WINE
I decided to use a fancy font because I'm going to be talking about the subject of wine and we all know that unless the name Thunderbird is on the label, wine is fancy. Wine is also a subject I don't know a lot about. Other subjects would include United States History, anything to do with Ancient China, pottery, British Royalty, Mathematics, Science, Biology, Chemistry, Auto Mechanics, Rap Music, Fashion, Genetics, Pyrotechnics, Animal Husbandry, Plumbing, Electronics, Military Strategy and Polish Folklore.
I know the basics. I know most wines comes from grapes. I know most wines can be classified as either white or red. I know that Paul Masson will sell no wine before it's time. and I know
I'm intimidated by wine. Maybe it's all those words people used to describe wine. Words like fruity, full-bodied, fruity with a hint of oak, oaky with a hint of fruit, dry, dry and fruity, full-bodied with floral overtones, peppery, and buttery.
Are we still talking about wine here? Because I feel like I'm going through Tom Selleck's cologne collection.
I guess my problem is that I never feel sophisticated enough for wine. I'm a sweet iced tea and hard cider kind of a guy. Blue collar. Sure. I grew up in a household where my mother and father enjoyed a glass of wine every now and then but I never was interested. It tasted sour and bitter to me and I wasn't one of those kids who tried to sneak a sip during the holidays.
As an adult I do not drink wine and i can't decide if the whole sniff-the-cork-swirl-the-glass-swish-the wine-around-in-your-mouth thing is cool in a James Bond sort of a way or just pretentious bullshit. Because, honestly, I think a lot of the peripheral trappings of being a wine drinker fall under the latter category.
There's nothing wrong with wine or the people that drink wine. It's like everything else in the world that can be enjoyed. It just takes a few douchebags to ruin it for everyone else.
There also the perception of the cost of wine and one of my biggest fears is that I will finally find a wine I like and it will be $670 a bottle. Because that would be my luck.
And you can't be fooled by pretty labels or catchy names because all that is just smoke and mirrors.
During my research I found some wines that have the most God-awful names you can imagine. I thought I would share them with you. I am not making up these names.
Mother Cluckers Chardonnay.
Cats Pee on a Gooseberry Bush. (mmmmmmm....enchanting)
Booger Swamp from the Brushy Mountain Winery in North Carolina.
The Dog's Bullocks.
Those are just a few I found and quite honestly I'm more scared of wine now then I was before I started to do my research. I wonder how long it will be before Charlie Sheen has a wine. WINNING from the Sheen Vineyards. Or maybe Whore's Sweat and Tiger Blood?
Once again, maybe I am over thinking this whole thing. Not the Charlie Sheen wines, that is, but the whole "What wines do we choose/" thing.
Fawn and I just want people to enjoy some wine during our reception. We're thinking of going the traditional route and have decided to offer a red and white.
GOD I wish it was that easy. Wouldn't that be awesome? I wish I could just walk into a wine store and say, "Shopkeeper. I'm having a wedding reception. I would like some wine please. A red and a white to be more exact. Now make it snappy. Chop chop!"
But nooooooooo. Here we go with the questions again.
"Would you like a Chardonnay or Pinot Grigio?
"A Sauvignon Blanc or a Rieseling?" "A Gewurztraminer or a Cabernet Sauvignon?"
BOOM!
That was my head exploding. 
As I mentioned in my post about beer, I will be choosing wines based on the food we are serving at the reception and as I have already mentioned that we are serving pork barbecue, you would think that it would be easy to narrow the field of possible choices. 
WRONG!
Haven't you learned anything yet? This is a wedding I'm planning. Nothing is easy. 
There isn't some huge data base where you type in the word barbecue and it spits out one red and one white wine choice.
Wait. What? There is. Great. Don't I just feel like a big, old dope. 
Okay. So apparently you can go to GOOGLE and type in "Wine pairings" and pretty much find out anything you need to know about what wine goes with what food.
Just in case you were curious: If you're serving shark, it'd be best to serve a nice Chenin Blanc.
General consensus seems to suggest that since we want to serve a red and white wine and since we are serving pork barbecue, we should think about serving a Shiraz and a Riesling. 
If you had asked me before I started this little adventure, I would have guessed that Shiraz and Riesling won the Gold Medal for Figure Skating during the 1980 Winter Olympics in Lake Placid.

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

BEER  
I'm switching gears a little and working on beer this week. After picking out flowers for the ceremony and reception, I figured selecting beer would be a cake walk. 
Which reminds me. I've got to talk to the cake guy. 
Where was I? Oh yeah.
BEER
When it comes to the subject of beer everyone has an opinion and there-in lies my dilemma. How do you make everyone happy? The answer should be "You can't. You can't make everyone happy" and "There's no way you can have everyone's favorite beer at the reception." I'm a perfectionist, though, and that answer doesn't sit well with the way my brain works. The hamster only spins one way in my head and sometimes its really hard to get him to stop and switch directions. 
It's a challenge, to be sure.
And what makes my situation even more of a challenge is that I no longer drink beer so it's sort of like asking a guy who doesn't drive to pick the best car on the market. 

Don't get me wrong. I have done my share of beer drinking in the past but as I've gotten older, I seem to have acquired an allergy to beer....and carrots...and ragweed...and cats....and cigarette smoke...and patchouli and...you know what. Just seal me in a plastic bubble and call it a day. 

Sadly, my drinking beer these days results in terrible next day sinus headaches. There are some theories about histamine and other bigenic amines but I won't bore you with them. Let me just say that there are things in beer which make me snotty. If I go in any further detail, it's gonna get gross.

Beer and I have parted ways. Nuff said.

That doesn't impare my ability to select good beers for our reception. If you didn't know, I will also mention that I have worked as a waiter, bartender, restaurant manager and ABC manager for a wedding facility. I have road-tested some beer in my life. I think I know what tastes good and what people will like. 

With my allergy to beer, I will more than likely be consuming a good hard cider (like Woodchuck) during the reception. There will surely be a six pack in a cooler marker with really big letters that says FOR GROOM'S CONSUMPTION ONLY.

No touchy! It's mine! I worked hard for it, people. 

Don't touch my Woodchuck! 
Jeez. I sound like some crazy backwoods trapper. 
Y'all get away from my woodchuck! She's all mine! Get your hands off my sweet, sweet Caroline!

One would think it would be easy to decide on just 3 beers and be done with it. That would be nice, you're right, but it's a little unrealistic. Not to mention that there are about a gazillion different beers on the market these days, give or take three or four.

There are a few decisions to be made. 

The biggest decision would be "What kind of beer do you want?" 

And sorry. Cold is not specific enough. No. Details must be addressed. 
Details such as "Do you want a lager or an ale?" "Do you want a pale lager or a pilsner?" "A light or dark pilsner?" Perhaps you'd prefer an ale? Okay. "Would that be a brown ale, a porter or a stout?"
Maybe you want a microbrew? And no. That does not refer to a really small beer. 
Do you want draft or bottled?
Seriously?
I am beginning to worry that every detail involved in planning a wedding will require answering a never-ending list of questions. It seems nothing is as simple as it first appears and I am afraid that when I am asked the "Do you take this woman" question it will be followed by twelve subsequent questions that can only be answered by Phineas J. Whoopee and his magical blackboard. 
Yes. I am making a Tennessee Tuxedo reference here and more than likely carbon dating myself a little too much. 
My goal in choosing libation for the reception is to find three beers that pair excellently with the food we will be serving at our reception. 
Oh, and by the way, we're serving pork barbecue. Really, really good pork barbecue to our guests.
So the question must be asked. What beer goes well with pork? 
I don't know. Maybe it's me? Maybe it's my desire for perfection? Maybe I'm thinking about this way too much?
I'm just picking out beer, for Pete's Sake! 
It's not I'm like choosing wine. 
Crap!
I still have to pick out the wine!
See! Told you! The list is never-ending. It just goes on and on and on. 


Here's what Chef Kevin Gillespie, former Top Chef cheftestant and currently working his magic at the Woodfire Grill in Atlanta Georgia suggested to me:
"Sweeter, smokier barbecue goes well with IPA and hoppier beers. More vinegar based beers do well with lighter crisp beers lacking bitterness, like a lager or an amber."


Another beer enthusiast suggested: 
"...I would tend to stay away from any beer too sweet like Blue Moon and lean toward something a little hoppier, a little more bitter. But you also don't want something to heavy; think refreshingly crisp. I think a good choice would be Sam Adams, NOT the lager, but the ALE. I think it's much better. A second heavier choice (but only for the hops-initiated would be Sierra Nevada Extra IPA. It's amazing!"


I could always ask Dos Equis' Most Interesting Man in the World but I have to ask myself "Do I really trust a guy who's catch-phrase is "Stay thirsty, my friends?" I mean...what kind of friend is that?" I don't care if dolphins appear every time he goes swimming or that he never says anything tastes like chicken...not even chicken. 
Shut up, Grizzly Ted Dansen and get me a beer. 
So, obviously, Dos Equis won't be served at the reception. Either will Miller High Life. Even though it is the champagne of beers and only because that never made any sense to me. The champagne of beers? That's kind of like saying it's The New York Strip of Bologne. Who associates beer with champagne? Or vice-versa? Marketing people. That's who.
I'm happy with the feedback I've gotten thus far. I'm really not going to over think this. Believe me, there are going to be plenty of opportunities to over think things. I got this! I got this! I got this!
Here's my Top 3 Choices, in no particular order, for the beers at our reception.

Yuengling

Stella Artois 

or Red Stripe (I'm on the fence on Choice #2)

I'm on the fence about both of these. Stella is a great beer but there is the one down side. This very delicious beer, and much better alternative to Heinecken, is served in a green bottle and that raises the question of contamination. It's one of the factors I must consider. It will be night time and the beer will be kept in coolers and well-iced. I've got to ponder this a little longer.

My third choice is:

Sierra Nevada Pale Ale

If you're a beer drinker I would be interested in hearing what you have to say. If you enjoy a good barbecue dinner and a cold beer to wash it down, I would really be interested in what you have to say. 

Your feedback is welcomed. Don't agree with my selections? Got a better idea? Let me hear what's on your mind. 

Of course it will all come down to cost. Just like with everything else. I will look for the best prices on the beers I want and then go from there. The most important thing for you to know is that I am working to ensure that the beer will be cold and wet and that it won't be Chelada, Anheuser-Bush's much maligned experiment with Bud Light and Clamato.

Look it up. I'm not joking. It's a real thing. And it was described as 'the worst Bloody Mary you've ever had.'
Mmmmmm....you can't pay for advertising like that.

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

Flowers are pretty. 
Flowers smell nice. 
Ask any man their thoughts on flowers and those are more than likely going to be the best, if not only, answers you will hear. Flowers are pretty and they smell nice. Fire bad.
It's like shoes. Most men don't know anything about shoes. They're just those things we wear on our feet because society says we have to in order to eat in restaurants and go bowling. 
I own three pairs of shoes: sneakers, casual-going-to-Applebee's-for-dinner shoes and my dress, going to a funeral or going to a wedding shoes. I did have some sandals but public opinion put a stop to that. Apparently I have really ugly feet.
Hi. My name is Frodo Baggins.
So, much like shoes, we don't think about flowers until we are forced to and then we buy them. 
The most important, and quite honestly, the only thing, men need to know about flowers is that when in doubt buy roses. Roses are pretty much the go-to flower for us cavemen. They smell nice and look pretty and women seem to like them. As far as some men are concerned, roses are the only flowers that exist. Which is fine with us, really, because it takes all the guess work out of buying flowers.
Gotta a funeral to go to? Buy some roses. Wife's birthday? May I suggest some roses, sir? Girlfriend find a pair of panties that weren't hers in the glove compartment of your car? Honestly, dude. Roses aren't going to fix that. May I suggest Antarctica?
Another problem facing men when it comes to flowers is that men really only deal with flowers three times a year. Quintuple that number if the man in question is one of those polygamists with 5 or 6 sister-wives. Then again, I have to ask, do those guys buy the little women flowers or do they just simply give them a hand-me-down churn or bonnet?
As I was saying, men only buy flowers, for the most part, for three occasions: anniversaries, birthdays and as a prelude to make-up sex. If a man is lucky enough to have a fight with his lady on her birthday which also happens to be your wedding anniversary, well then that lucky son-of-a-gun only makes one trip a year to the local florist where he is known as that cheap, lucky son-of-a-gun.
Flowers are usually purchased when a man is in full-on panic mode ("Crap! I forgot flowers for her birthday again!") so it's no wonder we're clueless when it comes to shopping for them. The whole experience goes by too fast and we don't retain enough information for our database. We simply give the salesperson money and run out of the store. If the salesperson had wrapped mackerel in that shiny green paper with some baby's breath, we wouldn't notice until we looked into our significant other's eyes...and saw her bared teeth. 
Men's brains don't have the capacity for such questions as "Will these flowers match her dress?" or "Can I wash these fluffy white towels with a load of dark dress pants?" Instead our brains' pistons are always firing and ready to answer those much more important questions like "What do I have in my shed that I'm going to need when the vampires attack?"
So it was goes without saying, even though I just said it, that I was fighting brain chemistry, genetics and evolution when I went to shop for the flowers for our wedding yesterday. 
Big day. Lots of responsibilities. And the only thing written on my shopping list was:
"Get something pretty."
My mission was to choose flowers which would be used in the centerpieces which would be on the tables for our reception. Sticking with our plan I knew the centerpieces would need to not only match our wedding colors but also reflect our theme of casual elegance. 
In other words, simple centerpieces. Small centerpieces. Inexpensive centerpieces. And of course, pretty centerpieces. 
I'm not going to lie. I was nervous. 
I've never done anything like that before. Once again, like most men, I had only ever chosen, at the most, a dozen roses at one time before and here I was about to select the flowers for the table centerpieces and for the arch which would be center stage during the ceremony.
I had no idea where to start. I had some loose ideas in my head but that was about it. I've looked through some magazines for inspiration, hoping that maybe somewhere someone had done the work for me already but all of Martha Stewarts flower arrangements looked as if they had been assembled by a team of experts. Probably because they had been assembled by a team of experts, all the while under the watchful eye of Martha, riding-crop in hand. Martha gave me a few ideas but none of the photos I looked at were of fall wedding flowers. Thanks Martha. 
I'm not going to say anything. Martha's done time in the big house. She could probably make a very lovely shank and an even lovelier shank cozy and take me out any time she wanted. 
It's all good, Martha. 
Right?
Anyway...
So there I was, all alone in the flower department wondering if I could just buy a bunch of roses and be done with it. 
Then I remembered my lady and how gorgeous she was going to look on our special day and I knew I needed to create the most perfect backdrop for her. This wasn't about me, this was about her. That was all I needed to get me going. Well, that and the text she sent me when I told her that everything was 50% OFF. 
"Tear it up, baby!" she said. "Tear it up." And that was just what I was going to do.
As an artist I understand color and have always been good at putting colors together. That's why I'm good to bring along when you go paint shopping at LOWE'S. I created a scenario in my head and approached this task as if I was creating an art piece for a client. 
The sketch was in my head, I just needed to flesh out the overall composition with color. Fawn and I are getting married in October so I concentrated on Fall colors. I also kept in mind the two colors that will be prominent in the wedding. It's a pretty palette and as I walked around it became easier and easier to find just the right flowers.
I got some stares as I walked up and down the aisles so I tried to butch up a little. I rolled up my sleeves and dragged the flowers I had already selected on the ground behind me. I took big lumbering steps and even spit on the floor a few times. 
I would guess that I was in the store for about an hour and a half. I have no idea if that is good or not. I know that for a man, that's awesome.  After all, I wasn't shopping for a tractor or a weed-wacker or new remote control so spending any longer than 5 minutes shopping, much less shopping for flowers, and I think that's pretty damn good. 
I did want Fawn's input on my selections so I took pictures with my cellphone and sent her images of flowers I was leaning towards. Got to love this modern age and all the technology! I'm sure the photos weren't great, but she at least she was able to see how my brain was working. All in all she thought everything worked and gave me a thumb's up on my effort.
I did ask a group of women who were walking around the store what they thought. Just as a fail-safe measure. Women know flowers and they know what is pretty and after I explained when the wedding was and what our colors were, they studied my pile of flowers like judges at a state fair. After a few seconds they turned to me and said "Very pretty." 
Well that was a good sign. They used the word pretty.
Then they asked if I was a designer. I told them I was the groom and watched as each one of their jaws dropped to the linoleum floor, one after another. They congratulated me on my engagement and said my fiance was very lucky.  thanked them for taking the time to critique my efforts and watched as they walked away, still shaking their heads. 
All in all I think I did a good job selecting flowers and the favorable reviews from the anonymous group of women seem to support that fact. Even though I chose several different species of flowers, the overall effect was what I was hoping to create. I'm confident the colors work together and that they will work with the colors we have chosen for the bridesmaids' dresses and the groomsmens' boutonnieres. And that's what it's all about. Well, that and looking pretty.
After I left the stores with my purchases and loaded them into the van, I walked next door into Home Depot. I owed it to myself. 
I went to the garden center and sat in a riding mower for about ten minutes and then walked up and down the power tool aisle. In a state of utter bliss I picked up every last one of those glorious tools and held them, just for a second or two. 
<caveman grunt>
Flowers pretty but power tool good. Gooooooooooood.

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

RING UPDATE:


Fawn picked up her engagement ring today.
I received this text not more than twenty minutes ago:


And I quote...


"It's beautiful."


As are you, My Lady. As are you.


Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

Sunday was a big day.

We picked out and purchased our wedding bands. 

I would be lying if I didn't say that the experience was as intimidating as I had expected but we did find two bands that are very us. And that's the key. and that was a key element in the plan. Find rings that reflected who we are. Find rings that fit our budget. And find rings, that when touched together, allow the reader to transform into a superhero. 

Okay. So that last part was apparently only my goal and, and as it turned out, a little unrealistic. Hey. A Guy can dream. 

We went to about 4 or 5 different places yesterday. Ultimately we decided to return to the first because the experience there had been so positive. Also I found a band I really, really liked and no other could match it's awesomeness. 

Fawn also found a band she liked. It all worked out pretty well. 

I will admit that I was intimidated at first by the process. 

I am not a jewelry person at all. 

I don't wear rings. I don't even wear a watch. I use my cellphone like everyone else. I used to have a school ring but my woman claimed that as her own. I have no piercings and probably never will. I also had made that claim about tattoos and I proudly sport 4, but I will never have a piercing. 

I actually had piercings as a child. I hated the experience and that probably tainted my opinion on the subject. I was about 9 and was in the process of building a treehouse. I had jumped off the second floor (Oh yeah. I built some awesome treehouses) and when I landed I discovered much to my dismay that I had jumped right down onto two long boards, both which had exposed nails sticking up from underneath. The weight of my body forced the nails up through my sneakers (And these were sneakers-just rubber and canvas-not like the $200 things kids wear on their feet nowadays) and I found myself standing there on two makeshift skis. It hurt. It hurt bad and I was too afraid to try and pull them off so I walked home so my mom could. It was a long walk and I dragged my feet along the ground with long strides. 

I'm good with the whole piercing thing. I tried it. I didn't like it. I moved on.

I've also worked many different jobs in my life and most of them required hard work with my hands. Jewelry would have just gotten in the way. So I never bothered. 

Of course I wore jewelry during my first marriage. I had this lovely two piece set. One piece wrapped around my ankle and the other just sort of dragged along behind with a heavy metal cuh-lunk...cuh-lunk...cuh-lunk.

A ball and chain. I was saying I wore a ball and chain. It was a joke. 

Someone is probably going to comment and suggest that perhaps that was mean and that perhaps my ex-wife's feelings would be hurt. No worries at all. She's an attorney. She lost the ability to feel years ago. (I'm joking. I do that sometimes.)

Like most men I do all my shopping utilizing the classic Seek and Destroy Method. I know what I want. I go in the store. I am out the doors in less than 15 minutes, depending on the lines of course. It comes from being dragged on shopping trips with our mothers as little boys and being forced to try on outfit after outfit...after outfit...after outfit....

Shopping for weddings bands in not shopping for school clothes or new underwear. This was not going to be a 15 minute in and out. This had to be a thoughtful and conscientious experience. 
Our plan was to go to about 5 or 6 places and do some price comparisons. 
That's smart, right? We thought so. 
After about the third store we realized that the we weren't really seeing anything we liked as much as the first store. After about the 5th store we knew we weren't. 
Shopping in a jewelry store the day before Valentine's Day is like shopping for guns and canned food before a zombie uprising. 
Wow. That's the most un-romantic metaphor possibly ever written. Let me work on that and I will get back with you, Dear Reader.
There was an anxiety in the air yesterday. All hands were on deck and you couldn't take three steps inside the door before 2 people walked up to you to welcome you. Aggressive, professional salesmanship doesn't bother me. Sleazy, pushy salesmanship does. It's the reason I don't shower for three days or brush my teeth before I go looking to buy a new car. 


HIS
I have a confession to make. It's a about a psychological problem I have. No. Not that one. You see, I suffer from an as yet un-named phobia. I suffer from a crippling fear that my thumb will get stuck in a bowling ball. Side effects of this phobia include the fear of getting your finger stuck in a ring you're trying on in a jewelry store. I never go bowling because I just know my thumb will get stuck in that third hole and I will go to roll the bowl and I won't be able to let go of it and the result will be me throwing my own body down the lane as people laugh and catcall me. Paramedics will have to lube my fingers and...well...it pretty much goes downhill after lubed thumbs. 
It's the same with trying on new rings (the real reason I don't wear rings) I just know the ring is going to get stuck on my finger and it is going to turn into some huge ordeal and a video entitled Sausage Fingers Puts A Ring On It, with soundtrack by Beyonce, will go viral in less than 24 hours.
The entire time the salesgirl was preparing my ring for a trial fit, I was thinking to myself "Thin fingers. Thin fingers. Thin fingers."
I have to admit that I had a Gollum moment. 
I saw my Precious and knew it had to be mine. 
Sitting on a multi-tiered display among other lesser rings. So perfect. So me. Masculine without being flashy. And made from some alien metal that would allow me the power of flight and super-human strength.Okay. I added that last part. But it's an awesome ring and no matter where we went and how many other stores we went to afterwards, I would find none better.
My Precioussssssss.....


Before I go on too much farther, can I just make the observation that choosing a wedding band in a jewelry store is not at all unlike choosing a donut in a donut shop? Buying a ring and a Bavarian Creme-if that's your donut of choice-is very similar. Granted one is very fattening and one is very expensive but in the case of shopping for both, it is a similar experience. Eventually, in the case of both, you wind up with your face pressed against glass as the salesperson tries to locate-with just verbal directions-the one you want.


"A   little to the right...Nope! Down one! Over to the left now....just one more...No. The one next to it. YES! THAT'S the one I want!"


Any way. I just wanted to make that observation. As you were.


HERS
Choosing my fiance's band was a little trickier than when I chose mine. 
This was her wedding ring after all. 
I asked Fawn if she would allow me to pick out a ring for her, just to see if I had any clue as to what she had been hoping/wishing for and I've got say that I didn't do too badly. The first two rings I pointed to were rings Fawn liked very much. The third not so much. Apparently the fact that it was the same ring Dog gave to Beth on a very special episode of Dog The Bounty Hunter did little to impress her. It was cool though. There was an eagle and a feather and...never mind. 
I've never seen Fawn so deep in concentration before. I mean, this wasn't a steak dinner. Her little brow was furrowed and there was this little grin on her face. She looked like a kid in a candy store...or...a kid in a donut shop.
BOOM! LOOK WHAT I DID THERE!
Of course Fawn knew exactly what she was looking for and was going to take her time. There are considerations about cut and clarity, of course, but there has to be that gut reaction to tell you this is the one. Could it be that woman have a My Precioussss moment as well?


AND IN THE END
Having gotten a good idea about cost and fit we made our exit from the very store with our complimentary bottle of water. They had offered us cappacino but I don't think a double strength caffeine beverage is the best thirst quencher when you're buying expensive jewelry. 
We were honest with our saleswoman telling her we had to do some comparative shopping. The situation behooved us to do so. We didn't use the word behoove. I don't think I've ever used the word behoove as a matter of fact and not really sure why I did just then. I must be tired. Or channeling Jamie Gertz from Square Pegs.
Being a good salesperson she understood this completely and threw no static or pressure our way. 
Which is one of the main reasons we went back to that first store. We went to others but couldn't really find anything close to what we had already seen and tried on and apparently decided on. 
We headed back and we bought our bands. 
All in all, it was a really nice day. 
I was getting a little light-headed and claustrophobic from the crowded stores and over powering perfumes and colognes but I was with my lady and we always have the best time when we shop.
My ring would be ready for pick up in about two weeks.  
Fawn's ring would be ready in two days. 
It's gonna be hard not to want to wear my ring but I will wait until Sunday, October 16th. Partly because I am a traditional sort of guy. Partly because I am a superstitious type of guy. Mostly because I am that guy who is scared that the ring will get stuck on my fat finger.

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

So...apparently you can't just walk into a tuxedo rental store and ask for a tuxedo that will make you look like James Bond. There should be! But there isn't.
Apparently they need more information than that. Apparently, even though we can take photographs with phones and we have electric cars and doctors can build new body parts in laboratories a guy just can't walk into a tuxedo rental store and walk into a machine and a minute later be fitted into a tuxedo that will make him look like a British secret agent with a license to kill.
Is it just me or is anybody else a little disappointed that none of the things The Jetsons promised have come to fruition?

My GOD the questions are never-ending when all you want to do is walk in and five minutes later walk out with the coolest tuxedo ever.
Do you want a dinner jacket? A Stroller jacket? (WTH? I'm not pushing a toddler down the aisle with me) Tails? Traditional tuxedo or black tie? Updated black tie? Dark suit? 
I want to look like a secret agent. 
Okay. Very good then....now...about your shirt, Sir?
My shirt? I dunno....white with buttons?
Would you like French cuffs? A Mandarin collar? A spread collar or a turndown collar? Perhaps, Sir, you'd prefer a winged collar.
MOMMY!
Now, Sir. About your neckwear. Any ideas there?
A noose?
That's very good, Sir, but seriously, would you like an ascot, a bow tie, or a four in-hand tie? 
I don't know. I suppose, though, that decision depends on the shirt I'm wearing. Correct?
Very good, Sir. You're catching on. 
GOD. Where is Tim Gunn when you need him?
And while you're thinking about the neckwear, Sir, perhaps you can begin to think about the accessories...
Accessories! HA!! NOW you're talking! The flame-throwers! The poison pellets! That underwater breathing thingy!
...like the cummerbund. Were you thinking about either suspenders or braces? A Waist coat or vest?
<curling up in the fetal position now....thumb in mouth....rocking back and forth>
And we still have to make a decision about your shoes, Sir. There is a decision to made about your hosiery...
Okay. Well. To start. They're called socks. NOT hosiery. I'm not a cross-dresser or a seventy year old living in Miami. Or a seventy year old cross-dresser living in Miami.
..and do you prefer patent pumps or perchance white bucks?
Pumps? Again. NOT a cross-dresser. And let me state this for the record. No man should ever wear pumps. On his feet...or...uhhhh....anywhere else for that matter.
I don't know. Maybe I'll just go naked. 


Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

WHAT is up with caterers?!!!

Seriously. 
WHAT the HELL is up with CATERERS?!!!

Sorry. I just had to scream that. This whole caterer thing is driving me crazy and I'm about to say "You know what? Let's go through the drive-thru and pick up some buckets of the Colonel's best. Who wants original recipe?" 

Hello! I have money! I want to give it to you in return for food and services. That's what you do, right? Are you so busy you don't have to return phone calls? Congratulations! How lucky you are that you don't need my business. 
Okay. So from what I've been reading, this seems to be the process. It's sort of like buying a puppy. You look and look until you think you've found the one you just have to have and then you take it home and it shits all over you which is okay because that's what puppies do and you can put up with a little poop and barking but what if you told them how much you loved them and wanted them and then they never called you back? Even after you've left several messages on voice mail and through e-mails. The caterers, that is, and not the puppies. Although everyone has a cellphone these days. How long until we have Pet-Cells? Or Puppy-Pods? The I-Pooch?
You have a first date and things go really well and then you exchange numbers and then...nothing! You start to wonder. "Is it me?" "Was it something I said or did?" "Is it something in my teeth...OH GOD! Do I HAVE B.O.?!"
Fawn and I know what kind of food we are going to serve at our reception. It is quite logical actually. We have to serve over a hundred people something good and hot and fast. I'm perfectly fine with Hot Pockets. Sure it bucks with tradition! But that's me! I'm a rebel! 
Having decided on what kind of food we want served, the next task was to find someone who could supply it...those people are called caterers. 
The on-line dictionary defines caterers as:

v. ca·tered, ca·ter·ing, ca·ters

v.intr.

1. To provide food or entertainment.

2. To be particularly attentive or solicitous; minister: The nurses catered to my every need. The legislation catered to various special interest groups.

v.tr.

1. To provide food service for: a business that caters banquets and weddings.

2. To attend to the wants or needs of.

It seems, that perhaps, some folks that call themselves caterers have forgotten what it is they're supposed to be doing. I'm sure it's on their business license. 

Right there. On the wall, over your left shoulder. Yep! That thing in the frame a couple of inches below The Singin' Bass. 

When I worked in the food industry I would have loved to receive emails like the one's I've sent to our selected caterers. Glowing reviews of service and food would have made my day (For the most part, for the record, I did hear very positive comments from my customers I'm just trying to make a point here)

HOW can you just not call someone back who has taken the time to frequent your business, spend money there, then take the time to write you a lengthy email praising your food and service? How do you just ignore someone who has expressed sincere interest in spending more money in your establishment? 

HOW? WHY? WHAT the....?????!!!

This is not over. Not by a long-shot. This is the guy who put up with medical bureaucracy for almost two years. I'm the creator and sole owner of the copyright for the I'M SORRY THAT DOESN'T WORK FOR ME t-shirt. 

No. This is not over at all. 

I'll be back.

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved