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8 Days And Counting

For those of you who only keep up with my life via this blog, so sorry I have kept you in suspense about the red tape I’ve been wading through. Turns out I got my visa from the Italian consulate two days after I had turned it in (while some folks in NY had to wait 2 weeks), so hooray for efficiency in Philadelphia (who knew I would ever type those words?).

I definitely felt vindicated when I heard about the delay in changing the passport rules because the passport agencies were backed up. I heard all these stories on the radio about people who missed their own destination weddings (thank goodness we stayed in the country!) because of the backup and a myriad of other, much worse stories than mine. It is a little weird that there are only 15 passport agencies in the entire country that you can go in person to fix a problem with your passport, most of which are on either coast. What about all those poor people in the middle of the country? The only non-port city agencies are Aurora, Colorado and Chicago (although technically Chicago is a port city, too, just not on an ocean). I guess you’re just out of luck if you live in Kansas or Wyoming and you need to talk to a real person about expediting your passport. Once again, I’m very thankful Philadelphia is so close (even if their agency doesn’t honor the appointment system).

Most of my shopping is done. I have good walking shoes, sensible clothing, and the last thing I have to get is a nice concert dress (I have lots of concert attire, but nothing really super formal). I’ve just got one more week of work, and then I’m out of here! (until I come back, of course)

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The Italian Consulate

So I finally got my passport in the mail, and the next stop on my bureaucratic adventure was to the Italian consulate.

I have to say, for a country that used to be communist, I expected a whole lot more red tape and hassle than I had to go through to get my visa. Granted, when I showed up to the consulate (15 minutes before the office opened, and I was 3rd in line), I had all my paperwork in order, but they seemed to have a much more organized processing system than the U.S. passport folks.

Now I have to wait for my application to get processed (”It’ll get done when it gets done,” the lady at the window said), which hopefully won’t take more than a week or so. Still, I’m on pins and needles until I get my visa in my grubby little hands. In the meantime, though, I’ve managed to do some shopping for comfortable walking shoes and lightweight clothes. Apparently, it gets pretty hot in Umbria in the summer!

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Fun With Bureaucrats

When Ray and I got married, the folks at the Hawaii Dept. of Health told us it would take 120 days to process our marriage certificate. Ray didn’t have a problem with that because he didn’t really need the certificate for anything. However, I soon realized that if I was going to change my name with any kind of alacrity, I’d need that certificate sooner than later, so I coughed up the $10 expedition fee.

When I got the certificate, I changed all the usual things; I called up my credit cards to change them, I waited at the social security office for hours on end, and surprisingly, the DMV took the least amount of time and effort.

The only thing I had left to change was my passport, and since I figured I wasn’t leaving the country any time soon, I decided to mail my passport in, along with documentation of my name change, to the State Department for regular processing (10 weeks).

Of course, a week after I had mailed it all in, I got an offer to go to Italy. Go figure. So now that my passport is in the bowels of the State Department, it’s up to me to dive into its putrid maw and fish it out.

I went on the passport website, which says in no uncertain terms that they are very busy, so don’t bother calling the number they’ve provided, because you won’t get through. The best way to get in touch with them if you have a question, they say, is by email…but don’t be surprised if they don’t respond to your email for two days.

So first I emailed them, and, true to their word, they responded 2 days later, telling me that my best bet is to go in person to a passport agency. But oh, by the way, you can’t just walk in, you have to have an appointment, and they won’t give you an appointment unless you’re traveling within 2 weeks.

Oh yeah, and in order for you to get that appointment, you need to call that number that we’ve been warning you not to call because you won’t get through.

So I called the dreaded phone number, which is answered by a message full of dire warnings not to even bother hoping to speak with anyone, because everyone at the passport office is so overloaded, they can’t be bothered with your problems. After their 5-minute dissertation, they present you with the following options:

  1. Check on the status of your passport (which then refers you to the website, which in turn refers you back to the phone number of doom).
  2. Schedule an appointment; choosing this option takes you to an automated scheduling system. One would think that this would be the easiest option, since it doesn’t involve human interaction at all. However, this system clearly doesn’t have enough phone lines piping into it, since out of the almost 30 times I called, I only got through once. The other 29 times, I got a message saying that the scheduling system was overloaded with calls, and that I should please try again later. Then the automated system hung up on me.
  3. Contact customer service with a question. You mean, like, “How come your automated scheduling system doesn’t have the time of day to talk to me? Is anyone really working there? Why don’t you invest in more phone lines?” As one might expect, I could never get through to a real person. After choosing this option, another message plays, reminding me of how busy they are over there, and to expect long wait times. I hunker down for a long wait time on hold, and the damn system hangs up on me. Again.

I went to gethuman.com, my favorite resource for situations like this, so I could find a way to talk to a real person. I followed the directions, pressed the requisite numbers, and got the exact same customer service message I would have gotten if I had gone the regular route. And it hung up on me again.

Finally, at 11:47 PM, I finally got through to the automated scheduling system. I scheduled my appointment, listened to more warnings that they would not be able to see me unless I was leaving or needed a visa within 2 weeks, and got my confirmation number.

Just to make sure, I visited the web page devoted to the Philadelphia passport agency (there are only 8 of these across the country; thank goodness I didn’t have to travel 1,000 miles to go to one of these places). The web page said to make sure you arrive 15 minutes early for your appointment, and if you are more than 15 minutes late, you would have to go through the whole rigmarole again to get another appointment.

So I arrived not 15 minutes early, but 30 minutes early for my 9:30 appointment this morning. As I got to the building, I noticed that there was a long line of people queuing outside. I was informed that this was the line for passports.

“But I have an appointment,” I protested. Oh no, the security guard told me, they don’t work with the appointment system in Philadelphia. It’s first come, first served, and people usually start lining up at 8:30 in the morning.

So I got in line and just tried to stay thankful that it was a beautiful day to be standing outside. It certainly could have been worse.

Once inside and past the metal detector (which by the way, picked up my wedding ring set…not even airport metal detectors are that sensitive), I was directed to a line where they determined whether or not you needed a passport within 2 weeks. I passed the test (I told them I needed enough time for the Italian work visa to process), and I was given a number.

An hour and a half after I had arrived at the State Building, I left, my mission accomplished. No, I don’t have my passport in hand–not yet, anyway–but it will be express mailed to me, and I should have it in plenty of time.

Of course, once I get my passport, I still have to apply for a visa from the Italian Consulate. I’m sure that will be a barrel of fun.

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Feeling Better Now

Okay, so I found out when I got to work yesterday that my boss freaked out on me last week because one of the other women who works at the office decided that she’s going to become a flight attendant and just gave 2 weeks’ notice, and she did it right before I told my boss I was going to Italy for three weeks. So my boss is really happy for me, but she freaked out because she was just shocked. Now I don’t feel nearly as bad as I did on Friday.

Then yesterday I got the rolling kitchen cart I’ve been waiting for, and today my baker’s rack arrived, and things are FINALLY starting to get more organized in our house since our roommates left. There’s something comforting about having things in their proper place, and not on the floor.

So all is well, and I’m off to go assemble my baker’s rack.

(I think that last sentence sounds mildly dirty, but I don’t care.)

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Bleagh

I’m feeling kind of icky right now, so I guess I’m going to use this blog as a personal catharsis machine, just like the rest of the world does with their blogs.

So here’s the deal. I recently got an offer from a conductor I worked with last winter to sing at a music festival in Italy this summer. It’s last minute, and it doesn’t pay that well, but they pay for transportation and housing, plus we get a little stipend for food (enough to live modestly). It’s not solo work, but it’s challenging musically, which is what I’ve been really hoping for recently, since I seem to be stuck doing a lot of the same-old choral stuff (which is great…I’m not complaining, but I’m also not challenged enough, I think).

I’m absolutely signed up for the job, so there’s no dilemma as to whether or not to go. I mean, come on, someone is going to pay for me to go to Italy? And sing? This is a chance of a lifetime, and I’m totally psyched to go. I’ve already got my Learn-Italian-Really-Fast CD playing in my car so I can brush up on the two semesters of Italian that I took 14 years ago.

I know I shouldn’t feel bad, I should feel happy and excited, but I all feel right now is bleagh (that’s a technical term, by the way.  It is that icky, vomitous feeling you get when you say the word “bleagh.”). It’s weird.

Now for the psychoanalysis: why am I feeling bleagh? Well, for one thing, I haven’t had a whole lot of time to prepare for this trip. We leave at the end of June for three and a half weeks, and Ray can’t go with me because he’s got to earn the bread and pay the mortgage and make leather stuff so we can go on vacation together another year. That’s probably the hardest thing, since we’re still in our honeymoon phase, I think…our roommates just moved out and we’ve been redecorating and being all lovey-dovey, and I’ll definitely miss him terribly.

But the second reason I feel bleagh is that I just told my transcription boss I’m going to be gone for three and a half weeks, and she was pretty upset. I know she’s probably not upset enough to fire me (and even if she did, that might not be a bad thing in the long run), but the thing that makes me feel bad is that I made her feel bad. How lame is that?

I also took on a whole lot of volunteer stuff with AGMA, and I may not be able to live up to my responsibilities because of this trip, and I feel pretty bad about that too. Not as bad as missing the job, though, since the AGMA stuff is volunteer, but I still feel pretty bad.

My head knows that I should not feel guilty about getting paid to go to Italy and sing. This is, after all, what my real career is about. Ray is totally on board with it and very supportive. Even the folks at AGMA are supportive, because they understand that one must take these jobs to further one’s singing career. So why do I feel guilty about leaving my piddly little day job who can get a temp to replace me? I really don’t know. I think maybe I just need to push through the guilt and remind myself that I’M GOING TO ITALY!

Yeah, that helps.

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The Reception in NJ

When we got back to NJ, we had a week to prepare for the reception. I was still riding on the high from the honeymoon, so I was totally laid back for our final meeting with the caterer. The NJ caterer was much more organized than the Hawaii caterer, I can tell you that!

(quick side note as an illustration: the NJ caterer sent a finalized contract, complete with bridal checklist and insurance liability waivers for our DJ and photographer a full month before the event; on the other hand, I had to hunt the Hawaii caterer down myself a few weeks before we left to get a final contract, and even then, I never gave her a signed version…it had changed by the time the contract got to me, and my dad is still disputing the bar, which is entirely another story. Suffice to say there was nothing unclear about the way things were run in NJ!)

We didn’t have a whole lot of people from the Hawaii wedding come to NJ (go figure). Just our roommates (of course), my brother, my cousin D. (who was taking pictures), and my MoH, who flew all the way from CA to be there.

On the morning of the reception, I almost had a hissy fit because I didn’t have a schedule written out, until I remembered (when MoH and Ray reminded me) that this was the no-pressure party, and all the hard work is already done. The only things I had to do before the party were: get my hair done and get my makeup done.

Strangely enough, this ended up being more complicated than I had originally planned. About a month beforehand, I had made an appointment at a nice salon to get my hair and makeup done. Unfortunately, while I was in Hawaii, I got a call from my hairdresser telling me that the salon had burned down!!!!!

Luckily, she was now doing business at a place down the street. But they didn’t do makeup, and nobody had any references for me. So MoH and I went to the mall to get our makeup done! And it was so fun!

But it only got complicated when we spent too long at the mall and got to the hair appointment about ten minutes late, and then the hairdresser took a REALLY long time on my hair. Granted, I have longer hair than MoH, but we ended up arriving at the reception venue about five minutes before the cocktail hour was about to start, which was nerve-wracking.
Once we arrived at the reception site, in my jeans and button-down shirt, full makeup and hair-do (including veil), there was no need to announce to the waitstaff who I was. They went into full serving mode, and they ushered me into the bridal suite. There was a HUGE bathroom as well as a couch and a vanity with a big mirror. MoH and I took turns admiring how big the bathroom was…we agreed you could fit a bed in there.

But I digress. I quickly got into my wedding dress, and one of the waitstaff announced that she was the head table waiter, so she was basically assigned to serving us specifically. She brought me drinks and hors d’œuvres (since the party had already started with a 1/2 hour of cocktails before dinner). And I was loving it, especially since everyone else around me was taking care of stuff for once!

(By the way, while all of this is going on, I’m getting last minute calls from guests telling me they can’t make it because they were sick. I swear, there must have been a flu epidemic while I was gone. Granted, I’m glad they didn’t come and spread their germs to my guests, but Jeez!)

By the time I was really ready to go, cocktail hour was over, and the guests were being ushered into the banquet area. Ray and I entered, announced for the first time in NJ as Mr. & Mrs.! How exciting! After we did our customary walk-around, we went into our first dance, which we had spent 5 weeks practicing (a totally basic slow rhumba, but still, it was amazing that Ray even agreed to take dancing lessons!).

The rest of the evening was a blur. All I remember is that I didn’t get a chance to say hi to everyone, even though I tried. There was some dancing, but not very much, mostly because nobody really got on the dance floor unless I was on the dance floor (I guess it’s rude to dance if the bride isn’t dancing?). Anyway, there were so many disparate friends there, and I wanted to spend time with everyone, but it just wasn’t meant to be.

I remember cutting the cake was also a lot different from Hawaii. For one thing, it was a better carrot cake (the Hawaii carrot cake was more like a spice cake with carrots in it…not so good). Just like in Hawaii, people gathered around to take pictures, but the best picture we could have gotten was from our friend K. from Ren Faire, who got underneath the head table and took a picture from an angle no one would think of.

After the party was over, Ray and I went to our hotel room (we decided to stay at the nearby hotel so we could hang out with all the out-of-towners). Unfortunately, a lot of the folks we wanted to hang out with were at the other hotel down the road, and they didn’t want to come to our room. But we did hang out with MoH, my cousin D., two friends from Ren Faire, and two of my singer friends (who had a concert that night, so they ended up missing the party, but they showed up at the hotel for the after-party). We had a whole lot of excitement when the people across the hall (who were having their own after-party from a different wedding) kept accidentally coming into our room. Boy, we thought we were drunk; they were BOMBED! It was hilarious!

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The Day After the Wedding

So the day after the awesome wedding, my high school friends and I had planned to go swimming with sharks. I know, I’m insane in the membrane, and when I asked Ray to come with us, he just laughed.

But we went, and I was a little scared, understandably. However, once we got on the boat, I had committed myself to the activity, so I just made up my mind to have fun.

And it was so much fun! The bumpy, speeding boat ride over choppy waters out to the cage 3 miles offshore was fun. Waiting for our turn in the cage was exciting, because we got to see an Iwa bird (a frigate bird) come by and snatch a fish right out of this girl’s mouth.

Now, the only thing that was partially scary was that when I was climbing down the ladder into the cage, a big swell hit the boat, and I lost my footing. I was hanging onto the side of the boat for dear life, sort of swinging out, half over the cage and half over open water.

Of course this all happened in a few seconds’ time, and the captain quickly grabbed me and pulled me to safety. I then continued down the ladder, refusing to let it bother me, and after the captain ascertained I was okay, the boat pulled away from the cage.

It took me a couple minutes to acclimate myself. The water was nice and warm, which was good. And as soon as I felt comfortable breathing in the snorkel, I just parked myself in one end of the cage and just watched.

And there was nothing scary about the sharks. I mean, I didn’t feel compelled to reach out and pet one (which they tell you not to do anyway, duh), but it was like the aquarium. Well, better than an aquarium, because we were much closer. But I didn’t feel scared, and that was great.

After we got back to shore, I called Ray, and he met up with us at a shrimp shack on the outskirts of Haleiwa, which only had two things on the menu: shrimp scampi (with extra garlic), and shrimp with hot sauce, complete with a sign that says, “Warning: very hot! No refunds!”

A couple of my friends ordered the shrimp with hot sauce despite the dire warnings, and nearly burned their lips off. I opted for the much safer scampi, and since Ray was ordering it too, I didn’t have to worry about the garlic too much.

After lunch, Ray and I headed back to the bungalows, while my UHS friends did some sight-seeing. One of my flower girls, my cousin Samantha, turned 3 the day after the wedding, and her parents (my cousin and his wife) threw her a party on the beach (basically with all the leftovers from the rehearsal BBQ).

The party was lots of fun, and it was great to see Samantha get along so well with my MoH’s daughter, Camille (my other flower girl). They’re about 6 months apart, and they were best friends by the time the weekend was over.

The next day (Monday) was my aunt R.’s 65th birthday (we picked quite a weekend, didn’t we?). So all the family on my mom’s side went to the swanky resort on the North Shore called Turtle Bay resort to have lunch. Lunch was good, but for the prices they charged, I wasn’t really impressed. In fact, both Ray and I agreed that although Turtle Bay seems to have all the luxury one could ever want, we would much rather be in the real earthy world of Haleiwa and the North Shore, with all its grit and personality. Everyone had a good time, however, and they took lots of pictures of my mom and all her sisters (except for one sister who couldn’t make it).

After that, everyone kind of went their own separate ways. A bunch of my high school friends stayed a few more nights in Waikiki before returning home. My dad went to the other islands to visit Peace Corps friends. So Ray and I were left in peace to enjoy the North Shore by ourselves for a super relaxing honeymoon.

Anyway, the rest of the trip was awesome, but pretty relaxing, so no stories to tell there. The next post will be about the NJ reception.

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The Day of the Wedding

So a month and a half later, I’ve finally cleared off my desk enough that I can get back to the wedding story. I told you what happened the day before, but now I’ll let you have a peek into the day of the wedding, from Bridezilla’s point of view.

The morning of the big day started out fine. I hadn’t scheduled anything until 10 AM (breakfast), but because I was still jet-lagged, I woke up around 5 AM, much to Ray’s chagrin (he actually can’t complain, though, because he was just as awake as I was). So we lazed about for a few hours before really getting up and having breakfast at 8, and I was psyched to be ahead of schedule.

I had just gotten out of the shower when my MoH arrived at the bungalows. She was on the phone with Jan, who was at the flower shop in Honolulu, and there was some problem with some of the flowers (they had supplied one haku lei and one boutonniere instead of two haku leis for the two flower girls). I handled it pretty quickly, wrapped in a towel and dripping, basically telling Jan that if they don’t have two haku leis, then I don’t want just one, and they have to refund me the money. Somehow, another haku lei (albeit not the same color) magically appeared! Isn’t it funny how that happened?

So the only other snafu of the day was the weather. We should have known when we decided to get married in a rainforest that it would rain. Actually, we did know, which is why we had the Butterfly Pavilion as a backup plan.

The ceremony went by in a blur to me. I kept trying to hold onto all these memories, and they are still all there, but it’s so hard to put into words. My mom ended up playing “O Promise Me” on the violin while we did the lei exchange. A peacock walked into the middle of the Butterfly Pavilion during the ceremony. And the flower girls had so much fun dropping flowers they decided to follow me and Ray after we went down the aisle, dropping more flowers.

By the time the ceremony was over, the sun came out, although there were intermittent showers. It was a Hawaiian blessing, the officiant told us. Also, one of the butterflies we released ended up on my bouquet, so there were lots of pictures of my bouquet with the butterfly.

At the reception in Hawaii, which was also at Waimea Falls, just at their catering area (the Pikake Pavilion), my dad decided to surprise me with a band. We had planned on not having any DJ or anything, just a bunch of MP3s playing, you know, to save money. But my dad went and hired a band, unbeknownst to me or Ray, and I was totally shocked. I actually think it was the best gift he could have given me, though, because while he was totally nervous around my mom’s family, as soon as he stepped up to the mic and started playing and singing with the band, he was totally cool and comfortable. Everybody loved him, and everyone loved the band, too. I even sang a few songs, as did my brother Mike!

So both the day and evening were a success. I was really happy, and I couldn’t have asked for a better day, rain and all.

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What Happened the Day Before the Wedding

So for those of you who didn’t go to Hawaii (or for those of you who did go and have forgotten about it already), I’ll start with the adventures before the wedding. I’ll spare you the little details of a bride going crazy (those stories are a dime a dozen anyway), but I will tell you that I was one of those neurotic, overplanning brides (for those of you who know me, that shouldn’t come as a shock at all), and I had even put together a database complete with a schedule of who is going to do what. The master list, printed out as a report, was about 28 pages, and I also had a secondary list that separated out the tasks by person, so each person only got about 1-2 pages.

Of course, since as my friend Grant put it to me, “Weddings are a series of catastrophes strung together,” the first catastrophe started when my in-laws decided not to go by the schedule. Now, they don’t know me very well, so I can kind of see how they would think this isn’t such a big deal. But it was, and it got me hopping mad on the day of my wedding rehearsal.

We all arrived, according to schedule, at the front of Waimea Falls Park at 11:15 AM, and it was pouring rain. Our wedding coordinator suggested we rehearse in the Butterfly Pavilion, our plan B in case of rain. I said, “Great, let’s go. Is everybody here?” We quickly realized that Ray’s parents weren’t there, and we then spent the next half hour trying to find them (calling the bungalows, trying to reach someone else at the bungalows), all of which was very hard because there’s not very much cell service at Waimea Falls.

Finally, when I’m about to say, “Okay, you know what? Let’s just do it without them,” one of the women working the front desk pipes up that she saw an elderly couple come in at about 10:30 and make their way to the Upper Meadow.

I then make the executive decision that we’re all going to go to the Butterfly Pavilion while Ray and the wedding coordinator get in the truck and drive to the Upper Meadow to get Ray’s parents. Of course, not five minutes have passed when who should come ambling down the hill in the rain? RAY’S PARENTS.

Oy. I could have torn my hair out. I should have figured that of all the people to not follow the schedule, it would be Ray’s parents, because A) they don’t realize how anal I actually am about schedules, and B) they always show up early when they’re not supposed to.

But all’s well that ends well. Ray returned with the wedding coordinator, we started the rehearsal (an hour late), and ran through everything without incident.

We then went back to the bungalows for our rehearsal BBQ (Ray didn’t want to have a rehearsal dinner; instead he thought just throwing some burgers on the grill would be sufficient).