Did I mention I’m getting married? Some of you might know this if you read my Dragon column. And if you don’t read it, see what you’re missing? Jeez. What else is going on that you don’t know about me? Anyway, I’ve heard from those that vowed before me to expect some seriously weird anxiety dreams. Usually they involve your exes. Oh boy. Can’t wait to see him again!
My dreams are weird regardless and the anxiety I often didn’t know I had loves to rear its abstract head in my dreams. I love these dreams. I especially love it when I realize it’s a dream so I can do all those cool dream-only activities like fly or turn invisible or rollerblade. (I always wanted to rollerblade. Sigh…) I took this very cool dream analysis class in college and ever since have gotten pretty good at analyzing other people’s dreams. Seriously. I could charge money for this crap. Feel free to send me a dream synopsis and I’ll tell you what your subconscious have been dying to.
So yes, the dreams have started they’re frequency is starting to speed up. Am I stressed out? I mean, sometimes I get a little obsessed about what Seattle-based chocolate should I put in the out-of-towners “welcome bags” or what will the vegans eat? But full on Bridezila-esque panic attacks? Not. Not yet, anyway.
I should mention the wedding isn’t until September so we still have a ways to go. 87 days if you either want to get technical or your name is Martha Stewart. Seriously, Martha? Must you email me every other day to make sure I’m checking items off the list of stupid things I should be doing in order to ensure MY DAY is going to be perfect. Look, Martha, if “find a guy to marry” is on the list then, done. Did it. That’s pretty much all that matters in the end, right?
“Oh, no,” says Martha. “What about antique chalk board table numbers or a custom just Married banner for your car-aided exit?”
“No, Martha. I don’t even know what a car-aided exit is.”
“But how will your guests know where to sit if you don’t make a seating chart garland out of festive paper flags?”
“The chairs will be a good indication, I think.”
“You will have luminaria centerpieces, correct? Every evening wedding needs them.”
“Butt out, Martha.”
“Flower swizzle sticks?”
No seriously, Martha. Leave me alone. It’s not a “good thing.” You’re very pushy.
Anyway, I digress. This was about my anxiety dreams. Martha happens in real life. The good thing about these dreams is that they’re so straightforward, you don’t need to analyze them. But what the fun in that?
I’m getting my hair and make up done when I notice what time it is. I’m late! About a ½ late and we’re nowhere near the venue! Why didn’t anyone tell me I was late? So I rush outside to the car (where my dad is sitting all cool as a cumber. That should have been my first indication that this was a dream.) but when I pass the side mirror I can see that only one side of my face and hair is done. Ahhhhhhhh! I can’t go in like this! But I hate being late more than looking half-baked so off we go, figuring the photographer can Photoshop the other side of my face and hair to match the done side.
Analysis: I am worried about being late. Oh, and looking like the Phantom of the Opera.
My friend Jodi schedules my hair and make up trial but again, when the women is trying to do me up she keeps getting distracted and having to stop. She gets a phone call, a new client, has to go make the coffee. We run out of time because I end up having to get back to work so I never get to see what my hair and make up will look like on THE BIG DAY. I can only see one eye done and it looks like I got hit with a softball there.
Analysis: I am worried about looking like the Phantom of the Opera.
I learn that my betrothed has plans to scam my father out of all his money. I don’t know how I found out but I know that it will happen as soon as my dad uses his USAir credit card at Starbucks. I say to the betrothed, “You know, if you go through with this I can’t marry you. It’s kind of a deal breaker.” And much to my dismay he says, “I know.”
So I find my dad at a food court (right outside of Starbucks! Yikes!) and I, along with the betrothed, sit down with him. I explain the situation—that the betrothed was trying to scam him and beg my dad to please not use his credit card at Starbucks. My dad looks shocked but more like he can’t believe the betrothed would try something like that on him. My dad says, “You know you can’t marry my daughter right?” And again to my dismay, the betrothed simply answers, “Yep.”
I’m distraught. I was planning on writing a column about getting married (see Dragon later this month!) and was so looking forward to all my family coming to Seattle. Then I woke up—in the dream but I thought it was real life—and asked my friend Jodi if that really happened.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Here, have some aspirin.” She gives me a large glass of wine.
(Incidentally, I told my mom about this dream in real, real life and she said “I can’t believe you chose your family over your betrothed. Good for you.”
Umm, Mom? He was trying to scam the family! Of course I choose you!)
Analysis: Hmm, maybe I am feeling a tad uncomfortable with my parents’ financial contribution to the wedding. Or maybe I after pricing out things like DJ’s and cupcakes I’m realizing this whole wedding business is a scam. Oh, and Jodi is a really good friend, even if she did hire a make up artist who made me look like the Phantom of the Opera.
I’m in a hotel ballroom at what I think is a work convention. There’s some co-workers and me and we’re talking about the wedding. It is then that I realize it’s not a work convention but two days before my wedding and I’m waiting for my family to show up. I’m nervous because I don’t know who all is coming and the room is really plain looking. I should have put up some decorations. Maybe Martha’s stupid paper pennant garland. But it’s too late. My mom will kill me.
I hear a knock at the door so I go to answer it. There before me is pretty much every person I’ve ever known. My brother and his friends, my mom (in skinny jeans—hello!), old neighbors, cousins, friends of my cousins, ex-teachers. Holy crap there’s a lot of people coming to this wedding! Did we order enough food? I’m excited to see everyone—especially my brother but they come in like one big pack so I can’t get to anyone. I decide to make sure everyone at least has a drink but when I ask people what they want I can’t make my voice sound normal. In fact, it’s incredibly annoying sounding so I stop talking. I go see if there are bartenders who can help out so I don’t have to talk. When I look at where the bar is supposed to be I see a gaggle of Cub Scouts setting up camp. WTF?!
“Who invited the Cub Scouts?” I shout. “This is supposed to be a kid-free wedding!”
Analysis: Oh boy, where to start. We haven’t sent out the invites yet so we really don’t know who is coming. Too few? Too many? Never can tell. I will always worry that there isn’t enough food. Even when I’m making a dinner of chips and guacamole for the betrothed and I. And I can’t help but be plagued by my desire to always be the consummate hostess. Of course I would want everyone to have a drink. That surely is acting as the symbol for “good time.” As for the Cub Scouts? No idea. But they are supposed to be handy, helpful, and adept at emergency preparation right? Might not be a terrible idea to invite them. Especially if there’s a merit badge for make-up application.