16 December 2013

Fuck you Poste Italiane

Today I got a package from my mother with dresses for Peanut.

She sent it in June.

Obviously none of the summer jumpsuits will fit her for this summer nor do they even fit her now.

I hate the Italian postal system with a white hot seething rage. When I sent my wedding invitations, my elderly aunt's and my grandmother's invites never showed up, amongst others. I also discovered at that same time that a bunch of the baby gift thank you cards I had sent months before also never made it.

*rage face*

Gonna resend them when we go stateside in January; USPS is far more reliable.

In other news, we have recovered from the wedding madness only to plunge into moving madness. Having initially hate the area we live in, it's grown on me and we found a larger apartment on the street behind where we are currently. Unfurnished though, so I've been vintage hunting the classifieds. We start moving stuff in today, and move officially at the start of January. Then onto the aforementioned and much needed visit/honeymoon stateside.


14 November 2013

Tiffany Ginestra & Claudio Luca got married

During the walk through of the marriage rites with Padre Affably Cranky SpaceCake, he had us practice by reading the vows from an old program he had. Mon Amour never missing a chance to faff around, read in all seriousness

"I, Mon Amour, take you Ginestra..."
"No you have to say her name instead of Ginestra"
"Well you just said to read this."

Here I am already getting giggly. Then it was my turn

"You have to say Mon Amour instead of Luca"
*snicker snicker giggle* "Got it."
"Ahem. I, Resident Dictator, take you..."

And as I read the word "Luca", Reader, I lost it. A five minute hysterical semi-nervous stress-induced tears running down my face giggle fest ensued, with a bewildered Padre, my amused but equally bewildered mother, and a bemused Mon Amour looking on.

Fast forward to the wedding. One of the many things that fell to the wayside due to lack of time was printing our own programs. I had briefed my two sisters as to their roles in the mass as my testimone. But Padre Affably Cranky SpaceCake threw a couple of surprises in there. For the "Lord Hear Our Prayers" call and response, he had Middle Sis read out a line from his program.

"May The Lord bless Tiffany and Claudio in...excuse me? Oh. OH. May The Lord bless Resident Dictator and Mon Amour..."

I confess I didn't hear the rest. I already fucked up my eye makeup getting teary eyed during the homily and pronouncing my vows earlier (and let's me tell you trying to surruptiously wipe my accompanying runny nose sans hanky while the photographer is making me feel like there's 40 Papparazzi around is just not possible)  Now the last of it was about to smear as well because I fucking lost it again, this time in a church full of people behind me watching my shoulders shake and Padre CrankyPanta glaring at me balefully. Trying to count cherubs on the cieling was of no use; I snorted and sputtered and deep breathed my way through the next 5 minutes until I got it under control.

It was the perfect wedding.

We are almost recovered from the planning and organizing and visits and whatnot.

Now I just have to figure out who has the video of my bitch mother in law throwing rice directly into my eyes with obvious saccharin malice not once but twice... but that's a story for another day :)

27 September 2013

(Wedding) Culture Clash

Having decided to make my own dress, I'm discovering that, upon prompting for dress details, revealing my sartorial decision is garnering horrified reactions from my Italian female friends. It's apparently bad luck for the bride to be involved in the making of her dress.

I'm having to bite my tongue to stop from saying something inappropriate like "Fuck that noise"

Mon Amour is not exempt from these superstitions. When discussing who's arriving when and sleeping arrangements:

"Your mom and sister can sleep at our place."
"That's going to be a little crowded don't you think?"
"No it won't. I'll be at my parents' house for three days before the wedding."
"Um. What?"
"It's bad luck for us to see each other for three days before the wedding."
"Um. What?!"
"Are you serious?"
"Let me rephrase that. Do you seriously think that we aren't going to see each other for three days before the wedding considering there's our daughters first birthday and everything to organize in our very very DIY wedding on a shoestring in those days?"
"Fuck that noise."

15 September 2013

Flower Girl WTF

So am really hating this wedding planning stuff. It takes my champagne tastes on a beer budget, melds with my OCD tendencies and pits them directly against my proclivities towards penny pinching. All  of which begets (begats? begatten? whatever) a persistent throb in my temples, not aided by Peanut teething and running us ragged with the walking every second she is awake (and then some - I find her in the crib sometimes squalling with her eyes still shut standing without the help of the rails. Already a sleep walker, I see...)

Anywho, seeing as Peanut has this walking thing down cold, she'll be bringing our rings down the aisle *snerk* I think that's going to be like herding cats, to be honest. As such she needs a dress and I have been online shopping since Grammy is insisting on buying it. I would delegate, but if I leave it up to my mom, Peanut ends up wearing a lot more ruffles than Mommy's tastes can handle.

But duuuuuuude. Here is another racket. $200 for an infant/toddler flowergirl dress? Are you fucking kidding? And I'd say about 85% are just monster puffs of tulle, which despite my past in the world of pointe shoes and tutus...[sticks finger down throat, makes retching noise] Um, no. Why would I want my daughter to look like a shower puff with legs?

I have yet to go look on Regretsy, but I leave you with this:

THE ORIGINAL Mini Audrey Hepburn Tutu Dress by Atutudes!

You too can dress your toddler like a shower puff of a fictional high class escort. * facepalm*

11 September 2013


So Peanut can now stand up on her own steam without pulling herself up on the nearest object. With arms above her head she baby hulk stomps around the house for hours. And we follow behind teaching the meaning of NO.

NO you cannot toddle out to the balcony by yourself.
NO you cannot play with the power cord.
NO you cannot use your toys to climb up on the entertainment unit

Wait, WHAT?

Homegirl is too smart for her own good. She's starting to say "ciao" and thismorning  spontaneously played PeekABoo with Daddy for 10 minutes straight. We're also back to refusing food from a spoon because her first tooth has broken through, with the second seemingly on its way as well.

Daddy's car keys are next, methinks...