I am getting married in three months, and having a bit of trouble with my maid of honor. I’ll call her “Cindy.” Basically, she has said a couple of times that I’m being a “bridezilla,” and I wanted to get your advice.

The thing is, I decided long ago that I NEVER wanted to be a difficult bride, and feel that I have made every effort to be a nice one. I’ve seen a friend go through maid of honor hell, and swore that I would never do that to somebody. In order to avoid that, I helped to find inexpensive dresses. Instead of picking yellow dresses, which would have been my initial preference, I went with sage, a color that is more suited to the coloring and tastes of my bridesmaids, and in a really nice style that would look great at future formal functions. I’m not having a wedding party table. Rather, I am seating each person/couple with whom he or she wants to sit. I’m not having a professional photographer, for a number of reasons, including the one you stated in “Wedding Bell Blues.” I want to enjoy my wedding, not spend all day taking steps to “remember” it. Additionally, I don’t want my bridesmaids to miss the cocktail hour.

The first time that Cindy called me a bridezilla was when I suggested my favorite bar for the bachelorette party. I didn’t demand it, just suggested it in case she was interested. There’s no cover, and the bartenders are great, and would definitely hook us up all night. She asked why I would want to go to the same place I go all the time, and I told her why I suggested it, but that any place would be fine, and I meant it. I told her before I was ever engaged that I’d be fine with pizza and a sleepover party.

The bachelorette party thing wasn’t such a big deal, but today I requested that no registry cards be put in the shower invitations. Wedding etiquette says it is tacky, since expectation of gifts should never be implied. I really agree with this sentiment. When I mentioned it to her, she basically dismissed my opinion as “wrong,” saying that no one would find it obnoxious, that people would find it helpful. I said that may be true, but I personally didn’t want cards in any of my formal mailings (I didn’t have them at my engagement party, either).

My question is twofold: 1) How can I tell if I am, indeed, being a difficult bride? I really don’t want to be. I can’t stand obnoxious brides. 2) If I really feel strongly about something, as I do with the registry cards, how can I communicate this politely but firmly to Cindy? She is very important to me.

Thanks so much for the advice, and for Tomato Nation!

Sincerely,
Bridezilla?

I find myself needing advice on a family issue, and I’d
appreciate your insight…and I apologize for the length.

My biological father is (sometimes not-so-) affectionately referred to around
my house as “the sperm donor.” That’s basically the only role he’s taken in
my life, and most often, he feels more like an uncle than a parent. He left
my mom when I was six months old to join the Navy — my mother, who’d just
moved cross-country with him, knew no one except for him and his family.
His parents seemed to recognize that their middle boy was a fuck-up, and did
the best they could to help me and my mother. They provided us with a
trailer to live in, bought food and clothing, and didn’t allow the fuck-up
father to see me when he was on shore leave, because they didn’t feel that
he could handle the responsibility. As such, I grew extremely close to my
grandparents, and didn’t really feel a whole hell of a lot for my father.

My mother eventually remarried, my stepfather adopted me (uncontested by my
father, who told me at the tender age of twelve that, had I been a boy, he’d
have fought it tooth and nail, but gee, I was only a girl), and plunged me
into fourteen or so years of emotionally abusive hell. Stepdad and I have
since reconciled, albeit tentatively, and that’s not really the issue here
anyway. Every summer, my mom and my stepdad sent me back to the southeast to
visit my grandparents, and to occasionally visit the sperm donor. Most of my
time was spent with my grandparents, who adored me every bit as much as I
adored them. I was heartbroken when my grandmother died in April of 1991,
two months before my high school graduation, which she’d always planned on
attending.

I kept in touch with my grandfather as best I was able; by that time, he had
come to rely heavily on his youngest two sons, my father being one of those,
so a lot of my letters went missing and phone calls went unanswered. I was
only able to visit once after I turned eighteen and had to pay for it on my
own,
and that was in the winter of 2000. At that point, my grandfather was mostly blind and
could only read mail with the assistance of one of the sons, and had a
difficult
time talking on the phone. Contact became tenuous at best, and when I was
lucky enough to catch him instead of one of the boys, all I could do was to
tell
him that I loved him and thought of him often, because he hated the phone
anyway.

A few days ago, I got a call from the sperm donor, informing me that my
grandpa had passed away some three weeks previous. He had been sick six months
before that, and they knew he was on his way out. After that sucker punch,
he delivered another: the only reason he called was because, in order to
settle Grandpa’s estate, they needed a letter from me, about some things I
was left by my grandmother’s death. He ended with the usual “my life is so
hard, poor me, you never keep in touch, woe is me” song and dance.

To say that I’m devastated by this is to put it rather mildly; I loved my
grandpa a whole hell of a lot more than I’ve ever loved my father. I’m
upset by the fact that I never got to say goodbye, and nigh into the nuclear
range of anger — if he hadn’t needed something, I doubt my father would have bothered
to call me at all.

After the January of 2000 visit, for other events that happened during that
visit, I wrote a letter that I’d intended to send to my father, which
basically said that I was no longer interested in maintaining contact with
him. Just him, not the rest of his family — impossible, likely, but again,
beside the point. I didn’t send it, because, asshole that he is, he’s still
a person and still has feelings, and I didn’t want to return hurt with hurt.
At this point, however, it’s been three years, things haven’t changed, and I’m
now angry enough to want to send the letter.

This, finally, brings me to my question: Should I send this letter to my
biological father, which tells him in no uncertain terms that he’s never to
contact me again? Or should I suck it up and deal, because, like it or not,
family is family and I’m stuck with him?

Not My Father’s Daughter

I’ve been reading The Vine for a long time now, and you have a singular
talent for giving people the kick in the ass that they’re unwilling to give
themselves. I think I need that right about now.

My problem is jealousy. It’s a highly specialized brand of jealousy, that
only rears its head when I’m in a relationship, and it has nothing to do
with a fear that the man I’m dating will stray — it’s all retroactive.
While I know intellectually that everyone has a past, relationships end for
a reason, and that what matters is the present, I can’t seem to calm myself
down when presented with the most benign evidence of a boyfriend’s past.

I used to think that it was about the men that I dated — one boyfriend liked
to reminisce about his random college hookups, and didn’t really veil his
attitude that yes, that was definitely more exciting than dating me. One
guy wasn’t quite divorced, and was still pining for his ex. It made sense
to me that I did this, and when I began dating Bill, I figured that I
wouldn’t have this problem anymore. Without gushing too much, we’re the
happiest couple even in our sleep, and we frequently joke that we’re so damn
happy that if we weren’t one of us, we would really hate us. We get along
like I never knew couples could get along. We love the time we spend
together and…eh. You get the picture. Happy. Good relationship.

Bill hasn’t had all that much relationship experience, having only dated two
women seriously in the past. He’s 30, and I would think it was weird if he
came to our relationship without so much as a high school sweetheart in his
background, and we have talked in the past about how experiences that we
have had with other people have contributed to making us the great partner
that each of us is to the other. Again, what I know intellectually does
nothing to soothe my jangled nerves when his ex, Lisa, comes up. Which is
fairly infrequently, but for a year, she lived in the apartment that he
currently lives in. They still talk every now and again — he asked me
repeatedly if it was okay with me, and trying to be rational, I said that she
was in his life before we started dating, and it wouldn’t be fair of me to
dictate his friendships now. He mentioned that he would be happy to
eliminate contact with her, all I have to do is say the word. But I’m not
entirely comfortable inflicting my neurosis on him, and by extension, on her
(though I have mentioned that when we live together, I’m not going to be
thrilled to see her number come up on the phone bill or caller ID).

Bill and I were friends for quite some time before becoming a couple, and I
knew from comments that he made during the relationship that he wasn’t
entirely happy, and felt that she took him for granted and wasn’t terribly
nice to him. Now that we’re a couple, her behavior has been fleshed out
more in stories that he’s told me, and I know that he’s not pining for her; he’s even said that by contrast to the way he feels with me, he can’t
believe he put up with that relationship for as long as he did. I know
where his heart is, I trust him, and I hate that I waste time and energy on
obsessing over stupid stuff (see next paragraph), when really, I should just
be happy that I’ve finally found the relationship that I’ve been looking for
for…well, about 11 years now.

The stupid stuff in question? He’s mentioned some things that he would like
to do this summer — like beaches in the area that we should go to. He went
there with Lisa, and I know I’ll be tense all day. (For the record, I also
know that this is dumb, yet I can’t seem to stop myself.) On a recent trip,
he had cause to mention a vacation that he went on with her (in relation to
wildlife that he saw on both trips), and it made me anxious. I hate going
to his apartment, because even though the only trace of her left is a
doormat, I still feel uncomfortable.

While he’s aware of my anxiety in this regard, I try to keep it to myself as
much as possible. It’s not his fault that I feel this way, and I don’t want
to keep reminding him that when he mentions things that he has done in his
life, which he should have every right to do, it often makes me miserable.
He’s a great boyfriend, and I don’t want to bring this up all the time and
undermine how terrific he actually is. But how can I keep myself from the
accelerated heart rate and upset stomach when we’re watching TV in his
living room or discussing snorkeling? I’m making myself nuts, here.

Thanks,
Senselessly Jealous

I’d like to see if an impartial audience could give me a judgment on
whether I’m a selfish bitch or what.

I’m a college junior in a decent school, I’m in the honors program, and
I have never gotten a grade lower then a B. I don’t drink, smoke, or date,
and I do volunteer work and go to church every week. I’ve paid for
college on my own, and the only things my parents have paid for are books,
medical emergencies, and yes, they did buy my car.

They did, however, drop $3,000 on Italian tile for the bathroom,
$15,000 on my sister’s truck, and another $2,000 to pay off her second
car. One of my brothers still lives at home (he’s 28) and doesn’t work.
They paid for these two siblings to flunk out of college (for my sister,
they did it TWICE). Also, they have helped my other siblings with rent
and loans. (I’m the youngest child of seven.) Oh, and Mom and Dad just
got a new van, a 1998 Ford — $5,000.

Now. My car, a 1987 piece of shit that has required abot $100 each month for the
last year to keep running (most of which has come out of my pocket),
died yesterday in the middle of the road. I had it towed (second time in
two weeks) and the news from the mechanic was not good. When I called my
parents to request help, Mom said that it was time to get a new vehicle.
I had in mind a 1990 Buick owned by a friend, who was willing to sell it
for $2000 and get it inspected beforehand to check for problems and
replace various parts. My parents said no, wait till spring break and
they’d help me pick one at home.

I JUST GOT CALLED by my father to tell me that he’s purchased our
neighbor’s 1980 Chevy truck. It’s not the truck’s ugliness that bothers
me; it’s that I know that his son drove the thing throughout high school,
and it was even worse then my current vehicle. I became hysterical and
called my mother, who told me flatly that she was sick of me acting like a
spoiled brat, I needed to think of the rest of my family and not myself,
and to be grateful to be getting what was offered.

I’m floored. I’m also wondering if I’m wrong. I admit to extreme
jealousy of my siblings, and I should be grateful that my parents are willing to
help me at all after what their other kids have put them through. But
I’m not my siblings, and I guess I think at some point, I should get
acknowledgement for this — and maybe some help. Am I being selfish? Can
I tell my family how angry I am? Or should I just suck it up and deal
unti I graduate and get a job that will let me buy my own car?

Sorry for the long-windedness.

Carless, Not Careless

I don’t need advice per se, but I do have a grammar question that I hope
you’ll be kind enough to answer, whether by email or in The Vine.

I just read your piece on Patricia Cornwell and am slightly puzzled by your
sentence, “First of all, I don’t know why book editors continue to let
authors like Cornwell (and Judith Krantz, and Danielle Steele, and just
about every other best-selling hack who really shouldn’t be left alone with
MS Word’s thesaurus function) labor under the delusion that ‘instantly’ and
‘immediately’ mean the same thing, but they really don’t.”

I’ve never read anything along those lines before, so I just dusted off my
Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged and looked up the two. Good ol’ Webster’s
defines the two as meaning the same thing — both are adverbs; the given
definition for instantly is “immediately,” and vice versa.
So, not to be a wise-ass or anything, but what is the difference between the
two words?

Sincerely,
Grammar geek wannabe