Thanks for agreeing to come to the bachelorette party.  Regarding your offer of cupcakes, perhaps some phallic-decorated cupcakes are in order?

Maidzilla

*

Maidzilla:

Oh wow. I almost forgot that I have a cake pan in the shape of a giant
cock.  This can be pressed, happily, into a sausage fest of cake and
icing.

Say the word,

Bachelorette Party Attendee

*

Bachelorette Party Attendee:

Let’s do it.

Maidzilla

*names have been changed to protect the unmarried

I’ve got to plan a Bachelorette Party.

The bachelorette party is its own filthy beast, and I mean that in the nicest of ways.  Not only am I not getting married but I now must plan an event, replete with plastic penii and fruit-flavored condoms, to remind myself, and the other Unfortunates, of our “Fabulous” Single Life.  This is the Bridezilla’s last swan song, where she gets to put on her stripper heels and wear sequins and, for one final time, flounce around like a single woman, all the while with the wonderful, tonic fall-back knowledge of knowing that she isn’t.

Because, ladies, when the chicken cutlets hit the floor, it really, really sucks to be single.  And anyone who tries to tell you otherwise clearly hasn’t scrolled down Match.com’s prospects lately.

Nevertheless, it would just be plain awkward if my older sister were planning my bachelorette party, so I will do this one dutiful task as the younger sister with the hope that someday, when I throw out my back cleaning out Chubby Charles’s litterbox, she will be there for me.

Now…where does one go to plan a Bachelorette Party?

Moving on.  I don’t have a biological clock yet but what I do have lately is a distinct desire to spend money, gobs and gobs of money, on feathering my nest.  Fortunately I keep thinking myself WWSD (What would Suze Do?)?  So I go to Target and paw at the merch and then find myself walking out with only a bottle of wine and a Febreeze Noticeables home fragrance plug-in.

A compromise, I suppose.

All this depression-era self restraint has got me thinking about what I would register for if I were marrying, say, my cat.  I have grand plans to redo my entire schtick when I move in January of 2009.  I’ve been married to this tropical/earthy theme since 2005 and earlier, and I feel as though it’s time to divorce my greens and browns and golds.  What do I want to do, you ask?

Black and white.  Ebony and ivory.  Light and dark.

I think it’s because my current love, obsession and lust is playing my piano (not a euphemism).  I cannot walk through my apartment without beelining it for the keys, even if it’s just for a few chords or measures.  My piano has been my distraction and therapy over the last year or so, and my faithful date night entertainment.  Why wouldn’t I want to immerse myself in this scheme.

So…here’s the wish-list for when my Ivory Cat finally pops the question.

Bedding/Duvets

Duvet you love it?!

This  Marimekko Cotton Sateen Black Tuuli Bedding is, as Rachel Zoe would say, is so DIE.  D.  I.  E.  Die.  I also kind of love the birds on the twigs on this Dwell Studio duvet set. Everything at Dwell is awesome though and I shouldn’t be too rigid about JUST black and white, right?  Oh what the heck!  Put me & Chubby down for a queen size of each!

I would need a bedframe to go with my new fabulous duvet cover.  Now, you know I’m not an IKEA person (I’ve never been to the store) but…I Love This Bed!  I love how it looks like a park bench!  Almost worth driving to Round Rock on I-35 for!

HOPEN

Bath

Fortunately I already have white art-deco towels which I love and intend to keep until they are threadbare.  I came across these mirrored bathroom “coordinates” at Target tonight and almost bought all of them.  The website doesn’t do them justice — they are very heavy and well-made, and in natural light they shine and sparkle.  Love them.  Are probably a bitch to keep clean but I’ll put C-lo in charge of the bathroom cleaning (and her litterbox).

And how cool is this Spanish vocab shower curtain from Target?  Que rico!  I’m not sure if it would really vibe with my mirrored bathroom accessories, but I’m not counting on them to be around when I need them as most of the ones online have sold out.

Trinkets

If there was ever a moment to spend $94 on a throw pillow, it’d be when you are getting married to your cat.  Check out this Imperial Horse pillow.

That’s all I have time for now.  The wedding’s not for another year or so, so we’ve got some time.

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.

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 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.

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?