Tomorrow is the final dress fitting, wherein I try the thing on and the hope is that it's done, finito, ready-to-wear, fits like a glove, plus there are no greasy black tire tread prints on it, no threads hanging out, no gaping holes, no vermin have taken up residence in it … you get the picture.

This morning the mighty and awesome future-husband created our seating arrangements, so that's another item off the list.
 
And right now I have a billionty separate lists of random things to do, and I think I might need to do something drastic like create a folder to put these lists in and just carry it around with me wherever I go until the items are stricken from the record. Or, here’s a fresh way of thinking, I can simply execute the items on the list one-by-one until they are all complete. Except that some are date-related things to remember, like, “Bring wedding shoes to work tomorrow to try them on with the dress,” or figuring out when on earth I’m getting myself to the mall to pick up some last-minute items.

I know they always say that getting married means there’s a whole ton of stuff to be done, but I always thought I could just be the lowest key bride ever and eliminate all the stuff. And while I’ve eliminated most of the stuff, it’s inevitable you have to do some stuff. And well. As of this coming Saturday? It’s only two weeks until the wedding day. So yeah. Wow.

Update: You guys rock! What a great bunch of suggestions! I think I'm going to go with a selection of restaurant and spa certificates, based on everyone's locations since this is a far-flung group; and I don't want them to have to travel back home dragging extra stuff with them. Thank you -- and my bridesmaids will thank you too.

I need some help. I've been wrestling with a case of the wonderings for a while now on what on earth to get my bridesmaids, who are some awesome gals and are deserving of awesome gifts. I'm coming up empty-brained, and of course they deserve way better than that. In all my over-thinkings, I thought about getting each of them a different gift, something that would suit each of them individually, and I've failed. I finally decided I want to get them the same thing, but I'm just so totally at a loss as to what that could be.

So if you'd please, let me know your top 5 favorite gifts. Either that, or just gimme a tip on what would be a super bridesmaids gift. What am I supposed to spend? I haven't a clue. I think that may be the crux of the matter. I don't even know what's an appropriate amount of dough, which means the field is way, wide open. So for their sake, please, please, please ... let me know what you think is the right thing to do.

Also, let me know what are really BAD ideas. What things have you gotten that made you think, "Puh-leez. Why did you buy me this crap?" I'd like to avoid that situation. 

I thank you in advance. (And so would my bridesmaids.)

So we've got 25 days left until we get married. We've just got the nitty gritty details to handle, like finishing out dancing lessons (Steve is quite good. I have two left feet.)

We need to figure out who is sitting at what table, paying mind to feuds and alliances.

I need to make whatever appointments I need to make (like nails? Or should I paint them myself?)

Steve needs to get his tux worked out, and I have one last dress fitting to attend.

We need to write up a newsletter to put in the gift bags, and we need to print programs for the ceremony, but only after we can figure out who is reading what and which music we're playing. 

You know. It's a bunch of stuff, but not unmanageable.

And now I'm getting happy and excited.

I went to my dress fiitting, and my bridesmaid Heather was there for moral support, and the ladies in the shop this time freely offered opinions, and so the choice was a bit easier this time ...

I went with ... drumroll please ... UNDER!

Here's another example, again NOT ME, NOT MY DRESS, but this is a French Bustle:

 

My dress doesn't have the snazzy pointy beaded designs shooting flames of bedazzled awesomeness down my backside.

 

My fabric isn't as heavy, and so has more of a cleaner line around the floor. 

 

I will say no more because this isn't my dress, and I need to stop comparing them because while this lady chose a nice dress and a lovely bustle, it's a bit different from mine.

 

And anyway, this post is to just show that a French bustle doesn't always have to look like the bride attempted using the facilities without help and wandered back out with her dress crammed into her undertrousers.

 
Tomorrow, Steve and I head to Delaware. I go for my make-up trial. Then we get our marriage license.  Then we meet with the deacon to get our ceremony all sorted out, so that will be ... a hoot? Maybe not. But fun nonetheless.

I’m hoping that by typing out this recurring nightmare, which I had again last night, I won’t have it again, because it is ... how you say ... scary and stressful.

Here it is:

I want to take a shower, and I have a bath towel wrapped around me. I find myself at the entrance to a large public women’s restroom with rows and rows of stalls. It’s faintly lit and my eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness. The distance from the stalls to the sink is improbably wide and the length of the stall rows is almost unending.

The place is undeniably filthy, and even through the faint bluish light, I notice the damp floors and dripping pipes and faucets. There’s toilet paper strewn across the floors, sticking in puddles in some places and collecting what I hope is dirt and mud. I’m afraid that I might step in something, and my bare feet squish on bits of detritus as I begin my timid search for the showers.  

As I get deeper into this place, my pulse quickens as I realize the first room opens into another room and then another and another. It’s a labyrinth, but each room is different from the next. Some rooms are square and the stall doors are missing or hanging off their hinges. Some have showers, but the curtains are closed and I’m afraid to open them for fear of what or who I will find inside. While I travel into the maze, I can hear voices and the slap of bare feet on the floors, but the moving shadows are unidentifiable. I'm afraid to know I'm not alone, but I decide it would be worse to hear silence and to be left to wonder.

I come to a room that is absolutely pitch black; I cannot see my hand in front of my face. I open my eyes wide in the total and utter blackness while I strain to see, and still I’m greeted with nothingness. In the same instant, I hear a woman screaming in terror while I realize the room is flooded with water almost to my knees. I feel the panic wash over me in my desperate search for a way out, but I don’t scream. Someone else is doing it for me, and I feel akin to this person, knowing that someone else is terrified in this black, flooded room with me.

And then we emerge, breathless and tentative, back to the filthy dimness.

We’re together now, me and this lanky African-American woman; she too is clutching a bath towel around her with the towel’s ends in a fist at her chest. We acknowledge each other only peripherally, united in our effort of escape and taking comfort that we’re not alone. We’re trying to find our way out of this place, back through all the rooms.

And then I wake up.

Maybe this means it’s time to clean the apartment.