Tips for Running of the Brides

So not only did I find my dress at Filene's Running of the Brides, I had a great time doing it. Here are some of my tips for RotB success.

○ Make appointments at a couple fancy bridal salons BEFORE RotB. Soak up all the luxury, comfy seats and unctuous salespeople. Note what you like and what turns your hot self into a shapeless satin sack. Then get. out. Later, try not to cackle with glee when you find your dream dress at a fraction of the salon price.
○ Assemble a team of people. I went with my mother and sister, but we saw teams of 8-10 people. Smaller teams work just as well though! RotB is not for the faint of heart; it helps if your people are patient and eager bargainers. Take them out for celebratory drinks afterwards as thanks.
○ Bring snacks. I’m one of those people who must eat every 3 hours or everyone around me suffers the consequences. Take a 10-minute sandwich-and-apple break and wade back into the fray. Besides, eating a PBJ in a $5000 ballgown feels wondrously decadent.
○ Wear undergarments you’ll feel comfortable being seen in. For me this meant a strapless bra and black leggings. Every dress slid right over this combo, and it provided enough coverage so I could walk around and not feel like Flashy McBooberson.
○ Establish a beachhead. Although we arrived too late to scoop up the first round of dresses, I did secure a spot against the wall. One of us was always here, guarding purses and “maybe” dresses. It was calming to have an out-of-the way place to take a breather from the chaos. Had I been a little quicker, I would have snagged one of the emptied roller racks to hang my potential dresses.
○ Consult the alteration team. RotB has a deal with an alterations and cleaning company, and several very helpful women are on site advising brides about alterations. When I needed an impartial third party opinion, these women were great. They agreed the flowery garden hoop dress was cool, but were very realistic about the nature of the alterations it would need and would not guarantee they could straighten out the wonky hoop. Don’t be shy about asking their professional opinion!
○ Be flexible. We went in chanting “strapless lacey sheath. Strapless lacey sheath.” While this approach helped us focus in the face of such overwhelming choice, a few hours in I began trying on EVERYTHING that looked halfway interesting: frothy princess gowns, slinky silk numbers, bejeweled satin A-lines. It was fun, and it was fruitful: the gown I fell in love with was nothing like my original vision.
○ Be patient. If you are the 50th person in line, by the time you get inside the hall all the racks will be empty. Do not despair. After about an hour, most people have sifted through their stock and started putting their (beautiful, flawless) rejects back on the hangers, ready for you to come along and snap them up. You will try on a least six gowns that you love, I swear it.
○ Be friendly! I’m usually pretty shy, so it took me a while to approach total strangers and ask them about trades. But the conversations I had with other women were the best –and most surprising- thing about the morning. I confess to going to RotB with trepidation, expecting bridezillas out the yinyang. Far from it. Women went out of their way to find the dress for a total stranger. Heartfelt compliments floated back and forth. There was a real sense of camaraderie reminiscent of an oldskool sleepover with 300 of your best friends ;)

Hope these help someone out there. Anyone else survive a Running of the Brides and have tips to share?

The Dress: Part 1

My mom and sister convinced me that the Filene's Basement Running of the Brides in mid-February was a must. You've probably heard of this now-legendary annual tradition: hundred of brides and their teams of helpers wearing matching sproingy eyeball headbands and neon shirts storm the store packed full of thousands of plastic-wrapped gowns at deep discount (think $250, $350 and $500 for $3,000+ dresses). This year it was at Hynes Convention Center since Filene's no longer exists. We were glad since @ the old location we would have been waiting outside in the snow.

When the doors opened at 8 a.m. people literally sprinted into the showroom. By the time Team Cook got inside every rack was empty. Seriously- takes about a minute. I confess to feeling a little panicky, probably due to my standing against the wall in a strapless bra and leggings while my team canvassed empty racks. My fears were ill-founded: my intrepid mom and sis walked around, bargained for rejected dresses, and traded traded traded. I found that the best trading happened while walking around wearing the dress I wanted to get rid of, asking permission to poke at other people's racks (of gowns, people.) It was also worth zipping the rejects back in their plastic garment bags: helped retain their aura of desirability. While it took about 20 minutes before I even had a dress worth trying on, within an hour we were regularly unearthing worthy contenders. At first I focused on all-over Chantilly lace slim-fitting sheath or mermaid silhouette styles, but 3 hours in tried on anything that looked interesting (frothy orange feathered ballgown, I'm thinking of you.)

I have to say even though we joked beforehand about throwing elbows and battling wild-eyed women with huge rocks for the dream gown, the atmosphere inside was overwhelmingly positive and exciting. Girls cheered for each other when they found "the" dress, complimented each other on different styles, shared mirrors and offered honest opinions. It was really lovely, the occasional creepy dad-type with camera notwithstanding.


After four hours wrangling in and out of dresses I was torn between 2 very different gowns. (Apologies for not taking pictures: we were ignorant.)

Dress 1: a quirky, a-line one-strap flowery net thing. The net overlay floated away from the slip-like base layer on thin hoops. It was so different and fun, and seemed to fit well with our outdoor location. Downsides: the hoops were warped a bit, so it didn't hang quite right, aaand it was a size 4, which meant without losing a rib they'd have to reconstruct the top third to lace instead of button up.

Dress 2 was also amazing, and completely different. Strapless, soft champagne color, fitted through the bodice and down to abt mid thigh, where it flared out and draped all mermaidy around my feet. Dramatic low back with a sexy row of buttons all down the backside. This dress fit like a dream. Strangers approached me and entreated me to buy it immediately. My mom luurved this dress. There was no doubt I felt very va va voom in this dress. Downsides? The style was a total 180 from what I had originally envisioned. It was much more formal, more evening, more pools of candlelight and flutes of champagne and jazz orchestra over murmured conversations. The flowery net size 4 was much funkier, more sushi and rockabilly and drunk karaoke in a barn. How to combine these two very different, equally compelling visions?

I agonized for an hour, hoovering up compliments. I would have thought about it overnight but there was no chance at this crazy sale thing. After the dress alteration team told me they couldn't guarantee straightening out the hoops in dress #1, and the alterations it would need, I went with dress #2 (but you saw that coming 2 paragraphs ago, right?). It doesn't even need alterations! Fits me like its custom! Now I'm having fun envisioning a glam sideswept 'do with birdcage veil for the ceremony, maybe changing to a flower in my hair and sparkly flats for the reception...

Looking back on it, trying to formulate an entire wedding style around two drastically different dresses is a lot of pressure for a few pounds of taffeta and silk. In the end, I went with my gut, and chose the dress that will make the dude say "damn." I'll get my quirk fix with orange shoes, yellow pedicabs, and a homemade photobooth.


...coming up: How I spend my lunch breaks (with photos!) also: Running of the Brides tips; what's this about a pedicab?

The Engagement

The following is lifted from the announcement email I sent to friends and family after our engagement last December. I hesitate to think how long I spent composing that "poem".

(with apologies to Edward Lear)

If your boyfriend of many a year
Says, “Let’s go for a run!” - have no fear.
A box tied with a bow
He’s on one knee in the snow
And you’ll say “God, yes! I will marry yer!”


In mid-December last year Eric and I went for a run with the dog at the Middlesex Fells reservation near Boston.

In the middle of the Fells is a tall stone tower that I always climb for a great view of Boston and surrounding countryside. As I was admiring the view, the dog bounded up with a little gold box tied to her collar, and when I leaned over the side all suspicious, Eric was standing down below, holding up a stereo playing a song so cheesily romantic I'm embarrassed to tell you what it is.*

He climbed up to meet me, got down on one knee and said something (memory's a little hazy here) about wanting to spend the rest of his life with me. After I said yes and he slipped the ring on my finger we had a mini dance party on top of the tower and then we ran home to tell my folks.

While we don't have a date set, the wedding will probably be early fall next year. The only thing for sure is that we want to celebrate with as many of our relatives and friends as we possibly can!





*'Glory of Love' by Peter Cetera. Google the lyrics now for maximum awesome.

Back with a (themed) vengeance

So what happens when you last post 2 years ago about your then-boyfriend breaking up with you? A whole bunch of stuff that ends in reconciliation and engagement, apparently. And lo, the prospect of spending serious money on your wedding shall cause you to flex your blogging muscles once more.

For now, I'm going to be looking forward: posting mostly about wedding planning and the dude and related topics. Milk this taffeta-bedecked cow of inspiration until she's dry! But perhaps in the future I'll write about the "missing months" - they were dark and wierd, yo.

Is this thing on?...Hellooo?

So! Maybe I should just start a new blog- this one seems to be cursed. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll get around to it. I owe you an update before I get around to the real reason I’m here.

The dude and I broke up last month. I’m still trying to boil down the reasons into a concise sentence for public consumption, but “We were at different stages in our lives” is just a pansy-ass way of saying “I wanted to get married, and he wasn’t ready.” There are two things that really burn me about this.

1. He came to his decision all by his selfish, as my dad would say. I mean, since The Talk in late December (when we gave ourselves a year to hit it or quit it) we haven’t really talked about it at all. (Yes, communication is a two-way street and this was a warning sign to begin with but this is my blog and I skew if I want to.) Early May he went away on business for a few days, triggering the “figure this shit out” mechanism and a confession: he wasn’t ready to get married. He did not want to break up, but you know? Fuck that. In the first place, it took me some long and painful months to figure out and come to terms with the fact that I wanted to get married at all. And building a life with someone is not a one-sided activity. Not like, say, MAKING A HUGE DECISION ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP. To sum up: I be pissed because he wanted to “save me the pain” of being there while he figured it out. How exquisitely condescending.

2. I ignored my gut instinct about this very possibility for over a year because I didn’t want to be alone. Thinking about dating again made me exhausted. For the record, I am fully aware that dating fatigue not a legitimate reason to marry someone. I just concentrated on other things and tried to rationalize what ultimately was an unsatisfying relationship (not ‘ultimately’ b/c we broke up, but ‘ultimately’ b/c I wasn’t fully happy with him/us.) The initial sting of rejection has receded in a flood of relief.



Alrighty then. So I’m moving out next week, to a great place abut ½ mile away, with a yard and a brand new kitchen and nice windows and light. My roommate, S, is a woman in her mid-thirties with whom so far I have a lot in common: similar decorating style, relationships with friends and men, schnargly lurve with dogs. After signing the lease a few weeks ago, I realized I haven’t lived with a woman since.. 1998. Not counting the 9-month stint with my folks, that’s eight years in seven apartments in four towns and two states: all with guys. Strange considering I’ve had fabulous girl roomies (you know who you are, you sexy things). Anyway, S and I have already made jokes about running around the apartment naked, so I’m thinking this may work out alright.

Survey!

Ok, so should I alleviate my creeping bordom by

a. getting pregnant!
or
b. applying to grad school!


You votes will determine my happiness, income and frustration levels, and career trajectory! Democracy has never been so empowering!

3 p.m. edit: Guys, really. Who has a baby because of boredom? Honestly! (in Austin Powers voice).

5 x 7

What were you doing 10 years ago?
Oy. Living with my parents, working at a discount bookstore in the local strip mall, and contemplating the fallout of the Semester of Catastrophic Avoidance. I am envious of Hucpuc’s decade-spanning synergy.

One year ago?
One-year anniversary of my current job, and none too happy about it. To be honest this time is rather fuzzy, 2005 datebook notwithstanding.

5 snacks you enjoy?
Jif XtremeCrunch peanut butter on celery
Pistacios
Medjool dates
Chocolate-dipped baby fingers
Chocolate ice cream with salted almonds and warm raspberry topping.

5 songs you know the lyrics to?
Parents Just Don’t Understand- Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff. Will always make me think of Canobie Lake Park, 8th grade, and summer.
–Billy Ocean Christ, I’m singing it right now.
King of the Road –Roger Miller Sing this while cooking dinner for your sweetie and then go outconquernquor the world.
Neighborhood # 1 (Tunnels) -Arcade Fire
Take your pick of late-80s hairband ballads and FNX staples.

5 things you would do if you were a millionaire?
-Ensure my parents’ comfortable retirement.
-Buy a house with ocean views.
-Bike around Europe.
-Create an endowment for my nonprofit.
-Hire a hard-ass accountant who would prevent me from spending the rest on coke and $800 shoes.

5 bad habits?
- Everyone’s favorite- procrastination! I should have done this meme yesterday.
- Control freak. Especially cooking, driving, stupid nit-picky stuff.
- Eating when I’m bored. Allow me to introduce the 5 pairs of pants that longer fit. "Hi! We're Tighty, Bulgy, Fatty, Slutty and Lumpen! Fell free to reminisce about how cute you looked in us last year! No, of course we're not staring at your ass! Bye-ee!"
- Willful ignorance mixed with outright denial about the state of my financial affairs.
- Frightening inability to concentrate for any substantial period of time. I blame it on the internets.

5 people to tag?
Everyone I could tag has already been tagged, so here’s a list of blogs I worship from afar:
Patrick I am scared. And also turned on.
Skot Snort-out-loud funny.
Mrs. Kennedy One of the coolest people alive.
The Moose Rips apart everything I can't seem to stop obsessing over.
Michelle She WILL be my friend.

guilt farm

So riding with my Dad across Minnesota was EXACTLY how I had pictured it. Quiet, well-maintained roads roll past quiet farms, everyone we meet is friendly, solicitous, and pretty much bowled over by what my dad is doing. The landscape is green, brown, blue and white. Dogs occasionally burst ourt from under porches and follow us barking madly. Lucky for us 95% of the dogs we see are morbidly obese and no match for our fleet-footed panicked pedaling. But let's start from the beginning.

Flew into the Twin Cities and stayed for a few nights with the daughter of a family friend. She has a very cute red-headed 8-year-old son Noah, whose room I stay in. I love the way mother and son are together: it feels very mutually respectful but also fun and loving. Also, their house kicks serious Art Deco ass and I kill a good few hours wandering around redecorating it in my mind.

My dad looks great: very lean and tan and relaxed. Being the quietly awesome person he is, he decides to start us out with a few 30-mile days to ease my untrained ass into the saddle. According to the detailed maps from Adventure Cycling, there are no camping facilities NW of the Cities within 60 miles, so we agree to head east over the St. Croix river back into Wisconsin before settling into our northwesterly route.

Packing up the bikes is pretty fun. My dad has a handlebar bag and a BOB trailer, very sleek and modern and holding an incredible amout of stuff. I kick it old school with two 12-year old rear panniers and bungee my tent, sleeping bag and raingear on top. Last time I did this was in 1991 when I took a 3-week 500 mile trip around Canada's Maritime Provinces, returning bone skinny and promptly installing an ice cream IV in my arm for the rest of the summer. I harbor secret fantasies about the exact same thing happening 14 years later.

Our first day we follow bike lanes through downtown St. Paul and hook up with the bike trail that runs east of the city. Breezing past 20 or so bikers on the path feels wickedly good, I don't care how portly and elderly and upright they and their handlebars are. About 20 miles in we cross the St. Croix and hit the first real hill of the trip, a relatively short but achingly steep climb that reduces me to a pile of granny gears soaked in lactic acid. 80% sinew and powered entirely by chocolate ice cream, my dad sails up it and waits for me at the next intersection. The next 8 miles are lovely, rolling hills, no cars- pretty much a dream ride. I insist we stop at a cheese factory where we stock up on curds and cheddar and other stuff that was salty and delicious. Let the guilt-free consumption of fat begin!

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. We found a nice campground with showers and laundry, talked to wives and boyfriends and ate Fritos and baloney for dinner (sorry, Mom!) because it was too windy for the stove (note foreshadowing). Sacked out around 10 p.m., only to wake up 2 hours later to a howling rainstorm. Let this be the place where I sing the praises of my tent, the Kelty Baja 3. While barely big enough for me and my gear, it remained staked down and BONE DRY during a storm that bowed in the walls so much I had to stick my head outside to keep from suffocating in canvas. I imagined tumbling over and over into a ravine or onto the nearby highway, but for some reason was not scared out of my wits, probably since my brain cells were awash in a Frito-y glow and thus incapable of rational thought. Afterwards we walked around the pitch black campground while sheet lightening played in the clouds, and I thought about how much I was going to enjoy telling everyone about this adventure, for once not needing to exaggerate the drama.

Coming up...
Days 2-10: Cute kittens! Lost mittens! Taint on fire! And the do's and don'ts of brushing your teeth in a bar bathroom.

butt muppets*

Damn...

Sarah J., prepare to be hunted down and killed.


*apparently this is a rather insulting euphemism. I wish it weren't- I just like the way it sounds, an evil hybrid of PBS and the Playboy Channel.