This might be my only post that isn’t saturated with pictures.
Saturdays tend to be slow blog days for whatever reason. So, I’m taking this opportunity to whine my little heart out.
I will preface this by saying that I am prone to over-reaction, especially after I’ve downed three glasses of consolation riesling.
The Partridge Inn is in foreclosure. It will be auctioned off to the highest bidder on September 9th. That’s right. My wedding venue, the place that promised me that the happiest day of my life would be March 31st, 2012, has officially catapulted my wedding into a new level of purgatory that I’d never imagined. The Partridge Inn has been around for more than 100 years, and now – after we finally made a decision, booked the venue, settled on a date, and began planning the small details around the layout of the hotel – is going under.
I am beyond upset. I am feeling a sense of bafflement (is that a word?) that I have never before encountered. I want to crawl into a ball of raw emotion and never uncurl – I want to hit something or someone, I want to sob, I want to set the Partridge Inn on fire. I want a hug, and most of all I want to know that everything will work out, because no matter how frequently I am told that it will, I just don’t know.
If it was up to me, I’d have a beautiful dress, a small ceremony, and a party afterwards with the people I actually want to be there and know will show up. None of this, let’s invite 200 people to the wedding, even though we KNOW a lot of them won’t come, because if we don’t send them an invitation their feelings will be hurt.
I absolutely hate this line of evil, but necessary, logic. HATE IT.
I hate that this wedding is so expensive. I’m torn between having everything beautifully done and keeping things simple – the way I like them. But I want magnificent and whimsical pictures. I want a stylish, southern shin-dig that people will envy. I don’t want over exposed pictures with shine-enhancing flash or plain, wooden pews – because I’m selfish, vain, and would be ashamed to blog about it afterwards. And yet I do not want to plan a single aspect of ANYTHING. When it comes down to it, I really don’t care what kind of flowers we use. I don’t care if the bridesmaids dresses are short or long. I don’t care. I cared about MY dress, and now that’s been taken care of.
So why am I so upset about the venue? Because I DO care about this constant feeling of transition that I seem to be battling lately. If there is one thing I don’t enjoy, it’s not knowing. I want to know where the wedding is going to be. I want to know what the colors, flowers, and bridesmaids dresses are going to look like. I want the decisions to be made and finalized, whether I have anything to do with making them or not. Does that put me in the Bridezilla category? I don’t know. But I do know why weddings turn seemingly normal ladies into crazed brides out for blood.
They’re saying that my plans should be fine, and that ownership is the only thing that will be changing. But now that this has come to light, we’ve found out from other people that the Partridge might not be the place I want to have my wedding anyway. I’m going to try to take this in stride, but the spoiled only-child in me is reeling that things are not going my way.