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When I got engaged, I thought I knew the question I would be asked the most… I was wrong. The question I am asked the most is “When are you having babies???”

But that’s another blog, for another time.

The question I am asked the 2nd most is the one I thought I’d be asked first and foremost: “When are you getting married?” And the answer is: “I HAVE NO IDEA.”

I wish I knew. I’m one of those gross females people love to hate because they are unabashedly open about HOW MUCH THEY LOVE WEDDINGS and HOW LONG THEY HAVE DREAMED OF THEIR OWN WEDDING. Seriously. I can talk about weddings the way Bubba talks about shrimp.

I initially thought I wanted to get married this year. In fact, the night I got engaged, I drank a bottle of champagne (yep, the entire bottle, by myself), and started drunk-emailing photographers, florists, and rehearsal dinner venues. (I should be ashamed, I know. Have I told you yet HOW MUCH I FANTASIZE ABOUT WEDDINGS?)

But the next morning, responses to my drunken ramblings started rolling in… Shit gets booked, guys. Like, WAY far in advance. Like, some bitches who dared to get engaged before me, and want the same ____ (fill in the blank: bluegrass band, taco truck, bounce house to entertain the kiddies; you know, normal wedding stuff) as me, had ALREADY BOOKED THEM & STOLEN MY WEDDING FOR THEMSELVES. Apparently, you need at least a year-long head start, and my 9-month window was booking up fast.

Did I mention I’ve been dreaming of my wedding for a while/most of my life?

Here’s the dream, specifically: A Lake Tahoe wedding, at my parents’ best friends’ home on the lake. A photographer who takes cool (NOT cheesy) photos, and knows how to light me so I don’t look like a glow-in-the-dark vampire.  Fried chicken and macaroni and cheese.  A weekend-long party with all my favorite people at my favorite place in the world watching me marry my favorite person in the world. Red velvet cake. A photo booth. A “real-life” Father of the Bride moment. My dogs in tutus. Children in tutus. TONS of flowers. Gold silverware. Mini sliders and grilled cheese at midnight. A send-off with all the guests lovingly waving sparklers. Journalists from Town & Country Weddings and Martha Stewart Weddings duking it out over who gets to publish my wedding photos. A fall date, so our anniversary kicks off holiday season. Or a 4th of July wedding, because there is nothing better in life than 4th of July in Tahoe. And on that note, fireworks.

At this point, I’d like to acknowledge that some people might consider this behavior “bridezilla,” “O.C.D.,” and/or “crazy.” You are correct on all counts.

Here’s the deal: If we wait until next summer 2015, we can get married on the 4th of July, which means 1) free fireworks, 2) ample time for myself, my mother, and all our out-of-town guests to plan and 3) ample time to snag my fave vendors before some other bridebitch can.

Here’s the catch: For reasons outside anyone’s control, THE most important part of the dream — the venue, the house I spent summers at as a kid, the place I love more than anywhere, the place where we got engaged — may not be available. I don’t want to talk about it, or I’ll cry (just ask Tony.) The only way to guarantee I get married there is if we do it this summer.

However, my fiancé feels pretty strongly about getting married next year.  Want to know why? Because “you can’t plan a bachelor party in 6 months. There are a lot of moving pieces.”  Um, what? What pieces could possibly be moving, besides the stripper I have forbidden you from hiring? But the man has a more elaborate bachelor party fantasy than I do wedding fantasy; he’s dreaming of a week-long, crossing-state-lines bender in which he and his nearest and dearest bros rent an RV, go sky-diving in San Diego with a Navy Seal, gun range shooting in Arizona, and white water rafting in New Mexico. The only thing he hasn’t decided on is what the color scheme for the trip will be… But, apparently, he needs at least a year to put this plan into motion. So, there’s that.

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Groomzilla, resting up for his bachelor party and/or listening to me talk about weddings.

Advice from my dad’s best friend, owner of my dream venue/the most beautiful house in all of Lake Tahoe and, if you’ve been reading previous ALTARED blogs, goes by the alias ‘Snowman:’ “Getting married in 2015 would be easier for anniversary calculations (5 year is 2020, 10 year is 2025, 25 year is 2040). However, 2014 is the Chinese Year of the HORSE and this is a very powerful, strong, and iconic symbol for a marriage. Think of the possibilities. You could both arrive by horse or leave by horse, or have pony rides at the reception, or play the Mr. Ed theme during the first dance, which would be a truly classic touch for all your Hollywood friends. The possibilities are endless.”

My Maid of Honor-bestie-sister-from-another-mister Katierose suggested this brilliant plan: “Why don’t you have your engagement party in Tahoe this summer, and then either do your wedding there next summer, or if you can’t, then do it in Ojai?”  (Ojai is our alternate plan because when Katierose and I get famous and dirty-stupid-rich, we’re going to live in a spa with a bunch of rescue dogs.) I threw this plan out to my dad. He said “It sounds like you’re asking me to pay for two weddings.”  And then he took his heart medicine. Touché, daddio, touché.

So now, the question is this: Do I roll the dice and plan for next year?  Or do I put together a wedding for this year because, you know, that’s what you do when you get engaged — get married?


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