*It's been happening like this. I want to talk about it. He doesn't want to talk about it. So I slip in comments here and there about this and that. The result? I feel like we never talk about it, he feels like we always talk about it. No good. So we came up with a seemingly perfect solution: once a week, a "wedding meeting". I'd save it up instead of doling it out in bite-sized portions, and he'd actually give his attention to it; thus he'd feel involved and not just carped at and I'd be placated by his attentiveness. Good right?
Well it work splendidly the first week. It lasted forever though, because it was the first week. So many things to discuss! So many things to show him! But I knew it wouldn't stay like that. And by the end of it the unthinkable had occurred: I no longer even wanted to talk about the wedding. So. Mission accomplished. But then. The following Sunday I was laid out - in no condition to have a meeting or do anything else, for that matter, other than lay in bed. No meeting, frustrated me. This week? Repeat. Not quite as bad, but bad nonetheless. I finally pulled myself together around 6pm, but seeing as he had to work tonight I wondered if it was too late. He said that it was fine, so we headed out to the coffee shop. Any illusion of having his time or attention quickly evaporated though; he was at best humoring me and at worst putting up with me - answering my questions with as few words as possible, barely looking at various bits of stationery and pictures of cakes, and so forth. The third time he tried to sneak a look at the list of things I wanted to talk about, I just gave up.
On the way home, after a bit of fighting of course, he admitted that he was trying to rush me. Said that he was afraid it would take hours and hours like last time. But no, we were actually about 20 minutes from being done, and all he had to do was not be a jerk. But oh well. Work has got him too stressed out. He's there now, which so sucks. I knew it was too late for us to talk about it all, but I just wanted to so badly. I hate it when my crippled days prevent me from doing things that I've planned to do all week. Talk about frustrating.
*I've just this evening realized that my wedding will be taking place during lent. Am I particularly Catholic? No. Is it even a religious ceremony? No. So... why do I care? Um. I can't really answer that. All I can really tell you is that it's officially bugging the crap out of me.
*Still no progress on where to have the rehearsal dinner. New York is so easy and so hard all at the same time. Of course we want to do it at a vegan place... but where can we take our families? So many restaurants here are simply too small to parade 12 or 16 people into. Take for instance Pukk, the vegetarian Thai place. We'd have to rent the entire restaurant just to fit the party into it, and even then half of their chairs (the neon green plastic ones) really aren't big enough for anyone over 90 pounds to sit on. I can't sit on those damn things, so I know my Aunt JoAnn can't. Know what I mean?
There's Lan Cafe, the vegan Vietnamese place. We ate there yesterday, and I'm sort of in love with the idea of doing it there actually. Again, we'd have to rent the entire place, but if we did we'd be perfectly comfortable. A few pretty cushions and candles would spruce up the place just fine. The main problem there is... well... a language barrier. The only people who work there are the proprietors. They're wonderful, extremely hardworking people. But honestly, they barely know enough English to respond to questions about menu items. Setting up a private party would require a translator. Which I'm considering, because their food is amazing, and I would love to give them the business. Anybody speak Vietnamese?
Again, a year and a half to figure this out.
*I've been trying to research Sicilian wedding traditions. Weddings are one of those occasions that make you really ache for some kind of solid culture or family heritage. Which I don't have, but I can pretend. My mother's father's lineage from Contessa Entellina is by far the most trackable portion of my blood, so I'll run with it. My coloring supports it at least, and I also have this funny two-ring eye color thing going on that's supposedly a Contessa trait. So. I found this amazing site that lists the lineage of families from Contessa and my grandpa is totally there, plus his five brothers and sisters, and they have him married to my grandma and all - it's really kind of cool.
Anyway, other than the lineage, the internet is telling me dick about Sicilian wedding traditions. And actually, there probably just weren't many. They weren't very affluent is the basic situation. A wedding was a feast day, your parents arranged it, you did it in a church, on a Sunday, the end. The one good piece of news? I'm totally vindicated in having Jordan Almonds (bomboniera). I was going with the whole "it was my grandma's favorite candy" thing, and now I've got this too: apparently in Sicily sometimes they were served instead of wedding cake. Ha. Of course, there will be no tulle.
*My Great Great Great Grandmother was named Viola. God help my first daughter.
*I've gotten in touch with Vegan Treats about their wedding cakes. With any luck, the cupcakes are a-comin...