Posts from — May 2008

I’m a little obsessed with food today because I’m a psychotic masochist and decided to deprive myself of it all day. No, I’m not going all Nicole Richie on you, nor have I been swayed by all the Facebook “Hey, fat bride, you’d better lose a few pounds or your future husband will stop loving you” ads. I just thought I’d try a “detox” diet for a couple days after the complete gluttony I embraced while friends visited throughout April and May. In the last week alone, I consumed a ginormous Port of Call burger, a Domilise’s fried shrimp po-boy, a Camellia Grill BLT and chocolate freeze, various Memorial Day BBQ treats and countless daiquiris, High Lifes and whiskey and cokes. I’m pretty sure if I challenged contestants on “The Biggest Loser” to an eating contest, I would kick some serious ass. And then pass out from overconsumption and malnutrition.

Thus, the detox, which Katie Ide appropriately defines as “just another word for ‘starvation.’ ” I read the book “French Women Don’t Get Fat” a few months ago and loved the cute little Parisian Mireille Guiliano’s approach to healthy living– reasonable portions, moderation, occasional indulgences, fresh foods in season, red wine every day and lots of walking. I support all of this. The only problem is that she recommends you start with a clean slate by detoxing and eating her “magical leek soup” for two days, which is really just onion-flavored water. Kaila and I gave this a good effort today, drinking the broth every two hours as directed and eating actual leeks when we really got hungry. Too bad neither of these things actually stopped us from being hungry. I’ve never done well with fasting (I almost passed out one Good Friday when I tried it) because it simultaneously makes me stupid and mean. By the middle of the afternoon, I found myself wandering aimlessly around the Tchoupitoulas Wal-Mart (since when do I go to Wal-Mart?), trying to remember why I was there and trying not to growl at the cheery greeters.

We threw in the towel tonight at dinnertime. Water is not food, I don’t care how many leeks you boil in it. Kaila and I made a delicious and healthy meal and paired it with a $6 Cabernet Sauvignon, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so thrilled to eat solid food. I got home and started reading all my cookbooks and reviewing the menu Brian and I chose for our reception at Mulate’s (making me hungry all over again).

Call brand open bar (beer, wine, liquor, plus hurricanes, Bloody Marys and margaritas)

Appetizers:
Mini po-boy sandwiches (half with no mayo at my request)
Broiled stuffed mushrooms
Bite-size catfish
Blackened alligator

Buffet dinner:
Crawfish etouffee
Red beans and rice
Chicken and sausage jambalaya
Vegetarian pasta

And I have recovered from my temporary insanity. I’m back to planning dinner while eating lunch… or salivating over a dinner I won’t eat for another eight months. Hallelujah.

Creative Commons image courtesy of austin tx’s Flickr page

I’ve found myself going “church shopping” lately, which is pretty much the equivalent of me going “gun rack shopping.” It’s not that there’s anything wrong with that; I just don’t usually have the need for one. But since I am technically Catholic and marrying into an actually Catholic family, I have rediscovered religion. The prodigal daughter has returned.

I was kind of hoping getting married in the Catholic church would be something like getting my First Communion. I wear a beautiful white dress, everyone tells me how pretty I look, we sing fun songs at church, then we get to have a big party, yay! Apparently, there’s a little more preparation that goes into this sacrament. We’re only starting this whole process, but I’d like to start sharing the enlightenment I gain along the way. Oh, enlightenment is the wrong religion, isn’t it? What are Catholics supposed to acquire (besides guilt)?

What I’ve Learned So Far:

1. Marriage Ain’t Cheap. I figured the ceremony would be one of the cheapest things we’d invest in for our wedding. Come on, how much would a church charge us to receive a sacrament? Ha. Ha. Perhaps I should have laid off the baby Jesus jokes before I started looking. Old St. Patrick’s Church on Camp Street, a beautiful church less than a mile from our reception location, charges $2,000 for non-parishioners! For an hour-long ceremony (45 minutes, if we’re lucky). It also has an incredibly scary downloadable Web form outlining everything you can’t do. Some highlights:

• Under no conditions is a flower arrangement to be placed directly on the altar or credence tables. Please place the arrangement on a clear plastic saucer.
• Unity candle is not allowed.
• Popular music is not to be performed or sung in church, either before or during the wedding.
• Keyboards and guitars are not permitted at St. Patrick’s Church.
• The photographer must not be conspicuous nor obstruct the proceedings in any way. During the ceremony, all photographs must be taken from the choir loft.
• Strapless attire is not permitted for the bride and/or the other ladies in the bridal party.
• NO ALCOHOL IS ALLOWED INSIDE OR AROUND THE CHURCH AND SACRISTY.
• Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.

I sure am excited about my special day after reading all that.

Thank goodness for a little church called St. Theresa of Avila. It’s on Erato Street, about a mile from Mulate’s, and just gorgeous– small but big enough, newly renovated, high ceilings, stained-glass windows and a working organ. It’s also run by the cutest priest ever, Father Agudo, who has a thick Spanish accent and who told me there weren’t really any rules for the church, just “common sense.” I just want to put him in my pocket. And it’s only $300 to have the ceremony there. Done.

2. The FOCCUS is a More Amusing Version of the SAT. The Facilitating Open Couple Communication, Understanding & Study is a multiple-choice Scantron exam, much like the standardized tests we had to take in high school. Except instead of reading comprehension questions, we get to agree or disagree with statements like, “I sometimes fear for my safety when with my future spouse,” “I think my future spouse drinks too much” and “I will be uncomfortable with my future spouse seeing me naked.” I completely understand why they have couples take the test– I’m sure it weeds out some of the unwashed masses who shouldn’t be getting married in the first place. That said, it makes me giggle. Especially when it switches from “I do feel” to “I don’t feel” statements arbitrarily, causing me to answer an important question very inaccurately because I was going too fast. The overachiever in me wanted to go back and get a do-over, but Brian said I can’t. But I deserve 100 percent!

That’s all I’ve got for the moment, but I’m sure the pre-cana classes, the liturgical readings and the music will give me plenty of material for this ongoing series of “Catholicism for Sinners.”

I am so proud to be a Californian today (even more so than normal, and I am usually pretty obnoxious about it)! This morning, the California Supreme Court declared the state’s ban on same-sex marriage is unconstitutional. Yes! It is about damn time all couples are allowed the same rights. I got a little verklempt reading the news just now and virtually high-fiving my friends back in San Francisco. I can’t wait until I can celebrate the (legally recognized) marriage of two brides or two grooms who are giving this forever thing a shot just like everyone else.

Today is a huge victory, not just for gay marriage, but for love and tolerance and all those crazy things California hippies love so much. For once, I can give my fighting words a rest and enjoy this triumph. Congratulations everyone, and keep up the good fight!

Sorry this follow-up post has taken so long. I was busy stewing in my rage… and Brian was in town.

For a few weeks, I tried my best to repair my relationship with Embassy Suites New Orleans. I called, I wrote, but apparently the catering manager had decided to break up with me by avoiding me altogether. I was more than a little insulted. I haven’t gotten this kind of treatment since freshman year of college when some guy I was seeing (who I didn’t even like that much) stopped returning my calls. No! This is all wrong. I should be the one doing the breaking up. Don’t you know that I am a catch? I am totally cuter and smarter than you, and… I mean, don’t you know that our wedding is a good sales opportunity?

I grew tired of our little game of “playing hard-to-get” and called her boss, the assistant general manager of the hotel. I explained who I was, why I was calling and that I had been trying unsuccessfully to get in touch with this chick for more than two weeks. Silence.

I tried a different tactic, using my friendly phone voice and describing how much we loved the space and how we really wanted to work out a way to have our reception there.

Me: We really love the Embassy Suites’ atrium, and we want to have our wedding reception there. The only problem is that we had negotiated a six-hour reception from the beginning, and your catering manager said that was fine, but at the last minute, she said we can only have it for three hours.

Assistant General Manager (who I suspect might be the “assistant to the general manager”): We only do three-hour receptions.

Me: OK, well, she told us we could have a six-hour reception. Why is that changing now?

AGM: We only do three-hour receptions. (long pause) I can maybe stretch it to four hours.

Me: (now I’m really imagining this guy is Dwight. “Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.”) Seriously? We are talking about a wedding in New Orleans, right? Why won’t you do more than four hours?

AGM: (slightly irritated, condescending tone, as one would speak to a slightly challenged five year old) Ma’am. It is a liability for us to serve alcohol to people for more than four hours. If someone were to get hurt, we would be responsible. It’s just not possible.

Me: (talking in my own babysitter-who-has-a-difficult-charge voice) By all means, you should have the right to refuse service to anyone you think has had too much to drink. Would that allow us to have a longer reception?

AGM: No.

Me: What if we switched from a full open bar to just wine and beer after four hours? Or supplied our own alcohol for the last two hours?

AGM: NO. I am not flexible on this matter. Our maximum is four hours. You won’t find anywhere else in this city that will give you more than that.

Me: (in my “Oh, really, fool?” voice): I find that very hard to believe. This city has bars that never close. I’m sure we can find a reception venue that will serve alcohol for six hours. By the way, is your catering manager on vacation or something? She hasn’t gotten back to me.

AGM: No. She’s the one who gave me your number. Do you want her to call you?

I was all kinds of riled up when I got off the phone, and Brian and I made it our personal crusade to find another location. Call me crazy, but I just didn’t feel like forking over a few thousand dollars to these teetotalers. (And that woman never called me back, by the way.)

We trolled the Warehouse District and the French Quarter looking for the perfect spot, and we found it– Mulate’s Restaurant. It’s funky, it’s also on Julia Street, the food is fantastic, the space is huge and the people are nice. Where do we sign?