There are many steps, processes and procedures that go into a grand wedding plan. In fact, my sister-in-law got me this little blue book for my engagement that tells me what I'm supposed to organize and arrange one, two, five, seven, nine and ten months before the wedding. I'm on what, nine months out? And I am supposed to send Save the Dates, reserve venues, reserve vendors, get the dress, and get the bridesmaids dresses .. almost done, and done, done, done, done.
There are certain things they don't mention in the book that would be categorized as long-lead to-dos - all those things that are supposed to transform you into the perfect bride on your wedding day - things like making sure you are on the right path to have the perfect body, hair, nails and skin when you walk down the aisle. These things take time because they require certain lifestyle and behavior changes - changes that can take a while!
To get the perfect body - Diet and exercise. Kinda dieting, definitely exercising.
To get the perfect hair - Groom yourself. After being absent from a salon for seven months, I decided I would get a haircut next week
To get the perfect nails - stop biting them! That's going to take a wing and a prayer though.
To get the perfect skin - bring back Dr. Neiland, buy Proactive or maybe just get rid of the head pillow?
Honestly, I'm most worried about my skin right now as things aren't going so well there. And I think I may have found the culprit. But distancing myself, and finally parting from him will be very, very tough. He has been insulating, comforting and deafening me for the past seven years. He has also been suffocating my cheeks, which has given them an excuse to find breathing room in the form of rosy red blemishes, which nobody wants, bride or not. Nine-months out, I need to say goodbye to the head pillow.
So you're probably thinking, what is this head pillow thing? Why in the world do you sleep with a head pillow? Here's the story.
I used to live in a one-bedroom apartment in the South Side of Pittsburgh. It was one of five one-bedroom apartments in a converted row house right over the Birmingham Bridge. I was so excited when I first moved in - it was a little piece of the world that was just mine. I paid the rent, I bought the furniture, I stocked the refrigerator, and I controlled the volume. Within 600 square feet of the world I set the rules.
Originally, the partitioned house was inhabited by a middle-aged, flamboyant Cheesecake Factory manager, a squirrely Carnegie Mellon graduate student, a fireman and myself. There was enough distance and wall-space between my apartment and theirs that they never bothered me and I always slept like a rock.
A year later though, the tenant cycle shifted - the fireman left, Patrick's flamboyance lost its family-friendly touch, the Carnegie Mellon girl got a boyfriend, a tall, rail-thin, dark-haired, ghostly-white girl moved into the closet of an apartment right next to me, and the walls of my apartment got a lot thinner. My little part of the world suddenly conformed to a different schedule and I no longer controlled the volume.
After closing the restaurant that I managed between one and three in the morning, I would rush home and try to fall asleep quickly. While the house was quiet during the day, it came alive at night, right after I got home from work, with a cacophony of disturbing noises. Nightly, Patrick would throw drug-ridden, disco-driven raves in the apartment below me; the bar outside my window would open their back porch allowing drunk college students to pour onto it and continue their clamorous pursuit for a mate; and the ghost-girl right next door to me, would let her abusive boyfriend into the house.
Every night she would succumb to the fights, screams, and terror that he would provoke. I never saw him, but I heard everything. And because the squirelly CMU girl got a boyfriend, the fireman left, and Patrick was partying, I was alone in dealing with the nightmarish noise. For awhile I was scared to call the police or use ear plugs, because I thought he might come and get me. So, I put a pillow over my head to break up some of the noise and comfort me through the night. After one particularly rough fight, I finally called the police and my landlord ... and the police finally came and took him away.
The head pillow worked wonders though. And it continued working wonders in South Bend when I had to drown out Jimmy Clausen and his dorky, Domer girlfriends partying next door, in Naperville where I have to drown out trains outside my window, and in every big-city hotel where the sirens, cabs, and revelers play way into the early hours of the morning.
In my apartment in Naperville though, I feel safe, and the people around me are pretty quiet. So I'm thinking that ear plugs will suffice to quiet the train noise at night, which would put the head pillow to rest. And hopefully saying goodbye to him will bring perfect skin on my wedding day. But a Dr. Neiland intervention would be really nice.
Lo.
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