An uphill battle

I never thought planning this wedding would go according to plan. Everyone told me it would be stressful, and I've watched enough of Bridezillas to know there has to be something that makes these women insane.

For some, it may be flowers. For others, it's the dress. Maybe the cake, photographer, or caterer.

For me, it's the officiant.

When we first starting planning the wedding, I knew one thing for certain: Where the ceremony would take place. My mom is/was hell bent on having a Catholic mass ceremony, and I knew if we were going to do that, we had to have it at the same church my parents were married in. It was the only place I would even entertain to get married at.

We are not parishioners of this church, but actually getting married there wasn't going to be a problem, as long as we paid twice the amount we would have paid elsewhere, they'd marry us. Great.

"But you'll need to find an officiant."

Okay. How hard can it be?

Oh, how naive I was! I really thought this would be a cinch. But the pastor from my church was going to be in Europe during June 2011. And deacons can't say a mass. That left the other church. But wait, even though it isn't my church and we're paying buttloads of money to use it for one hour, I still had to contact their priests! Okay! I can do that!

Except their priest? Really bad at getting back to people. Like, awful. I mean, for someone who has to talk to people all the time, you'd think he'd be better at interpersonal communication.

After multiple attempts by both myself and the wedding coordinator of the church, the priest FINALLY called me back. Except I was in class at the time and couldn't answer. So he had to leave a message. And when I went to call him back not even 15 minutes later, he was out of the office. So I had to leave a message.

And I never heard back from him. Apparently a few phone messages was enough, because the church let us book, and we paid a deposit. But, a couple months later, the wedding coordinator contacted me to let me know our officiant had left that church. He left us one way of getting in touch with him: A single, solitary email address.

And this brings us back to where we are now. A couple weeks ago, I sent our officiant an email to we could set up a time to meet. Given his track record, I figured I should start early. But when I didn't hear back from him after several attempts over a month period, I started to get nervous. I broke down and emailed the wedding coordinator, who so gracefully informed me she hadn't heard from him either, and I better get to lookin' for a new one.

So now we are officiantless, as we were several months ago. I'm trying not to panic, but I can finally understand why so many brides lose it. When you spend so much time, energy, and money into organizing one day, it's easy to get pretty upset when someone messes with it.

If it were anything else, I think I might react better. You can always get a new dress, flowers can be fixed, and the cake isn't that important. But the officiant? He actually marries you. Pretty important.

So, hey, Archdiocese of New Orleans? I need a new officiant, over here.

#30

#30 Accept the fact I will never join a gym and find a fitness program that works for me.

I often tell people I'm allergic to the gym, and I'm not lying when I say it. I have real, legitimate, visceral reactions when I am in, near, or around a gym. I start to sweat, itch and shake. I get a pit in my stomach. Every fiber in my being is screaming, "GET AWAY GET AWAY." Sometimes, I break out in a rash.

I've been told, by people with "medical degrees" and "knowledge", that this is less of an "allergic reaction" to the gym itself, but probably a "reaction to the anxiety I associate with the gym". Pffft. Whatever, doctors. I'm allergic to those bitches, and that's all there is to it.

Regardless of whether trained, medical professionals are correct or I am, one thing is undeniable: I really hate the mother effing gym.

As I have admitted in previous posts, I am not one of those stick thin girls. I'm not one of those in shape girls. Hell, I'm not even one of those average girls (all though, on a good day, I can pass for it). I am, as my noni so fondly calls it, a "big" girl. Slightly overweight. Big boned. I will never be thin. At my absolute smallest, I squeezed into a size 8, but if I'm being entirely honest, I was more comfortable in a 10. I am currently in a size 12. Sometimes, I wear a size 14.

And this, gentle readers, is why I hate the gym.

When you are a un-fit size 12/14, things don't always look good in motion. I believe Bridget Jones said it best: You know, wobbly bits. I have them. And, they, well, wobble when I try to do active things. Like, say, run. Or bike. Or whatever. I have no control over the direction certain body parts lumber off in. Things bounce without permission. Objects may make sudden, unexpected, uncontrollable movements. What I am saying is, I cannot control "the motion in the ocean" (Isn't that a pleasant image? I apologize). And there's nothing I can about it short of lubing myself up and shoving my whole body into a spandex suit, and you know, I'm not even sure that would do anything for my appropriately named thunder thighs.

So, when I run on the treadmill next to those stick thin, really fit guys and gals, I am super aware of what my own body looks like.

In addition to the body image dimorphism, I often feel like going to the gym is a competition against those around me. I see Pretty Blond Girl running, and I feel like I have to run as long as she does. If you haven't figured it out yet, I hate running and am not in shape, so this is delusional at best and down-right crazy at worst. I can never run as long as someone else at the gym.

Unless I find someone in worst shape than I am to compare myself to, I will always feel inadequate at the gym. And that's unlikely. How many overweight people do you see at the gym? Exactly. Few, if any. They avoid it for the same reasons I avoid it. Look it up. It's called gym intimidation. Seriously, you can Google it.

Anyway, long story short, the gym and I are not friends, and we never will be.

With that said, I want to look stunning on my wedding day, and I would love to put forth the effort to lose some weight. Just not at the gym. Enter my father (this is a good story, I promise). My dad walks every morning. Walking is something I can do. It's actually better on your joints than running, and brisk walking burns about the same calories per minute as running does .

So, every morning at about 6:30, I've been walking a few miles with my dad and other people from the neighborhood. It's actually, dare I say it, fun, because there's good company for gossiping, and I don't feel like anyone is judging me. I actually feel superior than people. I feel like I am exuding a very "Look at me! I'm up and at 'em and sweatin' and burnin' some fat! You all wish you were as awesome as me!" attitude. It's very liberating.

Anyhoo, so I'm walking. And I've added crunches to the routine, too. And soon, I'll start P90 with John. Between all of this, here's to hoping I'll see some results.