July 2007


Mercury’s officially out of retrograde.  How can I tell?  I just got a $300 tip!!  Off to spend it ALL in Italy!!!  I’ll miss you all…

Advertisements

Holy cow, if your week has been HALF as insane as mine, I’m buying you a drink.  Mercury is in retrograde, or so I’m told.  Whatever it is, I wish it would just leave me alone!  Go screw up someone else’s life.  I found the plane tickets but very likely lost a client because of a venue’s mistake.  The Universe giveth and the Universe taketh away.  Crap.  It’s 10:30pm and I haven’t packed my suitcase yet.  Double crap.  I have a 300 person wedding tomorrow, another 12 hours on my feet, followed by 19 hours on my ass breathing recycled air inside a tin can hurtling through space.  Happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

Last night I was looking at the details of the flight I’m taking to Italy this Saturday.  As I browsed the last page of the printout Mr. T gave me when he bought my ticket the day he left for Europe, I saw something that made my stomach flip:

“Paper tickets processing fees: $26.95”

Paper tickets???  I never received paper tickets!  It’s Tuesday evening, my flight leaves Saturday at 6:30am, and I don’t have the paper tickets!!  I wrote Mr. T a flustered e-mail but had no way of reaching him directly because he’s traveling in France at the moment.  And did I mention the nine hour time difference and the scarcity of Internet access where he is, which makes it virtually impossible for us to communicate?  I tossed and turned all night, imagining the worst…

At 5:30am I woke up and found an e-mail from Mr. T stating that, yes, I was supposed to receive paper tickets.  He gave me his Orbitz account information and told me to call customer service because his account didn’t show a UPS tracking number for my tickets.

I dialed Orbitz and listened to a garbled version of Pachabel’s Canon for twenty minutes while on hold (Yes, wedding music at 5:45am.  Someone’s idea of a sick joke, perhaps?).   A little Indian guy finally answered and asked me for my record locator number, my name, Mr. T’s name and e-mail address, and his billing zip code.  I was able to answer everything except the zip code information, because his billing address is where he works, and I don’t know it.

I told him, “Look, I have his Orbitz password and his mailing address.  It’s three days before my flight and I don’t have my tickets, you have to help me!”

The little Indian man wasn’t impressed with my situation, and told me that if I couldn’t provide the zip code, he couldn’t help me… For my own safety.  Huh?

“Look, little Indian man, either you tell me where my tickets are or God help me I will fly to India, find you, and kill you!!!”

That’s what I wish I had said… Instead I said, “I need to speak to a supervisor if you can’t help me.”

“Please hold.”  Click.  Pachabel’s Canon.   AAAARRRGGGHHH!!!

Twenty minutes later, another little Indian man answered the phone.  By that time, I had managed to look up Mr. T’s billing address from an old e-mail and was able to provide his zip code…. For my own safety.  Whatever.

The little Indian supervisor had me enjoy another five minutes of Pachabel’s Canon while he searched for my tracking number, and when he returned to the phone he told me that the tickets had been delivered on June 19 to Mr. T’s house.  WTF???

I hung up and went back to my computer to e-mail Mr. T.  I saw that he had sent me another e-mail, so I opened it.  It said, “I contacted Orbitz Customer Service online and they told me that the tickets were delivered to  my house on June 19.”   AAARRRGGGHHH!!!  You could’ve told me that before I wasted 40 minutes of my life listening to Pachabel’s Canon.

So, that’s what I did at 5:45am.  Now I have to figure out who received the tickets and where they are.  Hope your Wednesday was off to a better start!

Yes, the big fat Jewish wedding from hell is officially over!  After working non-stop on my feet from 9:30am to 11:00pm, I finally put that bad boy to bed for good!  I’m taking a well-deserved day off, but I thought you’d find this funny:

At 9:30pm

Female guest: Excuse me, do you know at what time the first shuttle leaves?

Me: Yes, ma’am.  It’s leaving at 11:15pm

Female guest: What?  That late?  That’s unacceptable!  I have a small child with me!!  It’s preposterous!

Me: *sigh*

Later on that evening…

Waitress: I need your help.

Me: What’s wrong?

Waitress: The couple over there just told me to bring them a crib because their toddler fell asleep on two chairs.  But, where am I going to get a crib from???  We’re not a hotel!

Me: GAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

The wedding from hell is upon me.  I have spent a year cursing the day that I accepted this couple’s business.  Why, oh why did I not see that they were going to be such a nightmare to work with?  Fortunately, I only have to see them today and tomorrow and NEVER AGAIN!   They, on the other hand, have to put up with their unfortunate selves the rest of their lives.

Here’s a little tidbit I found amusing (but apparently, they didn’t):

Me: So, we’ll base the final guest count for the bar vendor on 160 guests.

Bride (with mom on three-way): Well, I was thinking 165 because of the photographers, videographer, DJ and you.

Me: Oh, don’t worry about me.  I’ll be so busy that I’ll be lucky if I can finish a bottle of water.  Although, by the time I’m done with this wedding, I might need a tequila shot. Hahaha!

Bride and mom: *crickets*

Some people have no sense of humor…

When I get bored at work, I play the “Guess the Guest Game”. It seems that at every wedding I do, guests can be broken down into discernible categories:

The Single Guy: He’s there for one reason, and one reason only: the booze. He sits in the last row during the ceremony and is the first in line at the cocktail hour bar. As soon as he enters the reception, he sheds his jacket and congregates with the rest of the Single Guys. He never respects the seating arrangement and instead drags his chair over to where his buddies are. When dinner is over and the dancing starts, he heads over to the bar, tips the bartender a few bucks, and orders him to “keep ’em coming”. He ogles the New Relationship blonde all night and passes out on a banquet table, his face in a slice of cake.

The New Relationship couple: This couple is usually HOT (to borrow the very eloquent Hiltonian expression). The guy is a metrosexual, strutting into the reception hall late (because ceremonies are so yesterday) and sitting close to the bar. The woman on his arm, nine times out of ten, is a long-haired blonde. She has an amazing body: long legs, firm arms and perky breasts, and her dress choice is better suited for a South Beach night club than a wedding. It shows off every curve and leaves little to the imagination. She wears very high-heeled stilettos and not only manages to walk confidently, but also dances all night. In most situations, he’s a friend of the groom (a former Single Guy) and this is the first time his girl is meeting his posse. This couple blends into the background during dinner, not paying attention to the toasts or the cake cutting. However, as soon as the dancing starts they take over the dance floor with their sultry moves, and bump and grind in front of the videographer. Grandparents look on in horror while the Single Guys cast knowing glances at each other. Months later, the irate bride will demand they be edited out of the final version of the video.

The Newlyweds: I’m not talking about the bride and groom. The Newlyweds are friends of the bride or the groom who just recently tied the knot, perhaps in the past month or two. They look harmless enough, but in their heads they’re checking out every detail of the wedding to see how theirs measured up. The guy is still a gentleman, pulling out the chair for his new wife and covering her shoulders with his suit jacket if she gets cold. The woman still looks after herself, but her dress choice is slightly more conservative than when they were dating. The couple sticks together for most of the evening and they dance only with each other. The woman looks smug, showing off her still-sparkly engagement ring and wedding band to everyone at their table. The guy, on the other hand, casts longing looks at the Single Guys gathered around the bar.

The “been-dating-forever-when-is-it-my-turn” couple: These two have been together for years, but the guy still hasn’t gotten up the nerve to propose. They spend a large part of the evening apart; he hangs out with the Single Guys by the bar and loudly reminds the groom that “it’s too late to back out now”. She sits next to The Newlyweds and “ooohs” and “ahhhs” while inspecting the wedding bands and hearing about their wedding and honeymoon. When the groom tosses the garter, the “been-dating-forever” guy hides in the bathroom. When the bouquet is tossed, his girlfriend is right in the middle of the pack of Single Girls. As the flowers fly through the air, her expression changes from expectant joy to crushing defeat when the New Relationship girl stretches out her thin, toned arm and dashes any hope of bringing up the topic of marriage for the foreseeable future… At least until the next wedding.

The Pregos: Weddings and pregnancies among groups of friends tend to come in waves. Therefore, it’s not unusual to have three or four pregnant women at one wedding. The Prego waddles into the reception hall in her short polka-dotted dress with puffy sleeves and a little bow marking the division between her breasts and her belly. She makes a big show of ordering a bottle of water and freaks out if the waiter accidentally pours a thimble-full of champagne into her flute. She never dances, but instead watches from the sidelines, absent-mindedly rubbing her expanding belly. Her husband sits quietly by her side, playing the “protective man” role but silently ruminating that just because she can’t drink, it shouldn’t mean that he has to abstain as well. They go home early because she’s tired, and he looks back longingly at all that was and will never be again.

The New Parents: They were told that the wedding was for adults only, but their child is special and therefore obviously exempt from the rule. The father has to carry the child out halfway through the ceremony because the baby decided to make his wet diaper discomfort known at the exact moment the bride and groom were exchanging vows. The mother wears a Laura Ashley dress with flat shoes and a ponytail. If it’s an evening wedding, she’ll wear a shapeless shift dress that falls below her knees. With flat shoes and a ponytail. The New Parents walks into the reception armed with enough supplies to keep a dozen babies comfortable during a weekend at Disneyland. The father pushes the stroller and the mother carries the baby bag, and they inevitably choose to park themselves in the area with the most waiter traffic. The mother will request items that are impossible to procure in a busy catering kitchen, including (but not limited to): baby formula (not brought by them) warmed to body temperature, apple sauce, and Cheerios. The father will nurse his alloted beer throughout dinner, and they’ll depart as soon as the dancing starts because it’s past the baby’s bedtime.

The Single Girl: She’s a friend of the bride and has more bridesmaid dresses than she cares to count. She runs around lighting candles, fixing centerpieces, and making herself useful, hoping that the charitable acts she performs now will cancel out any faux pas caused by the massive amounts of alcohol she plans on consuming later. She wears sensible shoes and switches to flip-flops as soon as the dancing starts. The flip-flops do nothing to flatter her figure, but she pretends not to care as she dances in a circle with the other Single Girls. Her eyes go from the New Relationship blonde who’s bumping and grinding on the dance floor, to the cute Single Guy who’s standing over at the bar… Unfortunately, he’s staring at the blonde.


At last night’s wedding in a private villa, I was getting the bridesmaids and groomsmen ready for the introduction. The bride and groom were MIA, so I went to look for them inside the house. I found the groom next to one of the bathrooms and asked if they were ready to go out. The bride emerged from the bathroom and said, “Wait, little Gavin (ring bearer) needs to have his butt wiped.”

OK, that’s not in my contract. Ass-kissing, yes. Butt-wiping, no thanks.

People, repeat after me:

Children.

And weddings.

Don’t mix.

************************************

P.S. I just found out we’re spending the Winter holidays in Brazil and Cuba!!! Life is getting better and better…