The Modern Bride's Rant

**Note to my three readers. This post was begun in summer of 2006 and recently finished. I didn't want to change the introduction because I am lazy.**

Because my 'life' officially ends come September 5, when activities such as showering and seeing my darling Bob will have to be squeezed into a relentless schedule of studying, my mom and I have tried to get a jump on the wedding planning. At each juncture I try not to drop my jaw when learning the price of various amenities, reminding myself that, even though this event is essentially a party, it will make memories that my family and I will cherish for years to come. Mom and I have spent several weekends dress shopping, which included a trip to Old Downtown Helena. I honestly don't know which was more exciting--the prospect of finding a wedding gown or the chance to FINALLY experience Helena.

It's unfortunate, but I haven't been geared up for much of the planning process. After visiting five dress shops (Mom dropped out of the experience after #4), I think I may have found a dress I'll be happy with. Each decision made is accompanied by a huge sense of relief rather than elation and the conviction that I've made the perfect choice for 'my big day.'

I now find myself in posession of six (6!) bridal magazines. Incidentally, for those that are interested and live in the Birmingham area, my dad has told me that if I ever find myself in need of any more, the Samford bookstore is the place to go. The magazines are somewhat helpful in certain areas; they contain good pictures of things like dresses and flowers to help steer those of us with little to no sense of style. However, the majority of these massive tomes is composed of the following:

1) Dress advertisements where the brides look seductive (one even has a naked man in it!) or royally pissed off. The models all have huge knockers. What's an A-cup to do? Should I be getting fitted for falsies?

2) Ridiculous 'our wedding' articles, where the bride is almost always a style editor at some magazine or in some other creative field. These articles tend to say things like, 'Sally planned the decor of the wedding around her love for vintage fabrics.' Or, 'The couple designed letterpress place cards featuring the flora and fauna of Nantucket, in keeping with the weekend's natural theme.' They're very big on letterpress, these people.

Sometimes I envision how our wedding would be written up: 'Melanie, a second-year medical student with no time for shenanigans, blew through each task as quickly as possible, giving little thought to style and delegating as much to her mother as she could.'

3) Craft projects that only the criminally insane would endeavor to undertake. Of course, these are usually concentrated in Martha Stewart's magazine, so there you go.

The more I investigate wedding components, the more horrified I become. The wedding industry is almost as bad as the baby industry (which I've also been exposed to via Kate's pregnancy) when it comes to appealing to emotion. 'If you don't pass out monogrammed candy-coated almonds in hand-lettered boxes as a keepsake, your guests will regret they ever met you!'

When it comes to the registry, apparently I'm supposed to request gifts that I will use but once a year (although, when you think about it, why would you want to spend your own money on something so useless?)--silver platters that need polishing, platinum-rimmed plates that can't go in the microwave, and crystal goblets that demand hand-washing. I know that some of this stuff will eventually come in handy and that I may want it when I'm say, 43, but right now it seems inconceivable that I will ever need any of it.

Forgive me if I sound snotty, but with the letters 'M' and 'D' after my name, I doubt I'll have much time on my hands to be hand-washing much of anything since I'll, I don't know, maybe be seeing patients? Also, while I do find the idea of a staff of a domestic servants to polish my silver incredibly appealing, I don't see that happening in my future any time soon. The reality is that most women are working these days (either inside or outside the home), and isn't it easier to get your husband to help do the dishes if all he has to do is load them in the dishwasher?

So strike back, modern brides! Just say no to inconvenience! And, when the woman at Bromberg's chides you because your china and flatware are (gasp) casual, stare her down! She's got nothing on you.

Don't mess with Presbyterians

Bob and I are getting married in the church where I grew up. It happens to be one of the most beautiful churches in Birmingham. This is not a matter of opinion. Built in 1926, it is a stone, Gothic-style church with beautiful stained glass windows throughout. In fact, the church is so popular for weddings that there is now a rule that only church members can marry there (even if said members only attend for Christmas Eve, their nephew's christening, and under duress).

As such, the church is able to make lots of rules about the proceedings of the wedding; so many, in fact, that it has devoted a 12-page booklet to the subject. My favorites regard the music :

"There is much music of light, sentimental character and of operatic or other secular association that may be used at the wedding reception. Many pieces, ranking as favorites with the bride and groom and perhaps having a purely subjective meaning for them, are unsuitable or impractical for a sacred ceremony. Also, many pieces, which are popular and appear acceptable because of frequent usage, have no justification for being part of the sacred ceremony of marriage."

In other words, there is no way in hell you should plan on walking down the aisle to "Wind Beneath my Wings" or "When a Man Loves a Woman."

In case you were planning on having your cousin Mabel sing at your wedding, Independent Presbyterian Church admonishes:

"If a vocal or instrumental soloist is desired for a recital of music before the wedding, this person also is to be selected by the organist of Independent Presbyterian Church. Thus, the possiblity of embarrassment due to untrained performers being part of this important act of worship is eliminated."

I love the mention of the "possibility of embarrassment." I would assume that this clause rescues the congregation from being embarrassed for the erstwhile performer, in addition to the performer herself.

Turn your head and cough

Yesterday I had the good fortune of helping out at a Preparticipation Physical Exam (PPE), or, as I like to call it, 'Yet another reason why ICM should be worth more than 2 credits.' The PPE is a way for area high school students to get screened quickly for any obvious abnormalities or conditions that might affect their participation in a sport. The fact that they permit second-year medical students to perform this screening speaks to the thoroughness (or lack thereof) of the exam. There's a room for head and neck, a room for cardiovascular and lungs, a room for the orthopedic exam, and a room for the abdomen and male GU exam. The students are shuttled through as quickly as possible, and accept their fate stoically, much as our old dog Annie accepted her baths.

The GU exam for the guys is as perfunctory as one can get. We were instructed to examine the boys' testicles to make sure that they had 2, and then to perform a bilateral inguinal hernia check, from which the title of this post is derived. Until last night, I had only performed this exam one other time, on a man who was paid $25 to let me examine his 'junk' and then stick my finger up his bottom. Needless to say, I was relieved when I was assigned to the head and neck room for the first portion of the evening.

I was fortunate to be paired up for this activity with my good friend Erik. At the beginning of our first year, Erik and I were assigned to the same gross anatomy group and have remained friends since, despite my constant whining during that course and my tendency to hand over all dissecting duties to him. His is the kind of brain that can bend spoons; as such, he is a good person to know when you have a question. (Although this can sometimes backfire, as he frequently goes way over my head in his explanations and mentions journal articles he has read on the topic at hand.)

While I would consider dropping out of medical school altogether if I had to repeat gross anatomy, I will acknowledge that it has value in medical education. If nothing else, it densensitizes one to the yucky stuff. Once you've dissected a human and / or had a kidney cyst pop all over you, your 'gross-out' threshold begins to rise. Soon, when you're looking at photos of a ring of genital warts surrounding a man's penis, or a fungus that has eaten through someone's face, it's no big deal. I personally appreciate it when truly spectacular images are presented in lectures or textbooks as they help me to remember diseases better. I like to picture our lecturing physicians, preparing their Power Points late into the night because they are looking for the most disgusting pictures they can find.

Bob and my sister have no appreciation for my morbid fascination with icky medical images. My suggestion to Kate that she should use her spare time to do a Google image search for 'goiter' or 'pyoderma gangrenosum' fell on deaf ears. Bob rarely appreciates it when I show him a good shot of an anal fistula or rare skin condition when we're studying together. However, much like the gross lab, I think that perusing the medical literature for 'interesting' photographs serves a purpose for future physicians. If you can handle scooping feces out of a dead person's rectum, or pictures of Mucormycosis, you can handle hernia inspections on high school students.

Which is what I did last night. At least thirty of them. Despite being put in the head and neck room for the first part of the evening, we were switched to the GU room later. By the second or third exam, I had lost all embarassment. "Drop your pants, please. This will only take a second," I'd tell the stoic football players. They may have been more comfortable if Erik had examined them, but that wasn't an option, as there were no gloves larger than size medium to be found. Since Erik is 6'4" tall and is normally proportioned, medium gloves didn't cut it for him.

I was proud of myself for my ability to be nonchalant throughout the whole experience (although, come to think of it, blogging about it hardly makes me seem like I have a casual attitude). Bob was fairly shocked when I told him what I had been doing for the past few hours, and then it dawned on him: "You're going to see a lot of penises in your career."

Ways to Annoy Me, Part 2 (General Considerations)

1. Insinuate that the only reason I was admitted to medical school was to fulfill some sort of quota.

2. Play your iPod so loudly that I can hear your music from 15 feet away...and you're wearing headphones. What are you doing to your ears?

3. Wear a tie that's the same color as your shirt. You are not Regis Philbin.

4. Talk to your friend during Spinning class. I'd prefer to listen to Hottie Dave tell me to check my cadence, thanks.

5. Tell me my engagement photo turned out 'much better than I expected,' because I didn't pick the pose that you liked best.

6. Forget to bathe before you get on the airplane. I know you sat down before I did, but I thought that the stench was due to proximity to the bathroom, not to you.

7. Wear scrubs to the gym. I'd rather not think about the bodily fluids that could be on them.

8. Wear a mock turtleneck. Seriously, you're over 40, and while I know you were probably in great shape in your 20s, you no longer are.

9. Interrupt Oprah's interview of a burn victim to bring me 'late, breaking news' on the University of Alabama's search for a new football coach.

10. Rip a 'silent, but deadly' fart IN THE CAR, while I'm telling you how important you and our relationship are to me. Then giggle.

Marry a man who...

...accepts, 'Because I have my period this week,' as a valid reason to let you have the rest of the Frosty.

Overcoming Embarassment

A few weeks ago, I wanted to rent a movie that I had heard was good from one of my favorite blogs, www.gofugyourself.com. Unfortunately, when I went to my local Blockbuster, I had difficulty finding The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. I searched high and low, in New Releases, Comedy, and Family, but to no avail.

I had balked at seeing the movie initially, despite its above-average reviews, namely because I thought nothing good could come from a title that included the phrase 'traveling pants.' I couldn't imagine walking up to the ticket counter at the movie theater and saying it out loud. Likewise, I was too embarassed at Blockbuster to ask the friendly employees where I might find the film, and left empty-handed.

(I went back the next day and met success by looking on the 'Drama' shelf; the movie was amazing and you should watch it when you get the chance.)

Despite my delight at finally locating the cloying, girly tale of 4 BFF, I could barely look the checkout guy in the eye while I was paying for the rental. It brought back unpleasant memories of the movie-snob employees at Vision Video in Athens sneering at my entertainment selections. I felt a reaction similar to the one I feel whenever saleswomen at upscale boutiques look down their noses at my scruffy attire, which is a desire to scream, 'DUDE, you work in RETAIL!'

This is why I love shopping online, especially at iTunes. Nobody knows about my bad or bizarre tastes; my face may turn a little red when I see that they're recommending 'George Michael's Greatest Hits' based on my past purchases, but that's before I take them up on their offer to buy the album for $9.95. And then I ruin the chance to conceal this appalling taste in music when I gloat about my purchase of the Spanish verson of Enrique's 'Hero,' or put *NSync's 'Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays' on a non-Christmas mix CD I make for a friend.

Romance Never Ends

Mel: You got a credit card statement in the mail today.

Bob: How much do I owe this month?

Mel: I don't know. As a general rule, I don't open mail that's addressed to you.

Bob: Well, you're certainly welcome to do so.

Mel: But what if you've recently bought me a fabulous present and I see it on your credit card statement? It would ruin the surprise!

Bob: You'd be surprised when you opened the envelope.

Hair to go with the shoes

Many thanks to weddingchannel.com for providing me with a signature look.

The Modern Bride's To-Do List

Those of you who know me well are aware that I am fond of lists. They are useful for a) enumerating experiences, b) providing comic effect, and c) preserving relational harmony, as in, 'You can't get mad at me for not taking out the trash even though it is overflowing and smells like rotting cantaloupe, because it WASN'T ON THE LIST you gave me.' See what I mean?

Since I am nothing if not a Modern Bride, I thought I would blog about my bridal agenda:

1) Find someone who will do my make-up and not make me look like either Casper (default setting) or a Vegas drag queen.

2) Adopt a tanning strategy that won't leave me orange, covered in allergic pustules, or visiting a dermatologist every 6 months for the rest of my life.

3) Experience my first bikini wax to prepare for a stubble-free honeymoon.

4) Locate gifts for my bridesmaids that are darling, useful for women ages 14-29, and preferably monogrammed.

5) Meet with personal trainer to tone the delts, eliminate triceps flab, etc.

6) Convince the hacks over at Student Health to write me a prescription for a sleeping aid. I tend to get insomnia when I'm excited, and what's more exciting than transitioning SnuggleBunny (Bob) from live-in boyfriend to husband?

7) Figure out the shoe issue, which has already hit a few glitches. See below.

8) Read self-help book entitled, 'Overcoming Vanity on your Wedding Day.' HA.

The ultimate wedding accessory

This is an actual shoe featured in the 'bridal' category on a shoe web site. Rightfully so, this style is named 'Ultimate,' as in, 'the Ultimate example of how to look like a hooker on your wedding day.' It can be yours for $80.45!

Oh, were that I 4 inches shorter so that this rhinestone-encrusted Grecian reconstruction nightmare could grace my feet on that very special day! It sends the message, 'I may be settling down with you NOW, but trust me, I've been around the block.' I wonder how it would look in a size ten?