Thursday, March 08, 2007

The Long Island Tea Party (the bitchy review)

As some of you have already heard me bitch and moan about, I wasted an entire evening yesterday attending a "tea party" thrown by Perfect Wedding Planner. Truly, I didn't know what to expect. I was told that there'd be tea, petit fours, finger sandwiches, and other teensy weensy nibblies all for free. Obviously, I was sold, so our banquet manager made all the arrangements for my appointment.

My mom and I arrived 30 minutes late because no one believes me when I say exit 36N on the Northern State Parkway. Eventually, we apologetically enter the pristine halls of Fox Hollow and are quickly and quietly ushered up to the PWP office. Inside is a room of 6 women sitting around perfectly modern glass tables with fancy teapots and Viennese trays of untouched caloric goodies. Of course, I'm surrounded by fuckin' size zero Long Island princesses who only consume hot water with lemon.

James, a PWP wedding planner/coordinator and our speaker for the evening, is animatedly waving his arms while he talks about the importance of planning your wedding just so and doing things just like this and using just these vendors. I quizzically look around the room to see all the ladies bobbing their heads in perfect unison to the beating of this bitchy diva's wedding bible.

Up goes my arm.

Me: James, if you're having an outdoor cocktail reception, how is the sound of a single violin player going to carry in the open air and with the commotion of a crowd? According to Wedding Chic, it's always too animated and noisy during the cocktail hour for music, so you should either skip it or have your DJ set up a speaker for some background music off a CD.

Pure disdain as he looks at me (for the first time since I entered the room) and says,

James: Well, I always position the violin player at the entrance to the cocktail hour. Even if you can't hear it throughout the space, you'll enter to a lovely sound.

Me: Well, obviously my reception is here at Fox Hollow and the entrance to the cocktail reception area is not all that far from valet parking. Won't it be too noisy?

James: In that case, I'd highly recommend a steel drum band.

I could have said, "Are you fucking kidding me? A steel drum band during the cocktail hour prior to a formal reception?" but I didn't. It became clear to me who I was dealing with.

Later in the presentation James talks about how there's only one style of wedding photography these days and the key word is "photojournalism." "Oh, what's that?" one silly, retarded bride says as I snort and chuckle under my breath. Up goes the arm again.

Me: "James, photojournalism has been a popular style of photography for several years now, so I think it would be more helpful if you could explain how one should go about choosing between photographers. Everyone calls themself a photojournalistic photographer these days, but there are dozens and dozens to choose from."

James: "Well, it's simple. Just choose from the four photographers we recommend in our brochure."

Ding! It's become perfectly clear to me now that this is all one GIANT SALES PITCH. Well, in that case, I'm not going down without a fight. I proceed to ask a series of more difficult questions, all of which make him look like a flustered buffoon, and his answers for me become more dismissive. There were a few moments when I felt minor victories, but all in all the evening felt like a losing battle. I hate that I'm so desperately approval seeking because if I weren't, I probably wouldn't be so worked up about this.

Had I known that this was going to be like sitting through a presentation for a time share, I wouldn't have bothered. And, had I known that I would be in a room full of Other Brides (or Stepford Brides, as Nikki so cleverly dubbed them) who made me feel like a beached whale salivating for chocolate covered strawberries and sugar for my rancid Lipton tea, I most definitely wouldn't have bothered. And finally, had I known that the presenter would take every opportunity to shame me in a room full of women with skating rink diamonds on their left hands, I would have run screaming for the hills.

In closing...

Dear James:

You took the wind out of my sails, you pompous, arrogant queen. Just because you have a surface knowledge of the wedding industry does not mean you should take it out on me and make me feel like the bad seed in the class, the upstart with the questions, and the geek with the pocket protector. GRRRRR!

Screw you,
A Bride with a Brain

1 comment:

moonrat said...

Honey, I think it's quite obvious who won here!