All posts tagged: Weddings

A Year Later Love Letter

The reception hall wasn’t exactly over flowing with eligible bachelors.  I was there by myself, dateless despite a year of serial dating, and even though I felt rather smart in my $12 Jomar dress, I quickly surmised that this was going to be a very boring wedding. Fortunately, I was wrong. I noticed you for the first time on our way out of the church earlier that afternoon.  My parents—ever on the lookout—informed me that there was a “cute guy” seated a few rows behind us and by the time the DJ called “Lady’s Choice” a few hours later I had it on good authority that you were single. I can still remember our first dance.  I don’t know what song was playing, or what kind of dance it was, but I remember we talked the whole time and I found myself thinking, “My God, that’s how this sort of thing is supposed to work!” It felt effortless: we fit perfectly together (despite my four-inch heels) and thanks to all those months I’d spent conducting …

And Suddenly a Beach Pass is a Big Deal

The Wedding Date wants to know if I’m a beach person—not because he’s planning some sort of mid-winter, Caribbean getaway (at least not as far as I know), but because he’s trying to decide whether or not to buy a beach pass for the summer. A beach pass. For the summer. It’s only January—the “summer” is still six months away! How am I supposed to make a decision about a beach pass now? Especially because in my book, summers are meant for adventures.  Adventures abroad.  I’ve been emptying out my savings account for this express purpose almost every year since the summer I turned seventeen.  In fact, to me, the hardest part of producing last September’s show for the Fringe was not the stress or the financial investment or the last minute choreography that left my partner and me trying to finalize our duet just minutes before going onstage. It was the fact that I had to stay put through July and August and after teaching all year, spending the entire summer in one place …

We’re Rolling! And I’m Twirling Around in my $12 Wedding Dress…

Its 12:05 and the Good Morning America folks still haven’t arrived.  My poor mother has practically glued herself to the kitchen window (she’s keeping watch for any sign of the film crew), and I feel like a high school senior stood up on prom night. “Maybe they’re not coming?” I venture. It has, after all, been several days since I’ve spoken to the producer.  I thought we’d settled on Tuesday at noon but I was so busy setting things up for a photo shoot with The Inquirer that I didn’t realize the weekend had come and gone with nary a word from Good Morning America. “I should have called them to confirm,” I continue.  “But I didn’t even think of it until this morning!” “It is what it is,” my mother says, “these things happen.  And you can’t even get mad because then you’ll never get another TV appearance.” “I know…” I decide, as I always decide when faced with such matters, that I’ll add it to the list.  Not the list of desirable qualities …

Wedding Reading 101: Give Them a Reason to Use Their Tissues

I have issues with wedding readings.  The last time I was asked to read at a wedding, it was for a friend from high school from whom I’d grown apart during college (with no shortage of tears and hurt feelings on my part, I should add).  I understood why she hadn’t asked me to be one of her bridesmaids but it wasn’t easy to watch our mutual friends walk down the aisle and realize that I was no longer part of that club. Nonetheless, I smiled as I took my place in front of the guests (which wasn’t easy, seeing as I was also single and dateless on this particular occasion) and proceeded to read the hell out of First Corinthians. When I finished, the bride caught my eye and whispered, “I love you.” I bawled all the way back to my seat.  Fortunately, that was the same summer that I’d discovered the wonders of water-proof mascara so when the bride told the photographer, “One more—we need one with Kat” I like to think I …

How The Wedding Date Became MY Wedding Date

Did I mention that The Wedding Date and I are flying to Boston on Friday?  No? Well, we are.  I’ve known since our third date (which is when I finally started coming to my senses about a certain someone whom-shall-remain-nameless…) but I didn’t want to say anything until after the New Years Eve Martini Bar Soiree, just in case. Nonetheless, it’s happening: The Wedding Date survived his initiation (which included introductions to my parents, my brother, my grandfather and oh yeah, about two dozen people who’ve been reading about him for the past six months…) and in just 48 hours, he’ll become My Wedding Date. Two of my friends from college are getting married and seeing as I essentially set them up in the first place (with a bit of help from the bride’s flat mate) I couldn’t be more excited. The invitation arrived several months ago, addressed to “Miss Kat Richter and Guest.”  As I was still quasi-dating He-whom-shall-remain-nameless at the time, I spent several weeks trying to decide if I should invite him …

Ain’t No Teddy Bears on This Picnic

Sushi it is. And bread. And cheese (three varieties to be exact.  I got to Whole Foods and just couldn’t control myself). And prosciutto (he is a man…). And wine. And hummus, veggies, fruit, chocolate chip cookies, hot chocolate and bar of Fairtrade mint dark chocolate to counteract the efforts of the “Garlic Lovers” hummus. It is a date after all. Related articles Man Cannot Live by Bread Alone… or can he? (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com) Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies (thedailymeal.com)

The (art of avoiding the) Heart of the Matter

So there I am, inadvertently abandoned by my “wedding BFF,” left to fend for myself amongst Date #7’s cousins and wondering, as every woman must wonder at some point in her life, “Should I scrape the mud from between my toes now or later?” This is because Tyler Arboretum, the native woodland that Date #7’s brother and his fiancé have chosen for their rustic, fall wedding, turns out to be better suited for extreme-mountaineering than for tying the knot.  I know this because I have had just been forced to take off my shoes to avoid tumbling down the hill that leads from the terrace (where the minister and I have been helping enjoying an early cocktail hour) to the field where the ceremony is set to take place. Everyone is going on and on about how pretty the leaves look and what a lovely venue it is and even though they’re right, I’m sitting there thinking to myself, “Really?  It’s cold as f*ck and now I’ve got mud oozing between my toes!” I’d really …

Of High Heels and Mudslides (and no, I’m not talking about the drink)

There’s been a lot of concern over my well being during the wedding—not from my own date, mind you (he is, after all, the one who served me hot pockets and left me to carry my own suitcase when I went to visit him in Pittsburgh this past summer) but from his mother and his youngest brother. His brother was the one who first warned me that the ceremony would be outside and advised me to wear a wrap.  Now, both he and his mother are concerned about me wearing heels. “It’s muddy,” his mother informs me. “There’s a hill,” his brother echoes. Being the wedding junkie that I am, I’ve already examined the entire Tyler Arboretum website (just as I’ve already examined the entire website of the estate where I’ll be attending a wedding in Ireland this summer) and nowhere did it say anything about a hill.  Or mud. I thank Date #7’s mother and brother for their concern but assure them I’ll be fine.  After all, Date #7 has told them very little …