4 days away now. 
4. 


It was a busy day today and I am happy to say that the last of the big things on my THINGS TO DO list has been checked off.
SWOOSH! 
That was the sound of a pen checking a YES box on a list of things to do. 
CRAP!
That was the sound of me realizing that now there are only 320 smaller things left to do.
I am happy to say that I spent about an hour on the phone, more about that in  a second, with my disc jockey and we worked everything out. I feel so much better about things now than I did last week. 
I get nervous ordering Chinese food over the phone.
So imagine how I felt about being told I was going to discuss all the details regarding my wedding music over the phone and that the first time I would be meeting with my disc jockey, face-to-face, would be an hour before the wedding. 
I have to admit. I was a little freaked out. Oh okay. I was a lot freaked out. 
I talked with my dj today and he seems like a really nice guy. 
We discussed all of my special requests and asked each other all the important questions. We talked about positioning of speakers and the order of songs. Ian, my dj, sounded like he knew what he was talking about and his confidence was calming. He was patient with me and let me ramble on and on. 
Wedding Brain is a terrible thing. I would guess that if there was another two weeks of all this planning and phone calls and emails, the police would probably find me in a tree, in the fetal position, sleeping in the nest I had built from the pages of Modern Bride. 
A follow-up email will answer some lingering questions about some key timing and some disc jockey magic. Then we will be set. BOOM! Done!
The music was the first thing I started planning all those months ago and I've always imagined it being just so. I have worked long hours in the choosing music that reflects who Fawn and I are as people and as a bride and groom. 
I think people will like it. 
Music is a go!
THUNDERBIRDS are a go!
(Sorry. Couldn't resist.)


I was supposed to go a tanning salon today. We received coupons from Men's Wearhouse  (Wearhouse. Get it?) for free tanning sessions. 
Fawn suggested I grab some rays. She didn't come right out and say "Don't you want some pigment on your skin for the wedding?' She did that thing that all women do. She told me to do something, made it sound like a suggestion, and in the end I will be adamant that it was my idea in the first place. 
It was actually. 
I've never been to tanning salon but then again this wedding is making me do a lot of things I have never done before. 
I had never been to a HOOTERS. 
I had never designed flowers for a table setting. 
I have never picked out table cloths. 
I had never been to a HOOTERS. Ever. 
I've never gotten my nether region waxed. 
I'm kidding. I just wanted to see if you were still reading. Believe me, if there's going to be something hot and sticky anywhere near my boys, it's not going to be wax. It'll probably be something from Cinnabon. 
Just wanted to leave you with that image. 
Sweet dreams, Dear Reader. 

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

You know. When I am dancing our first dance with Fawn, I will probably be wishing that the moment will last forever. When we are surrounded by our family and dear friends, laughing and hugging, I will be thinking how awesome the moment is and how lucky I am. 
Right now though, my stomach is in knots and I've been losing sleep because of all the drama coming from several different directions. All because two people fell in love and wanted to have an awesome wedding.
I am amazed at how insensitive some people can be. 
I am appalled at how selfish others can be. 
I can handle the possibility of rain.
I can handle the possibility of a train. 
(Feeling very Dr. Seuss at the moment)
I can even handle a zombie eating my brain. 
Not really. I just wanted to complete the rhyme. 
This is not going to be a perfect wedding. Is there such a thing? I know that I can't control everything. Stuff happens. At some point you just have to laugh and say 'Oh well. That's life.'
I can't control the weather or train schedules for a national company. 
At 2:30P.M. on Sunday I will hand over the CLIPBOARD OF POWER to Lisa, our coordinator and just enjoy the day I've been planning for a year. you'd better believe it, Bub.


I've told Fawn that this is it. This is the last time we get married. And if, in a moment that will later be described as temporary insanity, we do decide to do it all over again, only if to renew our vows, it will be just us, an officiant and a witness who is a mute.


I haven't regretted one second of the last year. Not one. I have been disappointed though and saddened by the insensitivity of some but bullshit aside, it has been a great ride. 


In the end, it's not about these people who have tried to rain on our parade and I hope at some point, before or after the wedding, they realize that.
This coming Sunday is about me and my beautiful lady. I am keeping my eyes on the prize. Sunday, October 16, 2011 is going to be a beautiful day. We will be surrounded by the people we love and who in turn love us. It is going to be awesome. 


Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 
Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. 
Just...keep...swimming.



Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

So I survived. 

I didn't wake up with a tiger in my bathroom, a naked Asian in the trunk of my car, and so far Mike Tyson hasn't punched me while singing In The Air Tonight. I wasn't tased or tattooed. 

I guess though the chances of any of that happening were extremely low. 

You see, my day yesterday was not spent bar-hopping and drinking and doing shots and memory loss and girl's named Cheyenne grinding into my lap.

Much like with October being the new June, bachelor parties have become something all together new. It is common now for most bachelor parties to take place a week or even weeks before the wedding. 

I wonder why. 

Maybe because of idiots like this. 

I'm not much of a drinker anyway. I'm a light-weight. I did my drinking in my 20's. Believe me. I'm good for a while. Besides, I wake up every morning with a migraine. The last thing I need-want-is a hangover. Does anybody really enjoy throwing up? Besides the Olsen Twins, that is.

I had no idea of what to expect yesterday. Everything was planned by my future step-sons James and Drew. 

Side note: Drew and James have decided that after the wedding they will call me Step-Dude. Which I think is pretty freaking awesome. 

James and Drew planned a fun day. 

It started with video games at a Putt-Putt amusement center. I don't care how old a guy is. Give him a machine gun and robots or zombies to shoot at and he is a happy man. We also played those games of chance that reward you with little red tickets. The whole place is like Vegas for the little league crowd. Crazy-eyed eight year old's running around, clutching handfuls of red tickets, like handfuls of spaghetti, begging their parents for more tokens. 

Those red tickets, in turn, can be turned in for valuable prizes. In the end the 5 of us accumulated over 4500 tickets and I walked out with a yellow plush monkey and some rad jewelry. 

Then we were off for a round of miniature golf. I must say that out of 18 holes, I did manage to sink 5 holes-in-one and shot a consistent Par 2 for the remaining holes. I don't know what's sadder: being really good at miniature golf or being really bad. I've never played...I don't know...what would the opposite of miniature golf be? Life-size golf? Never played a round of real golf. The only Bogey I know walks into the fog with Renault as Ilsa flies away into the night at the end of Casablanca.

After our round of golf, we headed over to the go-carts, which was ironic because my car didn't. Go, that is. I got stuck with a no-go cart. Those electric shopping carts grocery stores have on hand would have been faster than what I got stuck with. This car was so slow and I was so behind the pack, that eventually it looked as though in the lead because they looped around the track and we were right behind me. 

Then my future brother-in-law put me into the wall. 

I should have known that was going to happen. Mostly because he said, right as we were climbing into our little cars, "Hey. I'm going to put you into the wall." It's how he says "I love you."

I was rescued by Derrick, who ran over and pulled me off the rail and got me pointed in the right direction. How humiliating. I can only imagine the stories he'll tell when the Chess Club meets on Monday. 

Go-carts are fun and so are video games and miniature golf. Every once and a while it's okay to be 11 again. even if it's during your bachelor party. 

We had lunch at HOOTERS. 

I've never been to HOOTERS before. I didn't know they served food there. Honestly. All I can say is the food was pretty darn good. Fried pickles? Go figure! Yummy. My burger was big and juicy and I couldn't finish it all. 

Speaking of big and juicy...

I know why they call the place HOOTERS. One word: boobies. I get it. I get the joke. 

It's all in fun, I guess, and for a bachelor party, it was the closest I was going to get to a strip club. What I didn't expect was a bunch of girls who looked like high school juniors (a few looked like they couldn't wait to get to high school-the hostess looked 10-I am not exaggerating) It was a little disturbing. I guess I am old because the only thing I kept thinking was "Do your mommy and daddy know you're dressed like that?" and "Go put a sweater on. Right now young lady!"

Our waitress, Mindy or Cindy or Tiffany or Sparkles or Britney, whatever, was sweet. Deer-in-the-headlights sweet. She had this nervous giggle and blank expression every time we made a joke, or ordered our food or asked where our fries were. I was so tempted, several times, to say "Quick! What's 10 X 10?" I know that's mean. 

The waitresses did sing to me. Yes. HOOTERS has a bachelor party song. The girls pulled me to the front of the restaurant, formed a line on either side of me, and clapped and sang-believe me-a challenge for some-one of those annoying restaurants chant songs that everyone else eating has to suffer through. And the girls were so into it! Not! One, when asked to join in the fun, actually said, "No. I'd rather not." 

It was just like high school all over again.

I can only imagine the uniforms at HOOTERS, more like fabric swatches really, are one-size fits all.  

After HOOTERS we drove over for 3 games of laser tag. 

LASER TAG is the bomb! I don't care how old you are or what you do for a living, laser tag is awesome fun. 

We had a blast. 

A BLAST!!!

There were about 22 of us in this big area that has towers and ramps and walls and obstacles. The room is lit with black lights so there is this psychedelic glow. Especially if you wear white. Poor Drew was dressed in light colored clothes from head to toe and looked like Radioactive Man. 

We played with other adults and lots of little kids.

There are established rules set by the laser tag place. These rules include no profanity, no physical contact, no crouching (When's the last time you saw that on a company's wall? NO CROUCHING!) and no covering your sensors. There are more rules, but hardly anyone pays attention to them. People cover their sensors, remove their sensor packs and lay down. Once the game starts, though, no matter what strategies you have worked out with your team, all go out the window.

We ran and we ducked for cover and we got shot and we fired from secret places in the dark. We yelled and we sweated and I'm sure the two older of us are walking a little slower and a little stiffer this morning that the two younger ones. 

Here's a few things I've learned about laser tag and myself.

1. Six year old girls turn into blood-thirsty killers when playing laser tag.

The pigtails and chubby cheeks and Hello Kitty t-shirts are just a smoke screen. I swear that the one little girl who shot me several times had painted her face with war paint. Granted it was My Little Pony glitter war paint, but it was war paint none-the-less. Is it possible to have an adorable war face?

2. Don't trust anyone. 

Anyone. 

ANYONE.

Drew shot me about 25 times. Is that any way to treat your future step-dude...dude?

I did manage to accidentally shoot Joe several times. 

Remember the go-karts, Joe? Payback is a bitch. Revenge is a dish best served cold...and in black light. 

3. Dungeons and Dragons geeks take laser tag very, very seriously.

4. People will still shoot you, even if you choose the name Santa Claus for a laser tag nickname. It's such a mean world out there. Maybe I'll pick Baby Bunny next time.

5. I'm a decent shot. I'm a better target. Sad, but true.

6. When someone in a laser tag game tells you "I've got your back" it means that they will follow you and then shoot you in the back. Several times. 

Laser-tag is fun, so much better than playing army-man when you're seven, and it was the perfect way to end our day together. 

I had a great time. 

Thank you James, Drew, Joe and James. 

Now..can someone please explain to me...who decided that SASSY would make a good tramp-stamp?


Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

Tradition calls for the Best Man to throw a bachelor party for the Groom. Having never been one to balk at tradition, I am just going to go along today and enjoy the day my future step-sons, James (my Best Man) and Drew (Groomsman #1), have planned for me. 

Quite honestly, it will be nice to enjoy a day in which I don't have to plan anything. 

There have been some ground rules established for the day's agenda. They are, in no particular order:

1. No strippers. 

Let me just say I'm a firm believer that no party plans should include a tetanus shot.  

I have nothing against a young woman putting herself through cosmetology school by working a few extra hours dancing for strangers. More power to her, I say. Like Donna Summer sang, "She works hard for the money. So hard for the money." She's just not getting any of mine. 

2. No porn. 

I've never understood the whole bunch-of-guys-in-a-room-watching-dirty-movies thing. It's a little creepy, if you ask me. 

3. No petting zoos. 

I think that's self-explanatory.

4. No mystery shots. 

I've never been one to drink something without knowing what it was or where it came from.

Must be some left over issues from when my parents hired that wet nurse. I don't know. 

We will probably end up in a bar at some point. Have no worries, dear Reader. I'm not a drinker. Ask anyone who knows me. They'll tell you three things. 

                 1. He sweats easily. 

                 2. He gets drunk on one hard cider. 

                 3. He snores. 

A picture is worth a 1000 words, isn't it?

I may have one or two drinks tonight. Partly because of my low tolerance to alcohol but mostly because I hate the way I feel the next morning. Hangovers are no fun and when you suffer from headaches every day, the last thing you want to do is add fuel to the fire. 

Or tequila. (To KILL 'YA!)

I drank tequila once. ONCE. I woke up in a garden shed hugging a bag of fertilizer. We dated for a month or two, but I just couldn't handle the bullshit. 

5. Bungee jumping.  

I'm old. I'l break in half like a graham cracker. 

6. No ink. 

I have tattoos. 

I appreciate really good ink and there are some really talented artists out there. 

Having said that, there will be no "Hey! Look! A tattoo parlor!! Let's see if what's-his-name still works there" moments today. I would hate waking up tomorrow with a Justin Bieber tramp stamp.

And finally...

7. No Jackass-like ball shots. I like my boys and would prefer that they got through the day without getting punched, slapped, kicked or pelleted with golf balls. It reminds me of the advice my grandfather gave me. "Take care of your man-jigglies," he said, "and they will take care of you."

He also said "Never call a woman toots (unless you've paid her for the privilege)" "Never pet a stray dog that has foam on its lips," and "Never vote for a man running for President named Skip."

Okay. The rules have been set. All I can do now is sit back and enjoy the ride. 

Let the festivities begin!

Just in case anyone needs to know, my blood-type is B-Negative. 

Ironic, isn't it?

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

From the 2011 Farmer's Almanac:
October 16th is the best day to:

Cut hair to retard growth

Mow grass to retard growth

Quit smoking

Wash wooden floors

Buy a car

Host a party

Write

I think I'm in good shape. 

I got a haircut yesterday. And yes. I look handsome. LOL. 

I'm mowing the grass tomorrow.

I don't smoke. Never have...never will. 

There are wooden floors at the venue and I guess that if someone spills something...Okay. This one is going in the Maybe column.

Buy a car. Covered. Thanks again, Dad. 

Write? Well we do have to sign the marriage license. I guess that counts.

Apparently, once again according to the Farmers' Almanac, October 9th would have been the best day to get married...get married, cut firewood, castrate farm animals and potty train. 

You know. October 16th is looking better and better. 





Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

Potential situation with the disc jockey we've hired. 
Suffice to say, I don't feel comfortable with where we are at this juncture. 
Let me just say that if things go the way I think they are going to go today, these folks will be the only vendor I will not meet face to face. 
The reason, I'm told is because clients in the past have not shown up for appointments and that most of the disc jockeys have day jobs. 
I guess my question is:
Can you plan all the music for your wedding-all the special songs for all those special moments-over the phone? Can your ceremony and reception go on without a hitch when you meet your disc jockey only an hour before your wedding begins?
That's the question, I guess. 
Should I be stressing about the music 12 days before your wedding?


I'm just going to see how this phone call goes this morning. 
And then I will punch a wall. 





Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

All Rights Reserved

There's nothing like attending a beautiful wedding and enjoyable reception to make you totally reevaluate your own upcoming nuptials. 


Two of our friends got married yesterday. 
CONGRATULATIONS Matt and Stephanie. Or should I say Mr. and  Mrs. Simpson?


It was a beautiful ceremony. The bride looked gorgeous and the groom even got a little bit of a haircut. The reception was held in an art gallery and everything was planned to perfection. 


Like I said, there's nothing like attending a beautiful wedding and enjoyable reception to make you....panic...about your own. 


Sitting there during the cocktail hour, as we enjoyed the fried banana appetizer being offered from silver trays, I sat there and wondered: 
"Is the food we have for our cocktail hour going to be as yummy? Will people love it?"
As the newly married couple dancedtheir first dance, I looked into my lady's eyes and wondered:
"Did I pick the right song?"
Once you start asking yourself question like that, the floodgates open.
"Did we pick the right glasses for the wine?"
"Did we order enough glasses?"
"Did we order enough napkins?"
"....plates? forks? knives?"
"Who should make the toasts?'

"Should we have assigned our guests to specific tables?"
"Does anybody really want to see me dance to Let's Get It On?


A person in my situation really could go on and on and dissect every aspect of someone else's wedding but all you're really going to do, in the end, when all is said and done, is add to your already full basket of anxiety. 
I think 1-800 FLOWERS offers a 'Basket of Anxiety." It's a little lovely wicker basket full of impatiens and cocaine.
I have to keep telling myself everyone's wedding is different. Different and personal to the bride and groom. All you can do is enjoy someone else's wedding and then enjoy your own and try to remember its not a competition. 
As of today, there are 14 days left until our wedding. 
Two weeks.
I'm not sweating it. Everything that is worth doing well takes time and the time is usually two weeks.
Ever hire a contractor?
Ask them how long the job will take. Their answer? Two weeks. 
Like celebrities? Take Ashton and Demi. Ask them how much longer their marriage is going to last. Their answer? Forever. The real answer? Two weeks. Come on! You know it's true. How long can you stay married to your grandmother? Let me rephrase that. If you don't live in West Virginia, how long can you stay married to your grandmother. Sure. She always has hard candy in her purse, but is that enough to maintain a happy relationship. Ashton? The ball's in your court. 
I'm getting off point. 
We were talking about going to a nice wedding and then freaking out about your own. 
Yep. That's it. 
I'm freaked out.






Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

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