Marshmellow Fluff

For the second time ever, I had my makeup professionally done.

This weekend I did the makeup trial for the wedding and found out that A. I do not know how to apply makeup, B. I have no idea how colors work and C. I should leave all makeup applications as it pertains to my face, to professionals.

One time, I tried to do a smokey eye and it looked more like “battered wife” or “tired med student” more than it did sexy.  My “sexy window” is about 30 seconds long.  After that I feel the need to make a joke or contort my face into some stupid expression. This, among other reasons, makes professions in stripping, modeling and call girl-ing, out of reach.  Well, that and my lack of coordination.  But once strip clubs are better at managing risk and offer better health coverage, I may consider taking it under consideration.

After having my makeup done, Paul’s stepmom and I went to Acapulco restaurant for dinner where I continued to feel awkward. Over a basket of chips, salsa and a diet coke, is no place for a fancy face to hang out. I had way too much eyeliner and cover up on to be eating fajitas.  I imagine that any professionally done face, would be hanging out in more exotic places than right off the 5 fwy.

The makeup artists lives on the other side of the Valley, so after my 3 hour drive home, I was sure my makeup would be wilty. But Paul greeted me with a smile and kept telling me how hot I looked. “You should do your makeup like that all the time!” He says. Because, you know, it is so very easy to apply makeup in an adult like fashion.  He must think all this time I was holding out on him-keeping my fully manicured and painted face a secret.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there was no way I could look “really hot” without help from professionals, 3 hours to spare and $100 bucks.

It was decided that after spending $100 on makeup I couldn’t let it go to waste, so I did what was comfortable…we went to a movie, where I shoved popcorn into my fancy face in the comfort that only a dark movie theatre could provide.

When I first got engaged I bought a pretty red leather journal.  I thought it would be nice to keep a record of the wedding journey, something I could look back on 10 years from now and remember fondly.  I imagined having a daughter who would one day read the journal and be proud of how much her parents loved one another.  She would learn about how her mom felt throughout the entire wedding process.  I would give her the journal for her 16th birthday and tell her, “One day you too will plan your wedding, like your mom did.  I want you to have this.” And, I also imagine an old track from the Thompson Twins to be playing in the background.

I have 19 days until the wedding, and 3 pages worth of writing in that stupid red leather journal.  So far, I have already failed as a hypothetical mother.

The journal was a great idea, in theory.  But, at the end of every day I am much too tired and will beaten to even think about jotting down my day’s journey.  Plus, I intended for the journal to be all frilly and white; filled with funny anecdotes about how silly I was to think that anemones would be available for my wedding, because every woman knows they are a springtime flower.  A month into being engaged, it was clear that my journey wouldn’t be a Jane Austen novel.

First, we fell in love with a wedding venue only to find that dealing with them was a nightmare.  Then, Paul was hospitalized for a week during Thanksgiving with some freaky mystery illness that left him barfing up his entire body weight on an hourly basis. And then, I continued my tour of hospitals, with my dad and all the fun drama that he brings.  For a week or two, Paul and I reveled in the silence.  Things slowed down on the drama front and we resumed our wedding planning.  And then, without warning, or severance, Paul was laid off.  We then spent two weeks trying to decide if we could even pull off a wedding.  I stopped planning.  I tried to come to terms with a courthouse wedding and I even called off the bridal shower.  Luckily, we found a way to move forward, and we forged ahead.  And then, two weeks ago, I found out that a handful of my family will not attend the wedding- for reasons not even worth going into, though if you ask them…it’s because of work obligations.  So you see, at this point I’m thinking…screw journaling, I’m taking up drinking.  Which, of course is not something I want on record for my hypothetical children to view.

Last night the power went out in our neighborhood.  After 5 minutes, it was clear that, in the event of an emergency or crisis, I would be dead in 5 minutes.  It was over 100 degrees, we couldn’t watch the season premiere of Dexter and I was losing my shit because of it.  But, Paul made me seek shelter with him at Starbucks. We talked about our minimoon in Oregon, shared how we both were a little nervous that in 19 days we would be at our wedding and discussed how, no matter what, our wedding was going to be fun!

When we got home, our place was pitch black and too hot to think about going to sleep.  So, Paul put our first dance song on his iPod and we practice our first dance together in the living room.  I may not be the best at journaling, but I have grown quite good at appreciating life’s simple moments.  This journey has made me realize through better or worse I already know the answer is, “I do”.