Our invites have been sent and the RSVPs are trickling in. Now is the perfect time to start fretting, yes?
ZOMG EVERYTHING IS COMING APART AT THE SEAMS!
Lots of nice people have said lots of nice things about our invite/RSVP combo, which is very nice and highly appreciated but I overlooked one crucial thing. Preoccupied with prattling on the invites, I didn't think about how easy it is to overlook the dead obvious. I should have spelled things out a bit more.
So please, my chosen few, if you have not already sent your RSVPs, please write your name(s) on them prior to popping in the post. There's a special spot just for it, nicely lined to guide your penpersonship, conveniently above the checkboxes where you might indicate if you are coming or no. Even though we carefully selected each postcard for each invitee, our memories are not so crash hot that we will remember each and every one of them upon return.
The second problem: did we choose too few? Sure, that we have received RSVPs without names on and aren't sure who they are from may indicate that we have invited too many people, but did we draw the arbitrary line in the right place between our will-haves and will-have-nots?
This line is difficult to draw when you have a family roughly equal to the population of Wales. I decided not to invite any second cousins, even though I know and am on good terms with some of them. Will they be miffed? Relieved? Will their invited parents take offense, harrumph, cluck their tounges and boycott in solidarity?
We didn't invite work colleagues' partners, even though we have met and are on good terms with some of them. Will they be peeved? Will our colleagues? Have we just ensured our future invites to morning teas go "missing"?
We have invited good friends that we don't see much but skipped over mediocre friends we see often. I'm happy with this choice but I'm sure not looking forward to answering any questions. I may have to take them on notice.
We invited at least one real jerk, just because he's good for a laugh at the pub and we can't shake him. I really hope he can come.
PS. - is it rude to have a 'reserves' list for your wedding in case of announced no-shows?
PPS - if you are a friend who hasn't (yet) been invited, please don't assume you are mediocre. You're most likely wonderful, unless you are that one guy. (You know who you are.) It's just that if we were trapped in a lift without enough oxygen, I'd expect you to sacrifice yourself first.
PPPS - by that, I don't mean that I deserve to live more than you, only that you are no doubt a selfless, understanding soul who won't easily take offence.
PPPPS - and that, despite our no-doubt strong friendship, we may simply just have different taste in dress, which would make the wedding awkward and weird and totally not your scene yo, or maybe even the same taste in dress, and I don't want you to show me up. I am fickle.
PPPPPS - and, really, given the title of this blog post, I already feel bad about it, that's the point, so lay off already. I've learned my lesson. Blimey.
PPPPPPS - the real point is that there probably wasn't ever too much of a good reason. I was just playing for laughs.
PPPPPPPS - I never really learned to play well, or with others.
Tuesday, 21 June 2011
Monday, 20 June 2011
Vicky's engagement ring III
Okay, I have my glorious poem written but there are two more steps required before I can actually aks the eternal question.
Step 1. Getting parents-of-the-bride approval.
You know what frustrates human progress? People who say, "oh, but that's not the way we've always done it" in workplaces when a keen, young intellectual proposes a new, better way of achieving something. This sort of thinking irks me significantly, especially when it repeatedly happens in different workplaces. You might even say it gets my dander up. (You might but I wouldn't.)
For all of my progressive brilliance, I am surprisingly traditionalist in some respects, and thus it was very important to me to get Vicky's parents' approval of my suitorhood before I went any further. This proved tremendously more difficult than it first seemed.
I am a poor hobo-tastic, yet surprisingly clean and hygienic, hippie who does not own a car and likes to dress well. When trying to get to Vicky's parents' place without her knowing, I was consistently stymied by her good intentions. I would try to tell her that I was going to ride my bicycle to my parents for a visit. Now, Vicky's parents and mine live quite close to each other and, because we live in Perth and it's summer in December and the weather is preposterously hot, Vicky would always insist that I could use her car instead of sweat to death on my bicycle, and that she would come along to visit her parents at the same time.
Perhaps I am simply not a very good liar. Perhaps I was too nervous to actually commit, against all odds, to getting to Vicky's parents to announce my intentions. Whatever the reasons, I missed every opportunity to do so, although it was important to me. I ended up "checking the post" on Christmas Eve, in the evening, and calling Vicky's parents while walking down our driveway. They weren't even freaking at home! So I did the really classy thing and asked their answering machine if it would be all right...
Three hours later, Vicky and I were getting ready for bed. I was in the bathroom facing my most sleepless Christmas Eve since I was about ten years old. My mobile phone rang in the bedroom and before I could say anything through my toothpaste-filled mouth, Vicky walked into the room, picked up my mobile phone and handed it to me with a picture of her own face on it above 'Vicky calling'.
(Obviously, when I first met Vicky, she was still living at her parents' place, so her home number in my phone was theirs.)
It's exceptionally difficult to have a grateful, gracious, conversation in your bathroom when you've hurriedly spat out toothpaste, are extremely nervous and don't want any eavesdroppers to know what you're talking about. Nevertheless, I managed to squeeze out a 'thank you' and a 'that means a lot to me'. They thought it was brilliant and Vicky thought I was talking to my dad, so it worked out okay in the end, if not as elegantly as I'd hoped.
Step 2. Locating an empty ring box in which I could place my poetic triumph.
This also proved far more difficult than it should have been. What did I manage to do? The spine-shattering and ridiculous answer next time!
Step 1. Getting parents-of-the-bride approval.
You know what frustrates human progress? People who say, "oh, but that's not the way we've always done it" in workplaces when a keen, young intellectual proposes a new, better way of achieving something. This sort of thinking irks me significantly, especially when it repeatedly happens in different workplaces. You might even say it gets my dander up. (You might but I wouldn't.)
For all of my progressive brilliance, I am surprisingly traditionalist in some respects, and thus it was very important to me to get Vicky's parents' approval of my suitorhood before I went any further. This proved tremendously more difficult than it first seemed.
I am a poor hobo-tastic, yet surprisingly clean and hygienic, hippie who does not own a car and likes to dress well. When trying to get to Vicky's parents' place without her knowing, I was consistently stymied by her good intentions. I would try to tell her that I was going to ride my bicycle to my parents for a visit. Now, Vicky's parents and mine live quite close to each other and, because we live in Perth and it's summer in December and the weather is preposterously hot, Vicky would always insist that I could use her car instead of sweat to death on my bicycle, and that she would come along to visit her parents at the same time.
Perhaps I am simply not a very good liar. Perhaps I was too nervous to actually commit, against all odds, to getting to Vicky's parents to announce my intentions. Whatever the reasons, I missed every opportunity to do so, although it was important to me. I ended up "checking the post" on Christmas Eve, in the evening, and calling Vicky's parents while walking down our driveway. They weren't even freaking at home! So I did the really classy thing and asked their answering machine if it would be all right...
Three hours later, Vicky and I were getting ready for bed. I was in the bathroom facing my most sleepless Christmas Eve since I was about ten years old. My mobile phone rang in the bedroom and before I could say anything through my toothpaste-filled mouth, Vicky walked into the room, picked up my mobile phone and handed it to me with a picture of her own face on it above 'Vicky calling'.
(Obviously, when I first met Vicky, she was still living at her parents' place, so her home number in my phone was theirs.)
It's exceptionally difficult to have a grateful, gracious, conversation in your bathroom when you've hurriedly spat out toothpaste, are extremely nervous and don't want any eavesdroppers to know what you're talking about. Nevertheless, I managed to squeeze out a 'thank you' and a 'that means a lot to me'. They thought it was brilliant and Vicky thought I was talking to my dad, so it worked out okay in the end, if not as elegantly as I'd hoped.
Step 2. Locating an empty ring box in which I could place my poetic triumph.
This also proved far more difficult than it should have been. What did I manage to do? The spine-shattering and ridiculous answer next time!
Tuesday, 14 June 2011
Invites to Incite
This post will interrupt the saga of How Vicky Got Her Ring Back but, it's about time that I got around to posting timely posts. Rather than finish the ancient tale of my proposal, I will quickly update about the invites we sent out at the weekend. Most people should have received theirs by now, so I can finally put the details on the interblogs without ruining the MIND-BENDiNG, EYEBALL-GOUGING, SENSUAL-SHOULDER-RUBBING surprises.
These invites are awesome.
Vicky and I didn't want to send some invites we'd just picked up at the local newspower. Those invites are uninspiring flimflam. Considering we have spent a lot of time thinking about the other aspects of the wedding, why should we skimp on the invitations? We shouldn't, that's why!
Instead, we bought a lot of art postcards. I slaved away over a hot laptop to write some guff about awesome it would be if the invited came to our wedding. Vicky provided sage editorial advice to improve them and reign in my hyperbole (note that she does no such thing for this world's-greatest blog!). We printed the agreed-upon words out on fancy paper and stuck it to the back of the postcards with expensive glue. We did the same for the RSVPs, except that those were Penguin Books covers postcards and we left some room for the guests to write about how awesome the invites are or draw pictures of wedding mongooses - whatever took their fancy. Some lucky recipients also had their invites stamped with delightful images of dirt, lint and dustbunnies. We tied the whole lot up with string because people love that sort of interactivity, don't they? Who doesn't? Of course they do.
Each card - both invite and RSVP - was lovingly hand-selected for each recipient. I like to think it's that little personal touch, like a bespoke tailor, that will separate us from our wedding competitors (on the off chance that any jerks try to have a wedding on the same day).
Thus, we sent out invites that are perfect for/from us. We both like postcards (I enjoy making snooping postpersons feel uncomfortable and once courted Vicky with a series of postcards, ordered to tell a story, in the weeks leading up to her birthday). We both like art and books. I like the opportunity to showcase my wordy tomfoolery, rather than conform to pre-printed "standards" of "acceptability". What more can the public want?
Speaking of words, you may note that although there are a lot of them on each invite, they don't actually inform all that much. Thanks to the age of digital wizardry, they don't have to. Each invite also refers invitees to our stellar "wedsite", which includes much more useful information than any traditional invite could hold (also more words!). If you are one of the chosen, go check it out. Your invites have the login and password.
Man, I wish I were invited to my own wedding so awesomely.
At least the Penguins came in a nice box, so we can put all the RSVPs back in and flick through lovingly in our twilight years. This is a marriage that thinks ahead.
These invites are awesome.
Vicky and I didn't want to send some invites we'd just picked up at the local newspower. Those invites are uninspiring flimflam. Considering we have spent a lot of time thinking about the other aspects of the wedding, why should we skimp on the invitations? We shouldn't, that's why!
Instead, we bought a lot of art postcards. I slaved away over a hot laptop to write some guff about awesome it would be if the invited came to our wedding. Vicky provided sage editorial advice to improve them and reign in my hyperbole (note that she does no such thing for this world's-greatest blog!). We printed the agreed-upon words out on fancy paper and stuck it to the back of the postcards with expensive glue. We did the same for the RSVPs, except that those were Penguin Books covers postcards and we left some room for the guests to write about how awesome the invites are or draw pictures of wedding mongooses - whatever took their fancy. Some lucky recipients also had their invites stamped with delightful images of dirt, lint and dustbunnies. We tied the whole lot up with string because people love that sort of interactivity, don't they? Who doesn't? Of course they do.
Each card - both invite and RSVP - was lovingly hand-selected for each recipient. I like to think it's that little personal touch, like a bespoke tailor, that will separate us from our wedding competitors (on the off chance that any jerks try to have a wedding on the same day).
Thus, we sent out invites that are perfect for/from us. We both like postcards (I enjoy making snooping postpersons feel uncomfortable and once courted Vicky with a series of postcards, ordered to tell a story, in the weeks leading up to her birthday). We both like art and books. I like the opportunity to showcase my wordy tomfoolery, rather than conform to pre-printed "standards" of "acceptability". What more can the public want?
Speaking of words, you may note that although there are a lot of them on each invite, they don't actually inform all that much. Thanks to the age of digital wizardry, they don't have to. Each invite also refers invitees to our stellar "wedsite", which includes much more useful information than any traditional invite could hold (also more words!). If you are one of the chosen, go check it out. Your invites have the login and password.
Man, I wish I were invited to my own wedding so awesomely.
At least the Penguins came in a nice box, so we can put all the RSVPs back in and flick through lovingly in our twilight years. This is a marriage that thinks ahead.
Monday, 13 June 2011
Ring-a-Vicky (part 2)
Now where were we? Oh yes, Wisconsin. And I needed to come up with a brilliant idea to counter my diamond-ring-selecting cowardice.
If your internet attention span has forgotten yesterday: I was brilliant enough to know what sort of setting Vicky would like for her engagement ring (don't act so surprised - I am marrying her) but the diamond itself was another matter. Although I am an attentive, thoughtful fellow, it's not as if one's taste for diamonds can be ascertained from one's taste in drapery, nor do personal diamond preferences crop up in conversation too often or too naturally, and I wanted my proposal to be as much of a surprise as it could be. All I knew was that the diamond should be conflict-free - they look so much better without that taint of blood - but there is so much more too it than just that, so very much more.
I am what could generously be called a 'beginning poet'. (I promise I am not trying to show off with false modesty here.) I enjoy reading poetry, really I do. I studied poetry in my very useful university arts degree (English AND Philosophy). I've read almost a third of Stephen Fry's book. I'm a massive snob about other people's poems on the internet, especially if
they think that
broken lines and
Brobdingnagian words
and writing how they feel (sad)
makes for good
verse.
It doesn't.
I once wrote a pretty damn fine comedic sonnet to a female friend who was complaining about the rubbish romantic quality of her many suitors. She loved it, or so she said; it's hard to know for sure because I wrote it while on a particularly boring training course at work. Nevertheless, this opened up the possibility that I could, eventually, also finish a poem for Vicky, as she'd long hoped. I'd always meant to but couldn't ever show her anything because nothing was ever quite good enough. But, with the first lot of praise behind me (and Vicky's desire), I was eventually able to cobble something together. Vicky loved it (or so she said).
The point of this aside? I thought it would be a smashing idea to write another poem for Vicky, for my proposal, and pop that inside a ring box in lieu of the actual ring. Brilliant, yes? Solved all my problems. She still gets a surprise and I avoid the pressure of picking a perfect ring. Well, all I managed was to swap one kind of pressure for another. Now she needed the perfect sonnet.
It took me flipping ages and I spent whole afternoons staring at blank pieces of lined paper and losing weight through sweat, tearing out ever more of my precious remaining hair. Nothing ever quite worked. I wanted recurring ring and circle symbolism throughout. I wanted to show off the sort of ring I would have picked, with clever references to white gold and filigree banding (likening the entwining swirls on the ring to our entwining lives) and a lack of conflict (also serving as a reference to our own relationship, in addition to the diamond). I wanted the quatrains to stand for and move through the past, the present and the future, to summarise our relationship and encapsulate the promise that the ring would hold, and end with an emphasis on time unending, like a circle, like a diamond. I wanted to alternate masculine and feminine endings for each line as a sort of metrical pun about how we too would come together, not only in marriage but also to select this ring (plus the alternate endings also makes for a much more rhythmic read). I needed to work the word 'propose' into it without being clumsy. Above all, I needed to maintain iambic pentameter with the stresses falling on the right words without it sounding forced.
Apologies if the above makes me sound like an enormous wanker. I really just wanted to show how difficult it would be for a beginning poet to achieve all that in only a short time (I had decided to propose on Christmas Day because Vicky really loves Christmas and I thought proposing when she was already in a jolly mood would maximise my chances of getting a good response.)
In the end, I was really proud of what I was able to come up with. I still am. And, yes, Vicky loves it too. There was only one small hitch - but we'll get to that next time. And besides, how can one get hitched without a hitch from which to do it? HAHAHA - I am funny.
If your internet attention span has forgotten yesterday: I was brilliant enough to know what sort of setting Vicky would like for her engagement ring (don't act so surprised - I am marrying her) but the diamond itself was another matter. Although I am an attentive, thoughtful fellow, it's not as if one's taste for diamonds can be ascertained from one's taste in drapery, nor do personal diamond preferences crop up in conversation too often or too naturally, and I wanted my proposal to be as much of a surprise as it could be. All I knew was that the diamond should be conflict-free - they look so much better without that taint of blood - but there is so much more too it than just that, so very much more.
I am what could generously be called a 'beginning poet'. (I promise I am not trying to show off with false modesty here.) I enjoy reading poetry, really I do. I studied poetry in my very useful university arts degree (English AND Philosophy). I've read almost a third of Stephen Fry's book. I'm a massive snob about other people's poems on the internet, especially if
they think that
broken lines and
Brobdingnagian words
and writing how they feel (sad)
makes for good
verse.
It doesn't.
I once wrote a pretty damn fine comedic sonnet to a female friend who was complaining about the rubbish romantic quality of her many suitors. She loved it, or so she said; it's hard to know for sure because I wrote it while on a particularly boring training course at work. Nevertheless, this opened up the possibility that I could, eventually, also finish a poem for Vicky, as she'd long hoped. I'd always meant to but couldn't ever show her anything because nothing was ever quite good enough. But, with the first lot of praise behind me (and Vicky's desire), I was eventually able to cobble something together. Vicky loved it (or so she said).
The point of this aside? I thought it would be a smashing idea to write another poem for Vicky, for my proposal, and pop that inside a ring box in lieu of the actual ring. Brilliant, yes? Solved all my problems. She still gets a surprise and I avoid the pressure of picking a perfect ring. Well, all I managed was to swap one kind of pressure for another. Now she needed the perfect sonnet.
It took me flipping ages and I spent whole afternoons staring at blank pieces of lined paper and losing weight through sweat, tearing out ever more of my precious remaining hair. Nothing ever quite worked. I wanted recurring ring and circle symbolism throughout. I wanted to show off the sort of ring I would have picked, with clever references to white gold and filigree banding (likening the entwining swirls on the ring to our entwining lives) and a lack of conflict (also serving as a reference to our own relationship, in addition to the diamond). I wanted the quatrains to stand for and move through the past, the present and the future, to summarise our relationship and encapsulate the promise that the ring would hold, and end with an emphasis on time unending, like a circle, like a diamond. I wanted to alternate masculine and feminine endings for each line as a sort of metrical pun about how we too would come together, not only in marriage but also to select this ring (plus the alternate endings also makes for a much more rhythmic read). I needed to work the word 'propose' into it without being clumsy. Above all, I needed to maintain iambic pentameter with the stresses falling on the right words without it sounding forced.
Apologies if the above makes me sound like an enormous wanker. I really just wanted to show how difficult it would be for a beginning poet to achieve all that in only a short time (I had decided to propose on Christmas Day because Vicky really loves Christmas and I thought proposing when she was already in a jolly mood would maximise my chances of getting a good response.)
In the end, I was really proud of what I was able to come up with. I still am. And, yes, Vicky loves it too. There was only one small hitch - but we'll get to that next time. And besides, how can one get hitched without a hitch from which to do it? HAHAHA - I am funny.
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Ring-a-Vicky (part 1)
Hopefully, although it is mostly silly, this bloggery of mine has been a little bit informative. I hope it will continue to be so. Not only do I have more suit tribulations to get through and post about, but I've also recently been spending an awful lot of time fretting about ties and shirts. Especially shirts. Ties really just get down to the sort of pattern and colours I'd like on the day but the shirts, oh my! What sort of weave should I get? How skinny do I want the placket to be? Should I get a cut-away collar or stick with classic? French cuffs, for sure (not because I can make sexist and frenchish jokes about surrendering but because then I can also have awesome cufflinks and post about those) but should I splash out and get Fiffig French? I don't think I will forget my cufflinks but to say fiffig is pretty funny and I'll most likely snicker a little bit. Fiffig.
Does anybody else agree that the word 'fiffig' is funnier than those stupid jokes about marriage ruining fun for everybody? I will also avoid jokes about whether or not to get stiff. Personally, I prefer soft cuffs and collars but I'd also like to avoid horrid, tasteless gags about stiffs (like corpses, rigor mortis, typical 'dead man walking' rubbish joke cliche, not the 'stiff' you are thinking about, you sicko).
So, definitely silly and hopefully informative but I'd also like the blog to be touching. Not inappropriately, like an overly-confident hand on one's knee at the cinema, or the exceptionally affectionate work colleague who always offers hugs and pats on the back well-done, but metaphorically touching, like when a dog rescues a duckling.
With this in mind, I thought I would write about Vicky's engagement ring. She's only recently got it and seems to love it so, showing it to everybody and her cats, so I thought I would prolong the exposure - and exuberant novelty - and share some pics with the internet, and the story behind it.
"Why has she only recently got the ring? Didn't you propose in Christmas Day, 2010, you slack young man?" Why, yes, convenient questioner, I did, but I wimped out of buying her a ring unseen. I promise that I thought long and hard about whether to buy her a ring and complete the surprise or whether to go shopping with her and let her choose. It's not an easy choice. I was pretty confident about a lot of things. I knew to get her white gold, I knew she would prefer some intricate, vintage design-work. I knew she would prefer recycled gold, if possible, and that an origin, conflict-free, non-blood diamond was an absolute necessity - as it should be for everybody. I'd even narrowed it down to this spectacular piece but then I had to pick the perfect diamond. Ye gods, this was difficult!
I learned so much about the different cuts and colours and carats and clarity and costs that I was magnificently overwhelmed. For a chap who has difficulty picking which pair of blue jeans he should wear on any given weekend, picking a precise diamond was going to do me in. This is a ring that she will wear, proudly, for thousands of years, if I have my way, so it has to be just right. Any small thing that's not perfect and it simply won't do.
So yes, I decided it was a safer bet to propose ring-free and let her get one of her own choosing. I didn't want this to be super-boring, however. One cannot simply get down on one's knee and open an empty ring box. It's a significant let-down and horrendous omen. What could I do to make up for the lack of a ring?
I'll write about it in the next post. This one is getting pretty long and I know about internet attention spans. I have one too. There are some bicycle accessories that I'd like to look up now, if you don't mind, and videos of animals doing things. Maybe we can find a good dog rescues duckling one?
Thursday, 2 June 2011
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