One of the benefits of planning a wedding are the perks: the free tastings, the hotel room upgrades, top-notch customer service.  If you have the potential to throw down tens of thousands of dollars on a venue, they’re going to roll out the red carpet. I scoured venues up and down California, including the City Club a block away from where I work. I was trying to work around a certain price point. Until that criteria was met, there was no use looking at a place.

I remember watching the show Say Yes to the Dress.  A bride had fallen in love with a gorgeous dress completely out of her budget.  She wanted it badly, but was tormented by the price.  Her mother scowled, “I don’t know why you tried the dress on in the first place.”  She turned to the camera, “It’s like test-driving a Cadillac when you can only afford a Toyota!”

I couldn’t agree more.  Why would I look at a venue if I couldn’t make it work with my budget. The City Club was too expensive. Easy decision.  But they seem to have kept me on their email distribution.  So I signed up for an event they were hosting–A Summer Soiree: Seasons of the City Club.  Convenient?  Check.  Guest allowed?  Check. Fits in the budget?  Free!

Dean and I headed to the event after work yesterday.  Our first stop was the 10th floor decorated summertime with large sunbrellas.  Two rastafarians in the back of the room were playing drums.  An open bar was pouring your choice of cocktail, wine, or champagne.  The center marble table had an assortment of cheese, crackers, and breadsticks. There were grilled sliders, french fries, mini hot dogs, ribs, and crabcakes. The head chef came by while we were munching.  ”Don’t forget to make your way upstairs. There’s even more food up there.”

On our way up the staircase, Santa Claus was ringing his bell and greeting people with winter cheer.  The ice sculpture was the centerpiece for a massive table of seafood: caviar, oysters, mussels, lobster, crab, jumbo shrimp.  I wished we had started on the winter floor first.  There was a harpist playing Christmas songs.  The 9th floor had a scotch tasting bar, a mojito bar, and a table of petit fours, cheesecake, chocolate cake, tarts, glass vases of candy that you could bag up and take home.

Most of the attendees had no idea what they were doing there or how they had gotten invited. I shared my connection.  A man in front of me in line at the bar said he was a radio talk show host.  Another said he was the event planner for the restaurant formerly known as Bacar. One woman was a florist.  She said, “I’m here because they want my Rolodex.”

Still, in this economy, it was surprising to experience such a beautiful event…all for free.

My spending habits have gotten a wee bit out of control for a couple reasons.  The more you make, the more you spend.  That’s just a fact.  I also subscribe to The Secret philosophy of living your life as you expect it to be.  If I believe I am rich, I will be rich.  That sort of mentality.  So I run amok with my credit card.  The XL diet coke I buy from the Subway next door…slap that onto my credit card.  All those purchases I make on Amazon.com—they make it so easy with their 1-Click Ordering.  My credit card bills are pretty massive every month.  Now, I’m no retard.  My mama taught me well and I’ve never carried over a credit card balance.  I pay those sharks in full.  But if my mom scrutinized my most recent statement, she might croak on the spot.  Especially with the wedding, expenses started spiraling out of control.  Drinks with friends…we got this bill covered.  Vendor meals…of course we got your back.  To add to the damage, snacks and drinks which aren’t cheap were taken out of the mini-bar and obviously out of our control.  Thanks friends and family, feel free to help yourself!

Back in the land of reality, I’m on a mission to tighten our budget.  We’ve always managed to sock away 20% of our monthly income (not including commissions and bonuses), but I know we can do another 10% if we just stopped the extraneous spending.  Introducing the envelope method.  Yup, the credit cards have been “discarded” in favor of plain old green cash.  I put discarded in quotes because we still have all of our necessary bills linked to my beloved 2% cash back credit card.  But starting this past Monday, I handed Dean $100 for the week and myself $100 for the week.  Right?  $20 a day should be plenty!  Anything left over is yours to keep.  On the weekends, we each get $200 to play with—for a total weekly budget of $300 (one person).  I don’t know how a reader is taking this all in, but it’s pretty draconian for me considering I used to spend several hundred dollars by mid-week on happy hours and dinners.  The irony is…it shouldn’t be that hard to cut back.

You know what?  It isn’t hard.  On Monday I spent $1 on a diet coke.  On Wednesday I spent $3 on a diet coke and chips.  The rest of my meals were frozen entrees and wine at home.  Any other week, I would’ve racked up at least $100 by now.  What makes this envelope method different is how constrained it is.  Can I afford to go out tonight?  I don’t know, let me check how much I have in my wallet.  Do I really need that second glass of wine?  Do I really need to eat out or can I microwave a frozen entrée?  Being completely aware of what your budget is (besides I’ll just charge it) makes you deliberately accountable for your finances.

I’ve gotten into plenty of catfights.  I distanced myself from Marc a couple years ago because I was tired of him constantly flaking on me.  I treasure my friendships, the least friends can do is be present.  There were too many times I sat tapping my foot, steaming, “Did that mother fucker stand me up again?”  The speed dials straight into his voicemail infuriated me even more.  But you eventually get over it.  The friends with unpaid debts, the friend who hooked up with your ex…that’s shit you get over.

After doing enough marriage classes and retreats, you learn that there are some words or actions between a couple that are poison.  It’s harder to win back trust, if it’s even possible at all.

Words were exchanged between me and a close friend that, at the time, I considered unforgivable.  It was over a year ago at a party I was hosting.  This friend went up to another friend and said something inappropriate.  The exact comment is irrelevant; the point is it was inappropriate.  I made a point to tell her the next day.  Not wanting her to get defensive, I politely emailed, “Last night was fun.  By the way, you said something that was inappropriate.  If you can please just not do that again in front of my friends in the future.  Not a big deal.  I know you didn’t mean any harm.”

She lost it.  She was vicious and accused me of being crazy.  “I am sick of your outbursts…I’d love to tell you all the things YOUR friends bring up about you to me!  You are really rude to all of my friends and they have all mentioned it to me…You need medication!!!!!!”

Let’s dissect.  In all honesty, I really don’t give a fuck what she thinks.  I cared very deeply that she made an inappropriate comment to a friend of mine.

Here’s what rubs me raw.  She called my friend and started the conversation with how crazy I am.  He let her talk, then he told her straight up, “What you said was inappropriate.”  So she apologizes!  Then she sends him a follow-up email apologizing.  But did I get an apology?  HELL NO!  That’s what was unforgivable.

Back to the here and now.  I sent her this email prior to the wedding.

Hi, I know we haven’t spoken for a long time.  I just can’t imagine you not coming to my wedding so I’m hoping we can forget about our disagreement and move on.  What’s your exact address?  Need to send you the invitation.  Hope you are doing great.

Her response?  Her address.

My assessment?  Friendship not worth it.  At some point, you move on.  It just wasn’t made to last.

Everyone I talked to, including my regular hairstylist and the wedding hairstylist, told me not to cut my hair.  I cannot remember ever having my hair so long.  It was dry, unhealthy with a smattering of split ends, and frankly, unruly.  I vowed to chop the tresses off soon after the wedding, but the guy who normally cuts my hair was booked up for two weeks!  I considered going to Supercuts, then having him fix it.  That’s how much I couldn’t stand the long hair anymore.

I could’ve shaved my head and sold my hair or donated it.  Instead I opted for a bob–in which case there’s no market for 4-inch locks.  As I stared at the wet black crescents on the floor, I told the hairstylist I was bummed I couldn’t wait to sell it.  He said not to worry because my hair would be put to good use.  I was surprised.  How?

“I collect the hair and it’s used for the Gulf spill.  You know, hair is an especially good absorbent.”

Hooray for helping a good cause!

I have a strict policy of not accepting friend requests of people I have never met before.  That includes friends of friends and family members.  Everyone is related in the Philippines…that doesn’t mean we need to be friends in the virtual world.  Even people I know who are family members–aunts, uncles, cousins–must we also be connected? I’ve never met you nor will I ever be close to you…so no, no, no!

Here’s where Dean and I see things differently.  Several of his friends and relatives (some of whom I’ve never met before) are asking to be my friend.  Dean sternly insisted, “If you don’t accept their friend requests, it’s going to be worse off for you.” Seriously?  People I’ve never met before?  Again, I don’t accept friend requests from some of my own family members!

One night after we had spent the evening hanging out with his friends, Dean said, “You should friend them on Facebook.”  What?!  NO!

I know I have a lot of friends.  1,000+ probably seems out of control.  But considering I went to a tight-knit high school, was in a sorority, pretty much know everyone from my b-school, and I love to plan social events, it’s not at all improbable.  That said, while there are some people who accept every Jo Shmo, I am not one of them.

I’ll wait until some time elapses before deleting them.  Hopefully they’ll never know.

This is the mission statement of one of the churches I worship in.  ”We the people of St. Agnes are an inclusive urban community, rich in diversity of age, ethnicity, gender, orientation, culture, talent and treasure; a faith community, enlivened and empowered through Baptism to celebrate and proclaim the presence of Christ among us.”

For those Catholics who do not believe in gay marriage or gay rights…you are not part of my community.  You are exclusive, hateful, and an embarrassment to Catholics who try to live as Jesus taught us.

This morning of Pride Weekend, the priest at St. Agnes read a speech from Tammy Baldwin, a member of the House of Representatives.

“Now, with open eyes, I am experiencing this march. I come to this city, this historic place, these steps. I’m 38 years old and I’m a Member of Congress. Why do I march? I march to challenge the naysayers, the cynics, and the keepers of the status quo. And I march for a promising, inspiring, and incredible new generation…so they might replace their fear with courage, their isolation with belonging, their anger with hope. And I can say with conviction: Never doubt that there is reason to be hopeful.

NEVER DOUBT that Congress will pass legislation that expands the definition of hate crimes.

NEVER DOUBT that the states will grant us equal rights, including all the rights afforded couples through marriage.

NEVER DOUBT that we will enact legislation ensuring non-discrimination in the workplace.

NEVER DOUBT that America will one day realize that her gay, bisexual, and transgendered sons and daughters want nothing more — and nothing less — than the rights accorded every other citizen.

BUT WE MUST MAKE IT SO – by daring to dream of a world in which we are free. So, if you dream of a world in which you can put your partner’s picture on your desk, then put his picture on your desk…and you will live in such a world.

And if you dream of a world in which you can walk down the street holding your partner’s hand, then hold her hand…and you will live in such a world.

If you dream of a world in which there are more openly gay elected officials, then run for office…and you will live in such a world.

And if you dream of a world in which you can take your partner to the office party, even if your office is the U.S. House of Representatives, then take her to the party. I do, and now I live in such a world.

Remember, there are two things that keep us oppressed…them and us. We are half of the equation. There will not be a magic day when we wake up and it’s now OK to express ourselves publicly. We make that day by doing things publicly…first in small numbers, then in greater numbers, until it’s simply the way things are and no one thinks twice.

NEVER DOUBT that we will create this world, because, my friends, we are fortunate to live in a democracy; and in a democracy, we decide what’s possible!”

The best wedding I’ve experienced was not my own.  When I started wedding planning, I wrote down the names of couples whose weddings I’d been to and what I liked from each.  One in particular stood out; the list of what I liked from that one was long.

There are two things that inspired me for the wedding.  The first was an invitation different than any I’d ever seen with actual pictures of the engaged couple in formal attire, then another with them wearing sunglasses.  The second were the fond memories I had from that particular wedding.

My friend is a native South African, but it was still a destination wedding for the 12 friends from b-school.  I flew from San Francisco to London to Johannesburg—a lifetime in miles.  I liked the destination aspect and how she had planned a full vacation of activities for us, starting with Shabbat and synagogue the evening that we arrived.  We visited the museum, a market, went wine tasting.  During her wedding speech, she called each of us out by name for travelling the long distance.  Then we paid back her parents’ kindness with adrenaline-fueled dancing back at their house until the sun came up.  I remember her dad peeking his head out into the living room and kindly asking if we could turn it down a notch.  He must’ve scratched his head as to the kind of crowd his eldest child had been ‘studying’ with in graduate school.  Did I mention the post-wedding safari complete with helicopter rides?

Now that the World Cup is in South Africa, I can’t help the giddiness.  I’ve been there!  We danced in Joburg.  We partied in Capetown.  Even though I’m watching from afar, my heart brims with the most wonderful memories.  The world is watching a beautiful country that I was so blessed to experience.

I’m no entrepreneur, but I have an MBA so I like to critique business ideas.  I actually came up with a really good business concept the other day.  You know that popular dating book from a few years back called He’s Just Not That Into You.  One of the writers from Sex and the City got tired of hearing the water cooler conversations about problematic dating.  Other women would chime in that things would be ok and of course he would call.  But he never did and so went the endless cycle of bad dates. Hence the writer’s motto and book title.  I treasured that book.  I laughed out loud.  I cried.  I related.

Ironically, I can’t say I took it to heart.  Call me egotistical, but I was sure he would call me back.  This time it was different.  This time, he really did leave his on-and-off girlfriend.  This time, he’d call me on my birthday.  This time, he’d pick up the bill and not suggest that we split it.  Yada, yada, yada.  What a fool I was. “I hope she’ll be a fool – that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”  Damn, was F.Scott spouting the truth or what.

The business idea is this–a subscription-based service where you can call in, email, or carrier-pigeon your romantic dilemma to an expert, someone you can trust or you’re willing to trust because 1) they’ve been around the block over and over like Kim Kardashian and the NFL, 2) after having been around that block, they’re happily committed.

Ok, I already hear you naysayers smirking.

You laugh, but that’s what friends are for!  Wrong-o.  Single people are tired of talking to their married or happily-committed friends.  Why?  Because those people are righteous.  Ok, I said it.  They regale you with stories of how it worked for them, how easily love fell into their lap, and they give you the step-by-step cookbook on how it can happen for you too.  As a singleton you just want to slap the fuck out of them.

As for your single friends, single people are suspicious of their single friends.  You wonder, are they really looking out for my best interests or are they trying to sabotage my relationship so we can hang out at District next Friday.

That’s where a therapist or third-party counselor comes in right?  Wrongo again.  I remember talking to my therapist about a guy I was really into.  I was really into this guy.  I mean, I started signing my name with his last name–if you catch my rabbit-boiling drift.  I told the therapist about the situation, how I hadn’t heard from him in a few days.  The therapist insisted I call.  Why shouldn’t I call?  I was entitled to a discussion, right?  Of course you should call.  What’s the worst that can happen?  Well the worst did happen because he never called me back.  Here’s the problem.  Your therapists, your psychic counselors–they don’t have any game.  In their mind, it’s all about open communication and being lovey-dovey and all is right in the world.  No! You gotta have game.  You gotta play the game.  No calling!  Geez!

Maybe you don’t need a paid subscription to have someone tell you that if he’s not calling, he sure ain’t into you.  But people have a way of twisting things in their pretty little heads.  He called me three times this week and he also wrote on my wall.  That must mean he’s interested.  Is it ok to call now?

I can’t tell you the number of times I sat with my cell phone in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other ready to respond to a sext.  Don’t do it!  DON’T DO IT!  And I didn’t want to call my friends again because I knew they would berate me again.  How cool would it have been to dial Dating 911 in my time of need.

There was a rumor making the rounds at the wedding that I was already pregnant. Considering I woke up every morning with either a slight hangover or a full-on hangover, those rumors should be put to rest.

A friend said, “When you have a kid, your life is over.  I can’t remember the last time I did something for me—for me, Catherine.  And my girl is 3 years old.”

Yikes.  How can that kind of life be fulfilling?  That is really scary when you hear someone say her life was over once she had a child.

I won’t even entertain the thought of having a kid without a honeymoon.  I still have places to go, people to see, a life to live.  With so much vacation time, I’ve been pressuring Marc to plan a European trip.  He balked, saying he had too much going on.  I joked, “Fine, then I’ll get pregnant.”

He flipped.  “omg omg omg.  I SWEAR TO GOD CATHERINE: IF YOU GET PREGNANT BEFORE OUR 36TH BIRTHDAY I WILL MAKE SURE YOU HAVE THE HARDEST PREGNANCY KNOWN TO MAN.  AND THEN WISH TWIN GIRLS ON YOU.”