Marriage Prep with St. Dominic's

I'm as devout a Catholic as they come these days, especially considering I went to Cal and I go to Burning Man. My dad was on his way to becoming a priest before he met my mom. My sister was on her way to becoming a nun before she met her husband. And I...well, I'm about to marry an Italian Catholic.

The Catholic church requires at least a six month timeframe of marriage prep prior to getting married. Marriage prep consists of meeting with our deacon several times, a weekend engagement encounter, family planning classes, questionnaires and discussions. It's all so...involved. Yak.

I wasn't looking forward to this process. I saw it as something to check off our list. But we met with our deacon tonight for the first time and he is a hoot! He was married twice, divorced once, had four boys and one baby girl of the family. He went on and on about how it was so joyous to finally have his girl. He was sure she'd have the relationship thing nailed since she grew up with four brothers. Figuring guys out would be a breeze. "It sure did," he cackled, "she's gay! Ahhh, life is so unexpected and wonderful. If you know exactly what's going to happen, it's not fun. Surprises are fun."

By the time we left the parish office, Dean had a man-crush on our deacon. He seemed so carefree and happy to be guiding us through the preparation. "One of my sons is finally drug-free after spending time at St. Anthony's. Another one is a police officer up in Sacramento. The other one cleaned up his act after getting his high-school sweetheart pregnant. They have a home in Pleasant Hill with their two boys. I got a boy who's at Dodge & Cox making $300,000 a year. And I told you about my girl. She's gay. We all support her. Blessed family, I tell you. Wonderful to watch it unfold."

All Together Now

Theme: Casual, Hip, Fun
Colors: Red, Black, and White
Venue and Catering: Ace Hotel, Palm Springs
Day Of Coordinator: Gina Leslie, The Walk Down the Aisle
Photographer: CK Hwang, 39 East Photography
DJ: Mike Bocek, Exxxplosivo
Dance: Irina Senchilina, Genesis Dance Sport
Flowers: Etsy.com
Cake: Ace (I didn't realize that this was included.)
Save the Dates: Postcards.com (I did it myself.)
Invitations (To be determined)
Programs: Claire DeLeon, Kalea Invitations
Website: Wordpress.com (Dean did it himself.)
Dress: Buyer100.com
Wedding Party Apparel: Personal choice using our color scheme
Decorations: Candles4Less.com
Registry: None
Honeymoon: Jill Zucker, Frosch International Travel

Financing the Wedding

Here's how we financed the wedding: partly our own savings and the rest through rental income.

We're lucky in a few respects. I own my home. Even in this down economy, I was able to rent it out. I preferred to live in Dean's place because of its proximity to work. His place is $1,200 and we have valet parking.

We each put in $5,000 for a total of $10,000 of our own savings.
My first tenant paid $1,800 for each month of her three-month summer internship. She didn't use the parking spot.
My current tenant pays $2,000 a month which includes parking. He's been in my place for three months so far.
My mortgage is $1,800 with HOAs of $100 so all the rent was mainly upside.

We've put away a grand total of $21,400 into an account that's strictly for the wedding. There's a bit more in there because of interest and Dean's family sent in a few congratulatory checks when they found out we were getting married. That's more than enough. I swore up and down I could hold myself to a budget of $15,000, but we're adding in a few things I'm sure our guests will be pleased with. We're also upping our guest count to a maximum of 150. Even at 150 guests, the wedding will be less than $20,000.

The next post will be a complete update, including a detailed list of our vendors.

Pay Your Fucking Debts

I borrow money all the time. I borrow money from our admin when I don't have change for the vending machine. I write down the amount of $1.00 on a post-it note and promptly pay her back the next day after I get cash from the ATM. Usually I buy some other junk food item at the Subway next door to break my cash. Besides these minor debts, I owe the government for a subsidized loan on grad school. I owe the bank for my private student loan and also my mortgage. I pay these debts consistently and on-time. I pay my credit card on-time. Never ever am I in arrears. Never in my life have I missed a payment due.

These are tough times. I know. Some are having a little bit tougher time than others, but the fact that you don't have a stable job or positive cash flow does not give you the license to neglect your debt. PAY UP! I have a friend from Burning Man who drove my car back from the playa and proceeded to (accidentally) get a parking ticket on my car. Ironically, I told him that the one thing that mattered to me was that he please not get a parking ticket on my car. Please make sure you read the signs and please do not get a parking ticket.

Well, he accidentally slept in and got a parking ticket. All his apologies cannot pay the bill. The bill is paid. Of course, I paid it. But he refuses to answer my emails. I have little faith in him paying me back, but PLEASE HAVE SOME FUCKING SELF RESPECT. It's quite insulting when I see you out and about around town when you should be at home eating Top Ramen so you can save what little money you have to pay me back what is rightly mine.

I have bills, too. I am not prancing around in Prada and wasting money frivolously. I have a $2,900 property tax bill due on December 10th. The second 25% of our catering bill is due mid-December. I, too, would like to buy Christmas presents for my family. Pay me my money, you shithead!

Praise the Lord

On this Thanksgiving, I am most grateful for my soon-to-be husband Dean. He loves me unconditionally. He's there for me even when I'm in the worst mood and I attack him. He reasons, "I know you've been really stressed out and you're taking it out on me. That's ok." He's my personal limo service. He drops me off at work. He picks me up. He buys me chocolate and sends me sweet texts throughout the day. He makes me tea at night. He buys me Lean Cuisines. He's my biggest cheerleader and never ceases to tell people that I'm a published writer who also happens to have a "big PR job." Every year, I've been so grateful for my friends and family (as I am this year, too), but this is a special year because I've found my best friend for life.

Back on Track with the Ace

When I'm dropping well over $10,000 in fees for a wedding (not including filling the hotel over the weekend with our wedding guests), I expect a certain level of service. As a bride, finding out that my catering manager has left was completely unacceptable. Ever hear of disabling an employee's email when they leave?

After going straight to the general manager, the sales director, and the interim catering manager, my fears have been dismissed. They treated us really well, discounting our room, upgrading us, and discounting all of our purchases in the diner, bar, and spa by 20%. The tasting was amazing. All of our guests will be treated to chicken, beef, alaskan cod, pulled pork, berry tarts, and chocolate cake. No choice to make...you'll get everything!

My saving grace here is a local day-of wedding coordinator who has helped me every step of the way. She is worth every penny. She's secured the Friday night welcome dinner venue. She's answered all my questions about weather, temperature, timing, recommended vendors. I couldn't plan this without her sound knowledge of Palm Springs. Fireworks? No problem...not that we're having fireworks. Well, not literally anyway.

P.S. I Love You

While researching wedding venues, I was all over the place: the San Francisco Bay Area, Santa Barbara, San Diego, Phoenix, Scottsdale, Chicago, Hawaii. I discovered a boutique hotel in Palm Springs and became more interested after discussions with the catering manager. Over the 4th of July holiday, we took time off work and came down to scout it out. We fell in love with Palm Springs. It's hot year-round and very relaxing.

Someone said to me, "There's nothing to do in Palm Springs, but hang out by the pool." Umm, I can't think of anything better. If you can't relax and chill by the pool, then I feel sorry for you.

Several months later, we're back down here again and we're loving it more and more. We stayed in the hotel where we're having the wedding for the first time. The rooms are kitschy-cool with record players, bear rugs, and outdoor fireplaces. The rooms also come with luxurious Suite Dreams beds that are heaven. I think I like them more than my Tempurpedic, but Dean says nothing beats my bed.

The hotel is conveniently located near downtown and close to the airport. There's no need to leave with two pools, spa services, a diner, a bar, bikes, Vespas. Plus the price point for having our wedding here (the venue, accommodations, food & drink) could not be beat. We cannot wait to share our wedding weekend with you. It's going to be a blast!

Awww Shit. Big Wedding Problem.

There are a few rules that I live by. 1. If you work hard, you will be successful. There are some people who 'think' they work hard, but they're quite lazy when you compare them to others. Hence, they whine. 2. Those who give shall receive. I've noticed that the most giving people I know are also the wealthiest. But they don't give because they're wealthy. They always gave...even before they were wealthy. 3. If you plan well, things will go well.

Well, things did not go well. Even bad things happen to people who overplan. I was a bit flustered when my catering manager didn't return my email promptly. I figured she was on vacation or something--even though I didn't get an out of office response. So I called the hotel where we're getting married. The front desk answered. "Erin no longer works here. How can I help you?"

Shocked, I didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then I screamed, "Transfer me to your general manager now!"

The poor guy listened as I rambled on heatedly. "This is so unacceptable. I'm getting married at your hotel. One of the main reasons I signed the contract was because of your catering manager Erin. Why is it that I had to discover on my own that she's no longer employed there? When was I going to hear about this? Can you assure me that you know exactly what we had agreed to? What was the point in meeting with her if I'm just going to have to repeat everything again? I know that contract like the back of my hand. All of my issues better be resolved otherwise I'm canceling and I know there's no penalty if I cancel by mid-December."

Go Bears

When I say 'Go Bears,' I don't really mean it. If Cal is playing and I happen to be watching the game, of course, I'll root for Cal. But I am no sports fanatic. I don't get season tickets. I can't in detail recount the bizarre Play between Stanford and Cal. It's just not in me. I was pretty psyched to watch a little bit of The Big Game when we rolled into town on Saturday evening. I was stunned, frankly. My motto for my alma mater has consistently been, "Cal Bears never fail to disappoint." Am I right or what?

So when we won, I couldn't help but scream, "Go Bears!" I know that's hypocritical, but when I say it, I'm really saying, 'Cheers to all the hard-core bears fans out there (I know so many of them) who cheer the school on. They watch every game. They get depressed when we lose. They deserve this win. This is for you. Go Bears!"

SoCal Vacation

Dean and I are both officially on vacation. I call it a working vacation since the premise of the trip is wedding planning. We are both taking one week off work so the next couple posts will be about wedding crap and meeting each others' LA-based friends.

We must've picked the best time to roadtrip down to LA: clocking exactly five hours, three stops, leaving at 1pm Saturday and strolling into Beverly Hills just a little past 6pm. We stayed at the upscale, but tiny Crescent Hotel, dined at The Palm, and drinks at Dan Tana's with Dean's friends. Shockingly, I threw up as soon as we got home. Not sure why, but suspect it had something to do with mixing alcohol and wine. I usually only drink wine these days so I guess the hard alcohol was an affront to my body. Fun double-date with Dean and his friend/wife.

One of the worst things about vacationing is picking up and sleeping in a new place every night. Avoid at all costs. Not until we get to Palm Springs are we staying in a place for more than one night.

It's a Jew World

My coworker is a Disney fanatic. She goes to Disneyland several times a year, Disneyworld annually. I think she even has a Disney condo time share. She's a VIP member. She's on all their email lists. One year, they customized a video and emailed it to her. Her last name is Jew so the video had all this signage "It's a Jew World" and the song "It's a Small World" played in the background. We were totally cracking up about the jew thing.

I never understood when one of my jewish girlfriends said she wasn't attracted to jewish guys because every second or third guy I dated was jewish. I found them to be intellectual, hard-working, witty, and talented. Unlike the agnostic or atheist losers, the jewish guys were gentleman. They offered to pick me up, opened doors, and called instead of texted. One sweetheart baked me a batch of chocolate chip cookies. They were gift-wrapped and he handed them to me at the end of our date. "A gift from me and my daughter. We had a fun time baking them last night." My heart melted.

What was a single girl to do when she likes the jews and they seemed to like her? Join Jdate, of course. The only problem was the jewish girls. They were rather territorial and they gave me shit about it. And I'm talking about my girlfriends. But not the one who didn't like jewish guys. She was encouraging. "I'm glad you're on Jdate. You can take my place. I sure don't want them."

If there were an Fdate for filipino singles or Adate for asians, I would never slight any non-filipino, non-asian for being on it. In fact, I'd be flattered. I think it's great when other cultures get along or other cultures hookup. Doesn't that indicate openness? Like the black women who throw a fit when a black man hooks up with a white woman. They call him a sell-out. Get over it, people. Fucking get over it. There's enough love in this world to go around.

Me, My Business, and Social Media

I went to this panel discussion at the University Club last night on social media. The conference room was flanked by a bunch of marketing MBAs trying to figure out how to integrate social media and the latest trends into their business processes. I'm not the trendsetter when it comes to this stuff, but I understand the importance of it and I use it to cultivate my network.

I came away thinking two things. I'm actually not really behind when it comes to the latest and greatest. I seem to know much more than I give myself credit for and could jive with what the industry experts (Google, Twitter, Salesforce, Foursquare, Myspace) were saying. That said, my company and conservative work culture are far behind. They're far behind because they clearly do not understand the benefits. Hello, it's not just about a friggin fan page! It's about interacting with your customers. Do you think your customers want to wait around on a phone queue to talk to customer service and give feedback? No! They're furiously tweeting about how they're going to take their business elsewhere and they hope their whole network will do the same. They're not ranting at you. They're ranting about you to their friends and family. As business people (and when I say 'business people' I mean every working person in this world), we need to understand the customer experience. We need to interact with our audience. You cannot do that in a vacuum. That's where social media comes in.

I often hear in my company, "Can you believe that blogger made our stock tank? Unbelievable. Bloggers can say anything. Their language isn't approved. You can't trust what they say."

This is a new world. Do you think that people want to go to your boring ass web site to get your same, approved, plain vanilla statements on earnings? Fuck no! Why do you think they're looking to bloggers? Because bloggers have a new perspective. It's renegade. It's different. It's a new spin. Wake up, people. This isn't hard.

Figure out the new technology, the new trends, and make it work for you.

Vacation, Please Come Now

I so need a fucking vacation. I just played a couple rounds of extremely competitive Scrabble and it was so not fun. Next time you play, make sure everyone understands the rules, and there's a neutral party involved. I felt like I was attacked for trying to explain my reasoning with two people who clearly wanted me to lose whether it was fair or not. Unbelievable. I thought board games were supposed to be boring and fun.

I am so tired. One of the admins commented, "You look so tired! Your eyes give it away." Gasp! I used Visine this morning. Didn't it get the red out? I live in a studio apartment. I know, woe is me. The weekend can't come soon enough. My raise is still up in the air.

We are taking a week off to do wedding planning and vacation in Southern California. I'm going to sleep in. Pig out. And lose weight. I can't wait.

Show Me the Money

One of the things that heralds the end of the year is a performance review. Now I've been with my company for five years. In that timeframe, I've gotten great reviews and I've managed only one substantial raise. I got that raise when I packed by bags, moved to another group, and completely switched job functions.

My last boss lied to me. At the time, I didn't feel like I was making enough money. I knew with certainty that I was valued and an integral member of the product management team. This is a fact: my boss could not have done her job without me. She even told me so. I was young and naive back then and probably didn't go about this the right way, but I felt like I needed to show her another offer to make more money. So I went about interviewing. I got a higher paid offer and showed her. She promised to match it. I was satisfied. But I was also stupid, dumb, and completely fucking retarded. I assumed she would stick to her word. She did not. I didn't realize until months later that she never increased my salary. I was too busy at work (this was when I was working like a maniac) to notice no bump up in my paycheck. When stupid me realized, I fumed and asked for backpay. She backtracked and said I never got anything in writing.

I waited until my bonus was deposited into my account, then when it was time for my review, I said, "Well there's no reason for this review since I'm leaving." And I gave her exactly two weeks.

I'm a little more mature now. At least, I'm a lot more zen than the hothead I used to be. This time around, I'm prepared. I know I want to be exactly where I am, but my job function warrants a salary adjustment. I've got the achievements to back it up and documentation to prove my worth. This is all going down sometime this week. And I'm feeling pretty damn good about it.

Say Cheese

Dean and I took some cheesy ass engagement pictures yesterday. A friend of mine had these really great pictures on Facebook and I asked who took them. His co-worker who's studying to get his MFA in photography part-time took them. I started up a conversation with him, asked if he'd consider taking our pictures, and so off we went to Golden Gate Park this weekend.

I'm starting to realize, there are all these fun unique things that people do when they're getting married. This is one of them. Dean and I had a blast making out all over Golden Gate Park.

Filipinos for Pacquiao

I had lunch with Daniel today and he mentioned watching Precious last Friday, too. He said his wife called while he was making his way to the theater, "I think every Black person in Dublin is here." The theater was packed.

I said, "Oh kinda like how every Filipino was watching the Pacquiao fight on Saturday?"

I'm not into sports. I'm certainly not in to boxing. But this much-hyped Pacman, pound-for-pound the best boxer of our time has gotten me just as excited as Dean watching Monday Night Football.

It's such a joy to watch someone from my homeland win. Seriously, what is the Philippines known for besides political corruption and eating dog?

Someone asked me this weekend. "They really eat dog in the Philippines? It's on the menu? Do you know what kind of breed you're eating?"

"Ummm, no silly. It's not like the fish of the day. You can't dine on pug or french bulldog. They're mangey dogs off the street. They're mutts."

The best thing about Pacquiao is how he's united a country that has been completely devastated by the typhoons. Filipinos around the world are singing the national anthem, rooting for this guy at the MGM in Vegas. I finally had something to talk to my Dad about besides random chit-chat.

Pacquiao vs Mayweather. BRING IT!

Precious

Everyone knows I'm not a TV or movie fanatic. I see very few movies a year. But every few years, I see a movie that grips me. It makes me want to shout, "Please, you must see this movie. It is so important." The last movie that did this for me was Brokeback Mountain. That intense, forbidden love jolted me. I walked out of the theater with tears streaming down my eyes. My dating life seemed so irrelevant compared to the screen: two people who loved each other so much, yet could not be together.

The movie Precious has done it for me again. I am so far removed from violence, abuse, neglect. I have an even greater respect for teachers and social workers. But my biggest take-away from the movie was sensitivity. It's very easy for me to think, "Well my parents immigrated here. They worked hard. I worked hard for my career. Anyone can do it." But what if you layer in all the cursing, the gun shots, the rapes. See this movie. This is what Americans are going through. We need to care. Movies like this will wake you up and make you care.

Baby Anniversary

I woke up and I told Dean, "It's our baby anniversary. We've been together for nine months. We could've had a baby by now."

I'm the first to admit that it's shocking how fast my life has changed. I found a boyfriend. We got engaged. We moved in together. We're planning a wedding and honeymoon. I'm figuring out whether or not to sell the home that I own. It seems so adult...so unlike me!

Exactly a year ago, I was working, writing, dating, and figuring out where my next big vacation would be. Now I have to report to someone besides my boss. I have to tell him what my plans are for the week. I have to let him know when I need the car. I have to tell him, "No, please don't follow me to the gym. I need some alone time. Thank you for your understanding."

We're still learning. Of course it takes time, but happy to be together. Very very happy.

Dance Fever

Dean and I are taking dance classes from a studio started up by famed choreographers from Dancing with the Stars. The show has always had an allure for me so you can imagine my excitement when I found the studio to help with our wedding dance.

We need the help. I think when they came up with the phrase 'two left feet,' they were referring to Dean. He was nervous the day of our first class, particularly at night when we made our way over to the studio on Clement Street.

There was a lot of activity for 8pm on a Tuesday. Kids were ending class. Personal instruction was going on. Our instructor Irina is great. She's young, cute, dynamic, and knows how to cater to different levels. She dumbed down our dance to as basic as it can get. She even turned to me and whispered, "You have rhythm. You'll need to keep the beat." I looked over and poor Dean was off in his own little world, practicing and counting out loud to the song. Irina made us promise to practice, practice, practice.

I thought it might be too stressful for Dean or that I'd get irritated with our lack of coordination, but I was surprised at how much fun we had. It's just something different that we're doing together for the first time. I don't even care how the dance turns out, we're really enjoying the classes.

Thankfully Born American

I stomped out of the International College of Cosmetology on Polk Street--livid. I hurried around the corner to my metered parking spot on Fern Alley. If I'd gotten a parking ticket, I would have stomped back to the college and gone postal on all those Asian women with their handwritten notes on how to do a manicure. Is it really that hard? I guess it is.

Three hours earlier, I could hear in my head Dean's recommendation, "You ought to try that cosmetology place on Polk. They do a fine job and they're cheap." I like my $20 nail salon in the Marina, but I decided to give the school a go. Cheap and convenient. Can't beat it.

Even after I handed the receptionist $15, I still should have back-tracked when she seated me in front of a student with a mustache. Call me racist, but this 'stached woman was not Indian or Black, but a fair-skinned, Oil of Olay complexioned Asian. I thought it was so hilarious, I wished I'd had a hidden camera to take her picture. Well, I wasn't laughing a few hours later after a tedious manicure and pedicure.

'Stache meticulously referred to her flashcards like any proper Asian studying for class. She didn't speak a lick of English, instead pointing to pictures that she had drawn out for her customers: square, round, oval. I thought her renderings of various nail beds were cute. I pointed to the round digit. I liked 'Stache. Overall, she did a good job.

Despite the holiday, classes were clearly in session. A group of four were in the back giving a classmate a facial. She was lying down with her feet up in the air. She looked like she was about to get a pap smear. Goodness, these students have a lot to learn. Others were working on mannequin heads, wetting the hair, cutting it into a bob. Next to me, a Black tranny was instructing three manicurists. "If you don't buff during the state boards, you're toast. Ok girls? You gotta buff. That's good Mai. Take a look at what Mai's doing. Buff in one direction. That's right." She was a good instructor--clear and encouraging.

The place was flanked by Asian women. I know my own kind, meaning I know Filipino people, but it's hard for me to distinguish between Vietnamese, Chinese, Korean. Their official cosmetology manual was translated into several languages.

Everything was labeled: polish remover, base coat, top coat. Even the lotion was labeled. Signs along the walls read, "No converse on cell phones." I was amused. Sure, I wasn't comfortable in their fold-out chair, but I was fine. 'Stache had done a good job and now someone was coming over for the pedicure. She looked self-assured and didn't bring over any notes like the other students. But then she started cutting my toe nails using the wrong side of the toe nail clipper. She got frustrated, eventually turning the implement around the right way. My pedicure continued to go downhill from there. After a grueling hour, she finally started to paint. I wish she'd had some notes with her. She sloshed dollops of nail polish onto my toes so that they were gooey. I couldn't say anything. I knew she didn't understand English. I pouted fiercely.

One hour later, my toe nails felt like little cans of paint. Anxious about my car and metered parking, I had to go. I knew as I walked out with socks and boots that my pedicure was ruined. I was furious. I texted Dean, "Just leaving that cosmetology place more than two hours later. Never again!"

What a waste of time. What a waste of my holiday. Then I felt ashamed.

Me and my McDonald's culture of fast everything, expert customer service, and cheap. I will never know what it's like to really fight for my country or work in the armed forces. What does that really mean that people fought for our freedom? I've read about it in text books, but I will never know. I nod and roll my eyes when I hear about my parents immigrating here. I never stop and think. They left their countries. They left their families. And shit...my lucky parents actually speak and understand English. Can you imagine uprooting yourself, leaving your homeland, not knowing anyone, not speaking the language? I cannot imagine. I'll never know what it's like to wish for freedom and dream of a better life like every non-English-speaking woman in that beauty school. Because, thankfully, I was born American.

I'm grateful to all the veterans who have served and continue to serve us. I'm also grateful to the people who courageously immigrate to our country, running it from the bottom up so that all the rest of us have time to dream our big dreams.

Finding the Money

Dean's landlord loves me. He tells Dean, "You got yourself a good girl. She's very practical. Always thinking of ways to save."

It's not that I don't have the money. Believe me, I have enough cold hard cash to buy a $1,425 dress and a $1,200 veil right now if someone put a gun to my head. But because I was raised clipping coupons and only buying things on sale, I just don't have it in me. It's simply a matter of principle.

I really couldn't justify the exorbitant price of the dress. Other bridezillas can because dresses can be re-sold. A typical dress size is 10. Many future brides out there can easily buy that dress at a consignment store and get it altered to fit them. But once a dress gets midgetized into a size less than zero with my flat chest and 23 inch waste, it cannot be resold. Unless some midget Martian lands here and decides she wants to play dress-up with my wedding gown.

The veil? I can actually justify. I know I can sell it. It's like no other veil I've ever seen. My b-school friend this weekend assured me that the veil would go quickly. "My wedding dress? Can't sell it no matter how much I reduce the price. My veil? It sold instantly."

The bridal attendant reduced the price of the veil from $1,200 to $1,000. No sales tax if she ships it to me. I'll try to negotiate it down further.

But my mental calculator is already running.

The Elysian charged me a discounted rate of $150/night. Instead of the three nights I was there, they only charged me for one night. That's $300 I saved right there.

As soon as I got home, I posted an ad on Craigslist. SOLD OUT RAY LAMONTAGNE SHOW - FIFTH ROW SEATS. I hocked our tickets and that night, I had an extra $130 toward my veil. I do want to point out that I profited nothing from this transaction. I abide by the ticket-selling rules of selling for face value. I hope the karma works in my favor.

There's a new, but ill-fitting velvet J.Crew blazer sitting in my closet. I found the receipt and that thing is on it's way to being returned for $70.

Dean and I haven't hired a cleaner the past two months. That's $120, we've saved.

I am more than half-way there. And tomorrow? I'm taking half a dozen bags full of clothing to a consignment shop. If my good karma holds up, that veil will be mine.

Facebook Etiquette

It was a tough decision, but I did not accept their friend requests. OK, I know they're my aunts, but I've got to draw the line somewhere. Here's some background. I come from a really catty family. People make fun of each other. Everyone's rude. They'll kick you when you're down. My aunts especially are no exception. A few years back, my name was googled. They told my mom. Then suddenly, I was in big trouble for writing as frankly as I did. No more. I've had it. Sure, they can still google my name and read my blog, but there's no need to have my life front and center in their Facebook feed. Especially when they only have a handful of friends. They would have a field day with my tweets.

My biggest worry will be the day either of my parents requests to be my Facebook friend. Please let their social media retardedness continue for the near future.

My other regret was adding co-workers as friends. A friend of Dean's has this policy of not accepting any of his co-workers and I thought, "God, I should have done that!"

With that, here is an interesting article written by the CEO of Joie de Vivre hotels. He's a Burner and got into a bit of hot water when pictures of him half-naked in the desert circulated on the interweb. Check it out. He gives me hope. If ever I get fired for being who I am, the first call will be to Joie de Vivre for a job.

Hallelujah, I've Purchased My Wedding Gown

Well, people, I bit the bullet and bought my wedding gown. No, I did not pay $1,425. I paid $300 and no, I'm not stupid. Believe me, a lot of checks and balances went into purchasing my dream dress for 20% of the retail value.

1. I actually tried the dress on. I found it at a high-end Chicago boutique. The designer is San Patrick. It's everything I wanted in a dress for a destination wedding. It doesn't look like a puffy, elaborate quinceanera dress. It's sleek, chic, and perfect for a petite midget like me.

2. I found the dress on Buyer100.com which is probably a slave labor camp for Chinese women. While there are several of these 'made-in-China' sites, I particularly liked Buyer100 for their thoroughness and promptness in responding to all of my emails. I feel like I have a pen pal relationship with Adela in Beijing. Their pricing is slightly higher, but I appreciated their higher standard of customer service.

3. Buyer100 sent me at least a dozen pictures of actual dresses that they've created on mannequins. I was able to compare these with the designer pictures to get a sense for how closely they resemble the couture dresses. They are pretty damn close. I'm not going to lie and say they're identical. It's obvious why a dress is several thousand dollars--there's more beading, more lace. It really does look better, but the difference surely does not warrant a several thousand dollar difference.

4. The normal turnaround time is two months, but I decided to get mine expedited to one month for an additional 10%. So call me in a month and ask if I'm happy.

5. They have a 100% return guarantee within seven days. If for any reason I'm unhappy, I'm shipping that dress back pronto.

6. I paid with my credit card which I think eliminates a lot of the riskiness factor. If it doesn't show up in one month...I'll make sure my credit card refunds me. Not what I wanted?...I'll be sure to get my money back. Worst case scenario and the shop is a scam? I'm fully protected.

Looking forward to the package arriving in the mail. 30 day countdown.

Married to Another

I remember our last date in Chicago, six years ago. He wanted it to be special so we went to the Peninsula Hotel for the spectacular views of the city down below. He was graduating, heading to Wall Street. I was going home to take a finance internship at Cisco. I could've kicked myself for concentrating all my efforts on California. I should be in New York with him. I made him promise to visit me. "You want me to?" He asked shyly.

"Of course!" I gushed. "If you don't, I'll come chase you down in New York." I thought I could have married him.

He never visited. True to my word, I literally chased him down on the Upper East Side. He was no longer interested. Either he met someone or just knew long distance wasn't going to work. I was crushed.

By the time I graduated, though, I'd dated plenty of others I thought I could have married. A girlfriend once challenged me, "If you could have married them, you would have. But you didn't."

I became giddy this weekend when I walked past the Peninsula Hotel. And my heart fluttered when I came in contact with ex-flames. What if I'd moved to New York? What if I'd moved to LA like a friend of mine who, of course, ended up getting engaged and married her business school crush.

I think you can have many loves in life. At one point, you find one who is perfectly aligned with your personality, your values, and your timing. Then it just clicks and you're heading down the aisle.

There was a poem I kept in my diary when I was a kid. The gist of it was that a broken heart develops a hinge, so when it happens a second or third time, it just swings open then shuts like a gate.

It's never as crushing as the first time, but when an email comes through, "I heard you got engaged. Please tell me it isn't so." Your heart sinks, and you can't help but wonder...what if?

Where to Stay in Chicago

I do believe I've found the best hotel in the world. Check out the Elysian in Chicago. It's not yet open to the public; I got in through a connection. Centrally located in the Gold Coast of Chicago with all the amenities you can imagine. The spa, the gym, and the indoor pool are amazing. My room was 700 square feet with one and a half bathrooms. I didn't want to leave the hotel. They are hoping to open sometime in mid- to late-November. My room was discounted heavily so I can't say how much the room rate will be. They wouldn't even tell me at the front desk. They said it all depends on the day of week, the time of year, etc. Hopefully it's in my price range though, because whenever I come back to Chicago, I know where I want to be.

Dream Dress

I had to come to Chicago to find my dream dress. I've been searching for a wedding gown for the past couple months. I've been to most of the boutiques in the city. I've searched preownedweddingdresses.com hundreds of times. I couldn't find anything I loved. I felt like I knew exactly what I wanted: sweetheart neckline, mermaid/trumpet fit, chiffon fabric. Every time I tried something on, it never met all of my criteria.

I decided I would go to one boutique while I was here in Chicago. Dimitra's Bridal which is one block away from my hotel. What I like about Dimitra's is that they carry the couture lines that I like: Pronovias, San Patrick, Model Novias. Do you sense a Spanish designer theme, here? Four dresses in, I found my dream dress. As soon as I saw it on, I knew it was the one, meeting all of my criteria. I gasped. "This is it. Omigosh, this is it."

The attendant smiled. "You're so skinny, you look great in all our dresses, but this one is beautiful on you."

I loved it. Then she found a veil and stuck it on my head. The picture was complete. The veil made me look even better. I asked how much the dress was. $1,425. I told her I'd think about it, but that I'd take the veil. Cost of the veil, $1,200.

I left empty-handed and now scouring online to have the dress made in China. But that gorgeous veil...don't know what to do about that. Cannot find that graduated lace with diamonds anywhere.

The Best of Chicago

Being in Chicago brings back so many memories. Taking the blue line from O'Hare into the city. Riding in a cab that's not as expensive as San Francisco. Strolling up and down Michigan Avenue. Looking out toward the Lake. Taking in the public art installations in Millennium Park. Watching all the people shop in Nordstrom's, H&M, Apple. I feel so lucky that I got accepted to the University of Chicago and came to this city. Chicago is such a fun town with good people. Like really good people. Even the bums are friendly. They're smiling. They're not aggressive like where I'm from. This place is so alive in ways that San Francisco is not. The 4am last calls. The vibrant night life throughout every neighborhood of Chicago. It's also bad for my health. No wonder I fattened up by 20 pounds when I lived here. But the streets are safe. It's such a damn good time here except for the weather. And we lucked out with 60-70 degree weekend weather in November. Unbelievable. So glad to be enjoying the best of Chicago.

Pre-Vacation Eats

Vacation's not really vacation until you get on a plane, go somewhere and land. So my pre-vacation consisted of wine and oysters at the new Mayes Oyster Bar on the seedy side of Polk Street. Skip it. The place looks like someone suddenly came across a lot of money and decided to open up a restaurant. It's cheesy and tasteless with vulgar decor. Dean said he was surprised he didn't see framed pictures of basketball stars lining the walls. After that tragic bad decision, we recovered by spending the rest of the night at Amelie which is the wine bar where we met. Amelie is french chic adorable with dim lighting and accents of red. When you're there, make sure to order a tray of their homemade chocolates. Dean isn't a dessert person, but he said it's now his favorite thing on the menu. Vacation is all about food, yes? The next morning before heading to the airport, my dad and I went to Brenda's French Soul Food back on the very very seedy side of Polk Street. The problem with Brenda's on the weekends is it's jam-packed. The line wraps around the corner past Kentucky Fried Chicken. Weekdays? No problem. I also found out from their web site that the owner Brenda is Filipino Creole. Very interesting. I knew my dad would love it. We packed what we didn't eat to go and as we were making our way back to the car, my dad gave the food to a homeless man. When you live in the city and see homelessness everywhere (hello Gavin, do you think you think you can try to focus on our city now instead of your political fucking aspirations?!), you get desensitized. I surely don't give away my to-go items, especially from coveted brunch spots like Brenda's. Good for my dad for still seeing the suffering in people. Sadly, I'm so inclined to avoid the homeless and their requests for change ("Like Obama, I need change."), I forget they're human. But all of that is out of my head now because I am on vacation!

The Secret Diet

When I get sick, all I care about is getting better. Food makes me feel better: spicy tom yum soup, chips, cookies, chocolate. I crave all the caloric crap my mom never let me have as a kid. When I bite down onto a See's Candy, I perk up. No wonder it's called comfort food. One thing is on my mind during illness: make myself feel better. I lament that all those weeks of working out at the gym have gone down the drain. My reunion is coming up and I'll be back to my heavy self. Classmates will snicker that I never lost the poundage I put on in business school.

But I don't let those thoughts keep me from porking out. First things first. Be well. I can worry about losing the weight when I'm healthy again. I tell myself I'll run more, run faster. I'll spend the night in the steam room if I have to. But in the mean time, it's tom yum soup, lots of sugar, and lots of salt.

Once darkness turns into light, I always fear stepping on the scale. Surprisingly, I always lose weight. It doesn't matter that I pigged out on the snack aisle of Walgreen's. It doesn't matter that I hadn't gone to the gym in a week.

The same thing happens when I go on vacation. Vacations are all about food, right? Trying the regional cuisine, pairing it with wine. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Back at home, the scale calls to me. But the number always pops up lower than if I'd been running two back-to-back marathons. What gives?

A lot of people figure I'm lying and I'm probably not eating as much when I'm sick. Not true. When I'm normal healthy Catherine, I'm restrained. I have soy milk for breakfast, a Lean Cuisine for lunch, an afternoon snack, then probably another microwavable entrée for dinner. Then I run for half-an-hour. When I'm sick, I gorge. I order a grande peppermint hot chocolate with whip from Starbucks, eggs & sausage from the café, tom yum soup with rice for lunch, chips from the vending machine, Specialty's chocolate chip cookie, another tom yum soup (different than lunch) for dinner, plus green beans and tofu with more rice. Then I sit and let it all collect in my tummy while staring mindlessly at whatever Dean has on the TV.

What's the point of working out if I can lose more weight laid up on my couch, snacking on Cheetos and reading Kathy Griffin's Official Book Club Selection? A whole population of workout-aholics will tell you they feel better. They feel healthier. I beg to differ. I don't feel any better running on the treadmill every day. I actually feel worse! Achy, sore, and in dire need of a sports massage. I'd rather not work out, feel just fine, and reduce my risk of injury.

Who will join me in my crusade to not work out, lose weight, and still feel good?

Writing as Craft

When I was in college, one of my biggest pet peeves (Besides being asked if I got in because of affirmative action---ummm, sorry, but Asians are not considered for affirmative action. And by asking, you insulted my intelligence and I want you to die.) was people saying they could "just be an English major." Like it was so easy to be an English major. I know it's not Computer Science. Ooohhh, scary! Or Physics or Engineering. But English is not a degree that you "just get." You have to be logical. You have to be creative. You have to prove your thesis just like any mathematical theorem.

Today, I'm surrounded by people who say, "Maybe I'll just pickup writing." Or "When I retire, I think I'll write a book." Writing is not easy. It is a craft that you hone. Can you imagine if I went up to one of my lawyer friends and said, "Maybe I"ll just practice law." Or to the doctors, "Maybe I'll just start writing prescriptions." It is NOT any different. Just because you tweet and write emails does not mean that you're a writer. It's very insulting. You're telling me that my craft is easy. It's simple. It's a talent that can be picked up like picking up a writing utensil. It cannot. It takes time, practice, dedication. I dedicate my life to writing. I take classes. I study the masters. I write every single day.

It's like going up to Tori Amos and saying, "Maybe I"ll just start playing the piano, singing, and writing music." No can do, people. It's a career. Artists practice every day. They sing. They do drugs so they can work like maniacs. It's a tough job.

Nothing is simple in this life. Not even writing.

Ahhh, Friendship

From: Facebook
Date: Mon, Nov 2, 2009 at 1:32 PM
Subject: Mike sent you a message on Facebook...
To: Marc

Mike sent you a message.
--
Subject: hi from Mike

Hi Marc,
Dean (via Catherine) mentioned that I should say hello to you.

Hello. ;-)

Not sure what else to say -- maybe go for a drink/coffee sometime?

Mike

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Marc Gallagher
Sent: Monday, November 02, 2009 2:23 PM
To: Gacad, Catherine
Subject: Fwd: Mike sent you a message on Facebook...

What have you guys done?? Who is this guy?

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CATHERINE

remember i told you about dean's co-worker who moved here from the east coast, has no friends, etc, lives in like russian hill or some place where he shouldn't.

and i told you that you would gobble him up, and leave him for dead?

but you said, no, that i should put him in contact with you. don't you remember this???

but from his message, he kinda sounds like a total dud. bad introductory approach. probably why he has no friends. anyhow, leave him for dead for all i care.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

MARC

haaaaaaaaa. intros aside, it looks like he has yellow teeth.

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CATHERINE

not too much better than yours.

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MARC

sweetie, mine are bleached whiter than michael jackson's face. may he RIP.

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CATHERINE

well that's good because it's time to start focusing on your gut.

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MARC

agreed. and you should really start thinking about your face.

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CATHERINE

you are going to die alongside keith chin, gripping each other. two soul mates...meant to be together forever.

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MARC

and you are going to die from a knife in your face from your husband sick of you henpecking him.

but alas, i will go to your funeral.

Halloween 2009

I used to hate Halloween. I've never been creative enough to come up with cool costumes. With my addictive personality, I gorge on chocolate and feel like crap the next day. And then there was the Castro fiasco. So ghetto unfabulous.

The ill will goes back to the first time I had to dress up in kindergarten. I picked through the costumes at Long's Drugs and found a Raggedy Ann getup complete with plastic mask. I was so excited to find such an original costume! Then I got to school and was totally embarrassed to walk in the parade. My classmate Cindy had thick moppy red hair and a homemade outfit with striped leggings. She was Raggedy Ann and I was a poor impersonation. I walked around in the parade, glad to be hiding under a mask--totally ashamed.

I've started to warm up to Halloween, probably because I'm an adult now. I can hem and haw at all the cute young-ins dressed as princesses, robots, pirates. Everyone's so cute! Dean and I headed to Brisbane and went trick-or-treating with the whole fam: my parents, my sister, my brother-in-law, my two nephews, my brother-in-law's mom who flew in from Virginia. I carried chocolate in my bag and distributed to my favorite costumed munchkins I saw along the way: the bumble bee, the ninja turtle. I think the best is when the parents dress up, too. The dad in a mullet and the mom in a sixties dress.

A bunch of my friends were at the big Ghost Ship party on Treasure Island. I'm so overworked and too much of a stress case to deal with the Bay Bridge closure, parking, porta-potties. Maybe I'm getting old, but right now, I need to pass on the large-scale chaotic parties. I just want to trick-or-treat with the kiddies.