“What are you buying me for a wedding present?”

Moments ago, I was awaken from my mindless TV watching as Meg pounced onto the couch next to me. A big, ass kissing smile on her face told me she wanted something. She dropped this question on me after positioning her head a solid 3 inches from my face.

Still stunned, I found myself shocked not only at the seemingly random nature of the question… not only at the bold, upfront, and downright Villanova-esque interrogation… but mostly taken aback at the idea that I have to buy her a wedding present. On a day to celebrate us as a couple (or so I’m reminded every time I express disinterest in this sacred day), I had not given much thought to the fact that I would have to get Meg a present. I could argue that being married should be present enough for her, but I know the sarcastic asses I have reading this site would be stumbling over themselves on the way to the comment entry form. I could argue that just putting up with her over the course of the last 16 months and preparing for the three day marathon that is our wedding is further present enough for her, but that would still send everyone (still sarcastic asses, mind you) racing to the comment entry form.

I regained my composure and rejoined the conversation. I say rejoined because I’ve tried the zoned out routine before. Unfortunately for me, Meg will continue the conversation despite my vegetative state, filling in what she wants to hear as answers to questions posed to me. If you don’t believe me, realize that had I been paying attention, you people wouldn’t have STDs stuck on your fridge (yes, I still maintain that they better be there, damnit).

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it yet.”
[whispers] “Diamond tennis bracelet.”

And so, a blog entry is born. I’m almost disappointed in myself for having thought Meg was done with her wonderful nuggets of wedding wisdom. A small part of me thought that in the remaining 58 days, I would be able to coast by without being blindsided by another wedding “tradition” of which I was unaware.

A small part of me died tonight.

As it had been a while since I partook in one of these lose-lose conversations, I was hit with a bit of nostalgia and decided to subject myself to the pain.

“By the way, what the hell is a tennis bracelet?”
“I don’t know.”

That was all she said out loud, but the implied ending to that response is “… but I know I want one.”

Which brings me back, once again, to our friends at Helzberg. Through their mystical mind control advertising campaigns, they have managed to instill the term “diamond tennis bracelet” into both the minds of the sane (me) and the easily swayed minds of those hypnotized by all things sparkly (Meg). Furthermore, Helzberg has managed to convey that this is something of much desire and symbolic of a big occasion. These bracelets are to be used to wow or to apologize. To “take her breath away” as Helzeberg would put it (or, as Ron White would put it, “that’ll shut her up”). Again, all of this is communicated without a proper understanding of just what the hell constitutes a tennis bracelet.

My breathing became more rapid. I daresay I began to sweat a bit. I looked up at Meg emphatically, almost begging her to keep talking. Could this finally be material for a new blog entry?

“Just think, if you got me that then I could take up tennis.”

Well, guess she answered that question for me.

One of the things I love about Meg is that she can be really fun to hang out with. She can be one of the guys. But she can still be sweet. She can get all dressed up to go to a bar only to later that night inhale a cheesesteak from Genos. She’ll read a wedding magazine while on a treadmill.

And at comments like that, I am reminded that she is still, at heart, a Villanova business major.

I have to admit something. I am extremely disappointed with Meg. We are now a mere two months away from the wedding, and you have no idea how crazy and ridiculous she’s been lately.

That is, she hasn’t been crazy at all.

I would have thought that by now, Meg would be such an excited panic that she would produce blogging gold for me on a daily basis. Instead, she barely mentions the wedding, and we have been able to carry on conversations like normal human beings. This comes at a great time, as it reminds me just why we’re getting married in the first place.

That having been said, there are a number of clean up items about the invitations that should be addressed.

First off, everyone who called/e-mailed/IMed/sent carrier pigeons to me about how great the envelopes looked can kiss my ass. I know the only reason you noticed the envelopes was because of the stink I made. I further know that you don’t give a damn about the calligraphy, and in many cases did not even actually look at it. But I do also know which of you like giving me a hard time about anything possible (and if you’ve been reading this site for longer than a week, you’ll realize that just about everyone I know falls into that category), and I have no doubt in my head that you are just using the calligraphy as a means of pushing my buttons.

Bonus points go to Meg’s Aunt Pat, who, hosting Easter dinner today, had her invitation prominently featured on her refrigerator (alongside the STD, which should have been rendered useless at the receipt of an invitation, but she gets points for that too). Granted, the envelope wasn’t there, but she still gets credit for at least trying to make the invitation function as more than a simple sheet of paper.

In fact, I’ll buy the first round for anyone who e-mails me a picture of their invitation posted somewhere in their house. The more creative, the better.

Lastly, I’d like to point out one of the greatest ironies I have ever encountered outside of a movie script. As many will know, the calligraphy on the envelopes was nothing short of a debacle. In the end, I still don’t know why the outer envelope had to be calligraphied, but even I’ll concede that they looked very elegant.

Too elegant, in fact, for a few mailmen (no offense to mailmen reading the site, but you guys dropped the ball here). A number of invitations, with entirely valid addresses, were returned to sender. Perhaps the mailmen were enamored by their beauty and forgot to deliver them. Perhaps they wanted to show us the horrors these poor envelopes had to endure during their travels. Or, perhaps the envelopes were so overdone with calligraphy and elegance that they didn’t notice that the zip code was written, very elongated, under the city and state. For whatever reason, something about the calligraphy– [ahem] that Meg had to have– threw off the post office to the point that people who should have been able to bask in the glory of the invitation did not even receive one.

I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t laugh to myself when I found this out.

No, this isn’t an entry on my company (that’d be more of a book than a blog entry). Rather, let’s look at the dictionary description of the word:

gestalt – A physical, biological, psychological, or symbolic configuration or pattern of elements so unified as a whole that its properties cannot be derived from a simple summation of its parts.

In other words, the result is greater than the sum of its parts.

I had a revelation a few weeks back. It came sometime between deciding on the color of the linen and choosing which chair covers best complement the room (neither of which do I actually know the answer to).

This may seem like a bold statement to readers of the site, but it’s not that I don’t care about the wedding. In fact, I think it’s gonna be a blast. I mean, it’s a three day party with people I love to hang out with that I rarely get to see. On top of that, I won’t deny that the reception will end up looking great.

Rob and Jen’s reception hall was beautiful. The color of the… well, the fact that they included the… I mean, the cake was… shit, I don’t remember a specific detail. Why? Because the overall enjoyment of a wedding is far bigger than simply summing the minute choices made.

If I can be blatantly generic (read: sexist) for a minute, I’d like to say that my last statement probably sent the majority of the women readers spinning into a frenzy.

“Surely, the wedding would not have been nearly as enjoyable had there been no chair covers.”
“The overall energy of the room would absolutely have taken a nose dive had the cake had one less layer.”
“I personally think the groom is an asshole, but hell, the flowers looked great so I loved it.”

I do not possess the mental capacity to put together all of these fine little details into a big picture. I’m not wired that way. I can do it with software, but not with a wedding. So when Meg asks me if I prefer Mother of Pearl or Cream napkins, I honestly do not have an opinion. In the end, both would end up looking fine (and let’s face it, serve the simple purpose of wiping stuff off of my face).

To put it in my terms, it’s as if I asked Meg which video card produced better results, an ATI or an NVidia card. To her, both look identical (and damn good, if the video card has passed my rigid requirements to enter my house). I, on the other hand, can see the differences in their rendering capabilities.

So, in response to Meg’s surprise at my question on revisiting the tuxedos, it’s not that I don’t care about the wedding. It’s just that I realize that all of the pieces work together and no one could possibly appreciate the hours spent scrutinizing the tablecloths.

… and if people really did look at the details to that level, they have plenty of their own issues to deal with.