Small Lake City and the Name Game

I apologize for not writing for a couple of weeks.  Its been wedding drama left right and center.

Occasionally I will use the term, "Small Lake City," to refer to my hometown when 6 degrees of separation seems like a severe understatement.  It seems like everyone knows someone you know.  I had one boyfriend who lived out of town and everytime we got on a plane leaving Utah, I knew at least one other passenger.  This seemed comical to a guy from the East Coast. 

Two weeks ago I flew into planning mode again to appease my anxiety.  I began with the photographer.  My mother and I went to interview one, Duston Todd, who was highly creative and edgy, but my gut said to move on.  I began to call others.  I realize that I'm a bit jaded by names after working at a children's hosptial.  It seems that all Destiny's, Celesitial's, or Nevaeh's (Heaven backwards) are destined for a sexual assault, Brooklyn's have some sort of congenital heart defect, and Ashley's usually overdose.  Rule of thumb I've learned is the funkier the spelling of the name, the worse the medical diagnosis.  With this being said, a photographer with two first names caught my supersition-salt-throwing-avoiding-black-cats kind of sense.  Like I said, I moved on.  The names got worse, but the creativity got better.

Pepper Nix.  Great photographer.  Already booked.  She spent 45 minutes one Saturday morning giving me advice to help me find THE photographer and then went on about flowers, lighting, invitations, etc.  She was amazing to the point that I sent her a thank you note.  She led met to Davina Fear.  This woman rocked.  Mom and I met with her and I booked her on the spot.  (Yes, these are all their birth names.) 

With the contract signed and deposit check written, Mom and I celebrated with a glass of wine.  About an hour and a half later when Mom had left and I was settling into the couch, Davina was back at my door.  She was distraught.  She had pitched to another bride days before and promised to wait a certain amount of time, but had gotten caught up in my excitement and booked with me for the same day.  Ethics vs. legal vs. emotions vs. logic all played out as I invited her in to debrief.  I wasn't certain if my role was to play social worker, friend, customer, legal advisor, or what so mostly I listened andreframed.

A rough 24 hours passed and she called thanking me and reassuring me that she would honor her contract and do my wedding.  Phew!  With that done, I began to move onto the flowers.  Met Shawn, booked him on the spot.  (How can you resist a male florist who says, "Oh goodie!" when you tell them you are going to book them?) 

Then the band issue the following day came up.  I investigated a few bands.  For the most part, musicians are flakey (including my brother).  With my type A personality the contract of, "If I don't show up, I don't get paid," doesn't work for me.  My fiance was against my first choice because they sounded schmaltzy.  (Interesting word, it makes me think of an accordian player in a powder blue tux.)  But then the others were flakes.  I found J.D. Moffet.  Great guy.  Turns out we had all sorts of connections in Small Lake.  For example:  my grandmother and his mother in law are best friends, he taught my brother guitar, he played at my uncle's funeral, he knows the anesthesiology dept at work very well.  I went to see them play and we booked.  He said he had a tenative engagement scheduled for the same night, but we were practically family so it really wasn't a question.

He called the next day telling me about his experience cancelling the other party.  When he told them he had another engagement at Log Haven the reply was, "Unbelievable!  First she gets my photographer and now she got my band!"

Whoever this bride is, I'm certain she hates my guts.