown. Very hip, open, and all white. The right size for a group of eighty-five and could easily be transformed into a romantic setting with some clever decorations. The photographer even offered to throw in a couple of backdrops for free. But the neighborhood was too seedy. It’s one thing to step over restaurant trash on your way to a celebrity photo
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