At Margaret’s shower, among other things, the yet-to-be-profiled Heidi gave Margaret two CDs:

• Feel Like Makin’ Love: Romantic Power Ballads
• Love Bites: More Romantic Power Ballads

The gift was perfect; Margaret loves the CDs. And now I’ve added all of the tracks on them to our do-not-play list (read this post to see what other songs you won’t be hearing).

Some highlights:

• “Feel Like Making Love“—Bad Company
• “Amanda“—Boston (This song is one of the rare bad things to come out of Boston.)
• “Is This Love“—Whitesnake (Ok, I lied, there will be no restriction on playing Whitesnake.)
• “Two Out Of Three Ain’t Bad“–Meat Loaf (What, Meat Loaf made this compilation? I’m shocked.)
• “Fire And Ice“—Pat Benatar (Fire and Ice the grill, however, is always welcome.)
• “Total Eclipse Of The Heart“—Bonnie Tyler (When Margaret first heard this song on the CD, she exclaimed, “Oh! I love this song!” Not coincidently, it’s also on Mullets Rock Too! : Mullets In Love. Which I think Margaret also owns.)
• “Lady“—Styx (I rank this gem as one of the worst songs of all time.)

We have a guest poster today: Margaret’s mother, Jessica.

Margaret has always had a flair for color, design, and texture. She delights in distinctive details. Why, then, should I have been surprised when she brought a 12-inch, square slate slab with her when I met her at Party Cloths to decide upon the table settings for the wedding reception?

The piece of slate was a mottled combination of gray, amber, and brown—the perfect complement to the other tableware colors she had chosen and a unique idea for a charger. It sounded like a great idea; it looked oddly elegant; it was a definite keeper in the grand scheme of things.

A couple days later, Margaret stopped by Home Depot and loaded 13 boxes of slate slabs, 10 in a box, into the back of her car. I say Margaret loaded them, but in truth she had substantial help from a well-dressed, portly gentleman who would not allow a young woman to lift all those boxes by herself. “I hope you have a prince charming at home to unload these,” he commented. Of course, Margaret, stars in her eyes, answered in the affirmative, thinking of a smiling Zach welcoming her in the doorway.

Midway through the lifting and loading, however, Margaret began to doubt the whole idea of slate slabs, albeit the prospect of using them later to create a patio might have been a good plan. In addition to offering to pay the dry-cleaning bill for the helpful gentleman, and noting that her own ensemble was a grimy shamble, Margaret realized the reality of the weight of all those boxes.

How could she ask anyone to heft them from here to there and back again? No, that would be insensitive and ridiculous. So on the drive back from Home Depot she made the decision to return the would-be chargers and choose more traditional ones for the table. Naturally it will be Zach who does the returning; Prince Charming must be a loving, patient man.

This post will be the first and last one that quotes People magazine (I didn’t even realize it had text):

Guests at a private wedding at Florentine Gardens in River Vale, NJ, got a big treat recently: An impromptu (and YouTube worthy) performance by Bruce Springsteen. The Boss, a friend of the couple, jumped up on stage with Hank Lane Music—yes, the wedding band—strapped on a guitar and performed his song “If I Should Fall Behind.” He then stayed up to join in for the Chuck Berry classic “C’Est La Vie,” trading solos with the band’s saxophonist and keyboardist. After his star turn onstage, Springsteen and his wife hit the dancefloor together.

Um…do any of you know Bruce?

(via Backstreets)

*not scheduled to attend

When we still were deciding where we would hold our wedding ceremony and reception, we learned that as soon as the word “wedding” was mentioned, the charges increased.

So instead of telling people upfront that I was hosting a wedding, I said it was a reception. I didn’t lie; if asked I said it was a wedding. Regardless, eventually, the venue’s coordinator would ask for specifics. When I said that it was a wedding, I usually was told that the price he or she quoted me earlier no longer applied; the facility had “special rates for weddings.”

When I pressed for the reason behind this special rate, I had some interesting exchanges:

• “We’ve charged all of our other weddings more money and it wouldn’t be fair to those brides if we charged you less.”
• “We give special attention to weddings.” When I asked if that meant that they didn’t give special attention to their other customers, there was silence
• “Mothers of the bride are difficult to deal with.” I found it offensive that they were prejudging my mom. And sheÂ’’s easy to deal with.

Regardless, all of their responses centered on the concept of “my special day.”

You see if “my” day (never once “our” day) was to be special, I would need extra attention and that required more money. Time and again people tried to sell the notion that the day must be perfect and for a little bit more they could make the wedding of my dreams come true.

I am not the bride-to-be who has had a vision since childhood of what her wedding day would be like. I assumed that there would be a groom and depending on who the groom was, members of my family would be in attendance (thankfully they’re still showing up, despite it being Zach).

I knew, however, somethings that I did not want

• poultry—my beef is not with the bird, but rather with the industry where the big processing companies exploit small chicken farmers
• a traditional cake—(you’ll have to see what weÂ’re substituting for cake at the reception)—Zach and I don’t like cake that much, ergo no cake
• a veil—just a personal decision; I don’t want to wear one

Funny thing is though, no matter how clear I had been with potential caterers and dress shops, they don’t listen.

One catering company, listed as one of the best in Washington, DC, by the Washingtonian (”brides like this 79-year-old company’s food and service; an ‘event designer’ is assigned to each wedding”) submitted a potential menu of chicken lurking under wild mushrooms, as well as an elaborate multi-tiered cake encased in spun sugar flowers.

And while looking at dresses at a snooty Alexandria, VA, bridal shop (Hannelore’s), one salesperson ignored my refusal of a veil and plopped one on my head.

She then said, “See, don’t you look beautiful with the veil?”

I said, “I think I’m beautiful anyway” and left.

After last night’s Soprano’s episode, there is a 100-percent chance that we’ll play Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” at our wedding reception. Of course it’s been on non-stop since we got back from watching the show—and having gabagool—at Dan S.’s. (In Margaret’s defense, she’s been in New Orleans while I’ve been rocking out to Steve Perry and friends.)

And, just to further tie in the song with our wedding, the picture of us that used to (like the phoenix rose again and) adorns the top of the sidebar was taken at a Journey concert.