Hot Child in the Crawford

Jenna Bush & Henry Hager Wedding Facts

from this CNN.com article.
cross-posted at MeanRachel.com

Bride: Jenna Welch Bush

Known by her friends as “Hot Toddy”

Groom: Henry Chase Hager

Known by his friends as “Sucker.”

Place: President Bush’s Prairie Chapel Ranch, Crawford, Texas

Where the Heaven’s Gate cult cut their teeth before they moved to Cali.

Guests: More than 200 friends and relatives

I turned down being Tony Snow’s date.

Attendants: 14 women known as members of the “house party,” not bridesmaids

And by “House Party” they mean “These sorority girls have thrown some massive house parties in their day.”

Bride’s gown designer: Oscar de la Renta

Slimming undergarments paid for by the SPANX PAC.

Ring: The diamond, a Hager family heirloom, reset in a ring that also features sapphires

Nothing says “I’m the worst President in history’s daughter” like a blood diamond.

Maid of Honor: Jenna’s twin sister, Barbara

That’s the pretty one.

Ceremony site: At a cross made of beige Texas limestone erected near a lake on the ranch

I hope you enjoyed the global warming while you were there, Mr. President.

Engagement: August 15, 2007, at Acadia National Park in Maine

I give it three years.

I can see the headline now…

“FATHER OF THE BRIDE CHOKES TO DEATH AFTER HEARING HIS DAUGHTER IS PLANNING A MUCH MORE EXTRAVAGANT WEDDING THAN HE HAD BEEN LED TO BELIEVE.”

Tonight Father of the Bride and I had dinner at the local Mexican food joint. We ran into one of our old neighbors and her child, who I used to babysit when I was 13. He is now 11 and has learned how to walk and clothe himself in the interim years since I babysat him (or so it seems). This allowed me to say the requisite “Oh boy do I feel old” and observe his awkward countenance.

Our old neighbor immediately brought up my sister’s impending wedding (how she had gotten the news, I have no idea given the fact that I wasn’t aware anyone even talks to her with any sort of regularity anymore) and I temporarily feigned interest (”Yes, isn’t it wonderful. Yes, she’s graduating from medical school, too. Yes, busy girl. I’ll have the taco salad. Hold the chicken. Thanks.”).

Since the wedding had come up I had a chance to ask Father of the Bride if he’d been keeping up with Bridezilla’s wedding blog. Not surprisingly he hadn’t. “I forgot the link,” he said, through mouthfuls of flautas. “Could you send it to me?”

“I don’t know if you’re ready for it,” I said, cautioning him like a parent reminding their kid not to drink at the high school party. “She’s really gone whole-hog into this…like the other day,” I said, taking a bite of lettuce, “she had an entry about which embroidered critters to put on the –”

My dad’s fork suddenly fell to the plate and he started choking on his flautas. “Embroi–” ::cough cough cough:: “Embroidered critters?” He said through mouthfuls of what I believe was flautas, disbelief and dread.

After a few minutes of the Heimlich, he finally recovered and we had a good laugh. I told him how I had told Bridezilla I would not attend her wedding if it had any lobster motifs and that one of her blog entries had said something like “Oh, to be a peacock.”

Father of the Bride picked up another flauta and said “She’s obviously lost her mind.”
I merely retorted, “No, Dad, she’s getting married.”
Welcome to the party, Father of the Bride. Your hostess will now seat you.

I like weddings. Really, I do.

I got married in tee shirt and shorts. My daughters know this. And while I enjoy attending lavish weddings, I still have profound misgivings about the concept of “my special day.” It seems like freighting the tricky voyage of a marriage with a massive cargo of upfront expectations. Nevertheless I went with Grace to Paper Place to look at 10-lb. albums of wedding invites–to “get ideas.”

A wedding is a complex social event. So why must it be tied down with one more arbitrary complication? I am talking about the “color scheme.” After we had flipped through several books, Grace started zeroing in on a few colors she liked. One was a pairing of coral and aqua. I’m not kidding. At another point in our perusing, she lingered over an invitation that had yellow and pale gray stripes. Perfect. Well, maybe for that baby shower invite in a few years.

I’ve agreed to advise and/or design the invitations, but I’m not sure whether i can wrestle coral and aqua to the ground. Stay tuned.

I do not subscribe to “InStyle.” Could you tell?

Today my sister, heretofore referred to as Bridezilla (I’m sorry, but you’ve earned it), posted an entry about an idea she saw mentioned in some sort of literary magazine known as “InStyle Weddings.”

I do not read “InStyle Weddings.”

I can only imagine that this is a sister publication to the other magazine that I do not read, known as “In Style.” I have been told that this magazine is full of oodles of great ideas on how to shop on a budget (if your budget is $5k a month…shoe budget, that is) and basically how to be a kick ass New Yorker.

Since my coworkers bring their dogs to work and generally are slobs, and I don’t live in New York, I don’t read “InStyle.” And since I’m lonely and single and sober (sometimes), I sure as hell stay the fuck away from “InStyle Weddings.”

But apparently for a mere $1400, you too can be like “InStyle Weddings” and have a photobooth taking reams of photos of people at your wedding. Great idea…although this makes the common misconception that people actually want to and/or intend to remember your wedding. Here are things people tend to remember about weddings:

1. The wedding bitch: Every wedding has one. It can be anyone — an aunt, a sister (I might assume the role), a mom, yes, even the bride. The woman who bitches out a three year old or throws a fit because they run out of champagne will be remembered by either the three year old or the bartender.
2. The person you saw dance who you never knew could dance: How weird is that when your stoic economics teacher from eighth grade suddenly busts a move?
3. The person who cries: Again, memorable to a few judgmental people for the mere fact that they make it awkward for everyone else.

I might be the wedding bitch who cries while she’s dancing. You never know. I’m the maid of honor, after all.

What an honor.

It’s official. There’s a ring and a date. It’s true love. Birds and bees and large amounts of money being thrown at them.

Tonight, after a nice dinner, while the lilacs rustled in the wind and the piano played softly, I was asked the question that every girl my age is dying to hear:

Will you be my maid of honor?

I’ve now entered a committed relationship.  With a wedding.

Is there a Facebook status for that?