Total Bridezilla moment/my future husband is stupid!

Really.  I swore I wasn't going to get caught up in Bridezilla colour scheme freakouts.  I lied.

Yesterday wasn't a good day.  I went to get my nails done and H2b took off with his best man and one of his ushers to get fitted for his kilt.  The other usher is in Australia, so it's not like they were being mean and leaving him out or anything.  I could have gone with them, but H2B has been all groomzillay about the colour scheme (more on than later) and his best man is a statistician so I thought it would be ok.

Anyway, nails all done, and having been informed that the boys would be heading to the pub to watch the days wendyball (football) action, I declared the day mental bride pamper day, got some lunch and brought it home.   My plan was to hook up the scanner to copy some photos for h2bs photo locket and watch some girly films, stuffing my face with the chocolate I'd picked up from the cadburys outlet and enjoy some alone time in the house.  Alone time in the house almost never happens because I work an hour away from where I live, h2b works 5 minutes drive away, and I work longer hours so he's here when I leave, and here when I get home.  I hung out the washing, put the tv on and had only just sat down to eat my lunch when in came H2B and his friends to comandeer the living room to watch football.  Apparently his usher's wife would have gone mental if he'd gone to the pub.  It doesn't matter if I go mental it seems!  She must be really crazy if  I seem like the less scary option!!

So, not best pleased, I exiled myself to the bedroom, making sure to eat my lunch as messily as possible on h2b's side of the bed.  And after football H2B came up to tell me about his kilt.

Now, some back story so that I don't seem really crazy.  I wanted to put my bridesmaids in emerald green.  I'd identified a gorgeous dress and they're both redheads so it would have looked gorgeous.  Then H2B said he wanted a burgundy rouche tie.  I didn't think that would work with the green so I switched to burgundy and the burgundy and ivory colour scheme was born.  Everything is burgundy and ivory.  The flowers, the bridesmaids, the ribbons on the junior bridesmaids dresses, the table decorations, the swagging, the balloons, the cakes, the invitations, even the dessert.  We were originally going to get cupcakes from M&S until H2B pointed out that they would not match the colour scheme.  Which is burgundy and ivory.  

Should be easy enough right?  Errm no.  Future husband decided that burgundy did not go with his kilt choice so instead of going for the ivory one, he chose purple.  Not even dark purple that we could pass off as burgundy in a dark room.  Bright purple.  Like cadbury purple.  I like purple.  I really like cadbury purple.  But not with my bugundy and ivory colour scheme.  It's all wrong.  I'd love to blame his friends, but they warned him he should call me.  He said he was his own man and could make the decision.  I have no idea where he got that idea!!!  Especially when he made the wrong decision.  He's going to look like he's at the wrong fucking wedding.  He'll clash with the bridesmaids. 

I was overtaken by the spirit of Bridezilla.  I got angry.  I accused him of ruining the wedding.  I cried a little (I swear I didn't do it on purpose - I was hormonal and annoyed).   Then I took a deep breath, calmed down a little, got some perspective and tried to approach it from a rational manner.  I pointed out the above statements about the colour scheme.  He denied all knowledge of the cakes not matching the colour scheme.  I asked if he could change to burgundy again.  He said it didn't look right with the kilt.   I asked why he didn't pick ivory and got a shrug and a stupid grin.  He said it can't be changed because he'll look like an idiot in front of his friends and the shop staff.  I told him that he was an idiot.  My mum took his side and said nobody will notice.  I told her I'd notice.  Purple is not burgundy.  She agreed, mainly, I think, to shut me up.

Then I looked at the bigger picture.   I'm not marrying the tie, I'm marrying him.  (Pity really, I'm willing to bet the tie isn't as stupid!  I mean, purple, ffs!!!)  As long as he's there and I'm there then it's ok.  (Purple?  Really? He's going to look like a magician!!).  I told him this without the bits in the bracket which I managed to keep inside my head and instead of being happy that I was no longer being a mental, he went on the offensive/"I'll be the martyr, you crazy bitch" and it resulted in me storming out of the house to get away from his stupid grinning  face and his stupid colour scheme ruining, magician purple tie.

Anyway, I did return after a bit and we've made up now.  I'm still not thrilled by the tie, but I guess in the grand scheme of things, it's not that important.  At least he's no longer planning to wear the Jacobean shirt and waistcoat that makes him look like Shrek.  But still....PURPLE????!!!!  Arrrgh.

I'm off to see if his mum can talk sense into him.  But she'll probably say the same as mine.

Days til the wedding:  49
Level of madness:   Purple?  I mean, purple.  FFS!!!

With just over 7 weeks to go...

....Arrrgh. 7.5 weeks!!  7.5 weeks!  3.5 til my dress fitting and despite practically moving into the gym, I still have a belly like santa and arms like a dinner lady who likes pies.

And none of my bloody friends are coming.  Of course future husband's oh so perfect friends are all coming (some of them for the free wine, I suspect), and he gleefully reminds me of this whenever I get yet another with regrets card.  I got one on Saturday from a friend who said she would be away and I actually cried.   Future husband very nicely hugged me and didn't call me a mental, before reminding me that all his friends are coming.  

And don't even get me started on people not RSVPing.  I made it easy.  I put in a card (albeit with 2 typos).  All you have to do is write your name on the card, score out will or will not, and send it back to me.  I put the address on it.  I also put both our mobile numbers on it.   I don't have psychic bride powers.  I don't automatically know if you're coming.  Just fucking be polite and answer me!! 

Due to a fuckup, we have loads of haribo.  I calculated each guest would need 50g of haribo.  Turns out we can only get 5 each into the bags and we have 6kg of haribo.  And they're staring at me in an eat me kind of way.  No, bad haribo.  I will not eat you.  I'm on a diet and I'd never hear the end of it if I ate all the favour sweets.  I'm already not hearing the end of it about our 6kg of the things.  It was my fault, but I shouldn't be trusted with quantities.  I over order. 

So, to recap.  I have loads of haribo, no wedding guests belonging to me and a future husband who mocks me and wants to go to Dundee to see Hayseed Dixie the night before our wedding.  And I look like an East German shotputter who got into the cakes.  But it doesn't matter as nobody will see me anyway.


Days til the wedding: 53 (bloody hell, eeeek and other fearful exclamations)
Level of madness:  Quite high, but I'm on a rush from my 322 calorie dinner, masses of caffeine and no chocolate.

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid...

...which wasn't "I love you" .  That would have been better than what I actually did say.  And now I don't know how to make it better.

Let me give you some background.  Future husband was quite close to his grandparents on his mother's side.  Not his father's though - they're not even invited to the wedding.

Yesterday, I was in a mood.  It started with me making the simple request, that as I was off to zumba in 30 minutes, would future husband mind making the pasta so I could eat before I went.  Somewhere this got lost in translation to boyspeak because, when I came downstairs after getting changed into my gym clothes, I was not greeted by a pot of bubbling pasta, or a plate of yuminess.  Future husband was in fact, in the garden fiddling with the lawnmower, leaving me with 20 minutes to cook and eat some pasta.

I headed off to zumba only to find that the class had been cancelled.  When I got home future husband was reading on the sofa.  I can't actually get him to get his nose out of the "Song of Ice and Fire" books and he wont bugger off upstairs and read them, so I can have some me time, perhaps to do wii zumba.  Anyway, anything I said to him met with a grunt.   This got me in more of a grump because I'd spent the previous evening emailing wwe superstars in the hope that one might send a word of congratulations.  This is a surprise for future husband, so he wasn't to know, but it didn't help matters.

What also didn't help matters is that sometime through the night he got a text and responded to it immediately.  So future wife and possible mother of his children = grunts and not listening.  Text = immediate reading and response.  This kind of lit the fire under my annoyance and turned it into anger, made worse when I found out it was one of his female friends texting.  Normally, it wouldn't bother me, but because of all the other stuff, I don't think I would have cared if it was his most butch friend rather than the female friend that he openly admits he thinks is gorgeous (she is too, the bitch - she doesnt have to go to the gym in a desperate last ditch attempt to not look like a dinner lady in a wedding dress). 

Anyway, I took a deep breath and managed to keep a lid on it.  Then I made the mistake of asking about the final 3 table names.  We'd planned to call the tables after personal things to us, like the name of the pub we had our first date in, and the name of the first film we saw together (sorry to those on the slumdog millionnaire table by the way).  We're 3 short.   Anyone who has read my previous posts knows of the folly of trying to get any kind of sensible answer from my fiance, so after 20 repetitions of the question and 20 stupid fecking answers (no, I am not calling a table at my wedding Fiesta, because we once had sex in one you moron!).  Anyway, (to finally link the second para), he suggested calling a table after his grandad.  Now, I'm not keen on the idea.  I'm not overly sentimental and I'm not overly enthralled with people sobbing over dead people I never even met at my wedding, but it means a lot to him so if that's what he wants, we'll have a table named for his grandad.  In fact, I've even arranged for his mum to find a photo of his grandparents to put in a keychain locket for him so they can be with him on his wedding day (Another surprise)  Now, instead of expressing it as I did above, which might still have been harsh, I put it even more harshly.  Now, please remember I was mad at him, tired, hormonal and fed up.  So instead of "Ok" which is what I should have said, what actually came out was "No, that's nothing to do with me!". 

Open mouth, remove foot.

I went to bed soon after and he stayed up to read his feckin book so I'm not sure he's forgiven me yet.  Hellllp!!!

Days until the wedding:  60
Level of madness: less than yesterday. 

My own worst enemy

Yup.  Stress is not making me any prettier.  I'm totally my own worst enemy when stressed.  I have 2 stress responses.  One is to sleep.  When I can't do that (my boss might frown upon me sleeping at my desk, although I still maintain that with our current software, me sleeping wouldn't make any difference), I move to the next, which is to abandon any kind of routine, healthy living, exercise or even drinking enough.  My skin gets dull and spotty, my hormones go out of whack, and I eat junk food and nothing but junk food.  I crave salt and sugar.

 And I'm so grumpy.  Grumpy enough that I worry that I'm going to make future husband not want to marry me, which makes me even more stressed and even more grumpy and I end up caught in a cycle of grumpiness and eating too damn much.  It's so stupid.   I know that drinking water helps me.  I like drinking water.  I'm very weird in that I prefer it at room temperature, but I can happily drink 3l of it a day.  When I'm stressed I drink fizzy juice instead.  That's bad.  Similarly, I know that knocking the stress out in the gym is a good thing.  I like the gym when I get there.  I feel great afterwards.  When I'm stressed, I can't make myself go.

I've got a few days off to relax and chill.  I'm munching the yummy cupcakes delivered by my cupcake maker yesterday.  When she said she'd make us up a couple of designs so we could decide what we want, I thought she'd bring 4, not 12.  And errrm, when she delivered them, she interupted us having a bit of intimate couple time, and I had to answer the door in my dressing gown at 2pm and she totally knew.  Blush and cringe.  Why do people always come to the door when we're having sex?  At least it wasn't as bad as the time his mum came around, midway through an impromptu couch session and I thought it was door to door sales so just hid under a blanket, and then she came in and stayed for ages and I was sweltering under the blanket, saying I couldn't get up cause I'd hurt my back. 

We've finally got the invitations back, written, addressed (well, those that I'm not waiting for people to get back to me with addresses on ), and the postal ones have been posted.  The others are waiting to be hand-delivered as soon as future husband decides he wants to get off his cute bottom and deliver them.

I'm annoyed with the cheating gits, errm, hotel, where we are holding our wedding too.  They gave us a menu, but turns out the prices on that are no longer applicable, and despite them putting up the prices, the amount we can spend on the food has not gone up.  So we now have to pay a supplement for our menu. Thankfully, I had budgeted more, so we're still within budget but it's so annoying.  At no point did they tell us the prices had gone up!!


Days til the wedding: 73 (how did it get to be July already?)
Level of madness:   High (but only cause of stupid venues increasing prices and making me feel like an idiot).

Stressy Stressy Stessy

I'm going mad.  Really.  Really, really properly mad.  As in wanting to punch my boss for eating his cereal too loudly, or kick my manager for talking to herself.  Weirdly, this has very little to do with the wedding, which seems to be coming together a bit, but everything to do with work.  Specifically a piece of work I was assigned two years ago, completed, then 6 months ago as informed it had changed.  I've been working on it solidly ever since.  What I didn't expect (although I should have) is that the software upgrade that was supposed to make our lives easier has made things 100 million times worse.  Not helped by my manager coding something that ate up all the system memory and destroyed our files.   Future husband is stressed also so there is no respite at home, especially since I told him he spent too much time in the mancave and he responded by spending every second with me.  I didn't mean he needed to be with me all the time.  I just wanted a hello as I came in the door or something.  Now I just want to send him to his room or something so I can have 5 minutes to watch rubbishy tv without it being switched to Sky Sports news or tennis.  

This is not good for weight loss.  I'd love to be one of those elegant women who go off food.  My future husband is stressed too, and he feels sick so doesn't eat.  I, on the other hand, eat everything that's not nailed down.  At this rate, Norwegians are going to try to harpoon me to make lipsticks.

In other news, we (finally) have our invitations, but there was another hold up when future husband declared that my handwriting wasn't good enough to write them so gave them to his mother, who decided she needed to practice.  Arrgh.  And another wobble when we argued over the meal.  Apparently the meat was too fatty for H2Bs liking so he wanted to pay more money to feed people we don't like.  We're already paying more for the red wine (the one provided was too vinegary) and tea and coffee (of which I drink neither) so I was refusing to pay yet another £5 a head for meat that was actually rather yummy.  We had a bit of an argument over that, after which he felt it was necessary to get me flowers and chocolate.   We've got our centrepieces and some bargain hurricane candle lamps from Tesco.  My new larger bridesmaid's dress has arrived.  

Days til the wedding:  74 (I think)
Level of madness:  Danger! Danger!  (but not the wedding's fault for once). 

Less than 100 days...

With less than 100 days to go until the big day, I'm struggling to find ways to keep feeling like we're actually planning this thing.  The trouble is, we've been far too organised and done everything so far in advance that there isn't much left.  We've sorted the cars, the venue, the dress, veil, and the tiara.  Our invitations are a work in progress, but they are in hand.  We tried on the rings last night. So what's left?

Well...there's the food.  Our menu tasting is next week and we needed to pick options for it.  But, after poring over the menu for hours, we came back to the same choices we made when they gave us the menu, almost a year ago.  So that took all of 5 seconds.

Wedding jewellery is largely sorted, as much as it can be without seeing it with the dress.

That just leaves me.  Having been relatively well behaved regarding the diet and the gym, and starting the new beauty regime, I can honestly say, with 3 months left to go, that I am not suddenly going to morph into Cameron Diaz.  Well, maybe her skin!!!   Sadly, I am not going to lose all the weight,develop 6 pack abs, and my backne is not going to miraculously disappear.   So why am I sitting her ignoring that last tasty Yorkie cookie and the yummy truffles that are calling my name with their siren songs.  Surely one can't make a difference?  Well, probably not.  Like I said, I can stop eating junk and spend my life in the gym, but I've reached that weight where my body fights me and between now and September, if I continue to be good, I'll probably lose 2-3lbs more.  So, no.  I have no idea why I'm not eating that damn cookie.  Maybe something to do with looking at the wedding pictures and knowing I did my best.  I'm not sure how that will relate to my Jabba the Hutt chins but I'll cross that (reinforced) bridge when I come to it.  Can you tell that I'm rubbish at dieting?

Days to the wedding: 97 eeep
Level of madness: cookies are speaking to me.

Slowly turning into Mark Henry....

Work has been incredibly busy and stressful these past 2 weeks, so bad in fact, that on Thursday I actually had to text my future husband and warn him to be nice to me when I got home, because I wasn't altogether sure whether I'd make it home without bursting into tears or lamping a random pedestrian for the heinous crime of walking too slowly.  I hate it when someone blocks the pavement and walks slowly anyway, so God only knows what I would have done had someone got in my way.  Thankfully I made it home without incident, received a big hug from future husband and then ate my bodyweight in chocolate.

Which brings me to the point of this.  Eating.  I've done far too much of it over the past week and have been trying to be good this week.  Not easy when one of my colleagues turned 30 over the weekend and decided to buy the whole bakery counter of Tescos for the team.  I'm not even joking.  There were mini doughnuts, cookies, flapjacks, cornflake cakes, galaxy chocolate cakes, rolos and several other yummy things.  He helpfully placed these on the empty desk facing mine.  Do you know how hard it is to resist that table of yumminess when all you've eaten is 2 bowls of porridge and everyone else is gleefully tucking in and making "Mmmmm" noises.  It's almost impossible.    I've managed to be good so far, despite the fact that I am absolutely starving.  I get the feeling though, that even if I ate all the crisps and chocolate and bowls of chips, or pasta in all the world, I'd still be hungry.  It's just that kind of week.

I need to keep on this though.  If I lose a pound a week, until my first dress fitting, that'll be 10lbs down, which might just make me look less like a walrus in a wedding dress.  Sadly though, some of the exercise has backfired on me and instead of making my arms all sexy and muscular a la Michelle Obama, I've managed to majorly bulk them up.   Seriously, I look like an anaemic, less beardy version of this guy.   It's not a good look on me.  And don't even get me started on what's happening to my bosoms!!

In other amusing news, I decided to attempt to give my pasty skin some colour. It was a stupid thing to do, as these things never work on me, but I never learn.   I purchased one of those moisturisers with a gradual tanner in and started applying it.  Two days, and one bright orange streaked leg later, future husband came downstairs, gave me a hug, and accused me of eating all the doritos.  I denied it because I hadn't.  Not that day anyway.   He said I smell like doritos.  I called him a mental.  Then I worked it out.   It's the self-tan.  So now he calls me nacho.  Thankfully he hasn't noticed the zebra leg.  I hate to think what he'd call me...

Days til the wedding: 103

Level of madness: Low.  I'm too hungry to care.