Why isn’t there a class in school called ‘Life Organization Skills’ as part of a secondary school education? I’ve got a real-life crisis on my hands with this bride. She keeps forgetting where she puts shit— important shit, and I’ve already had to re-purchase two things. All because she promised me she could securely hold onto things.

Well, she has to fix this herself. I can’t obtain a second marriage license for her. I knew she got it too early in her excitement, and wouldn’t listen to me. Maybe I should give important documents and things like that to her groom? The poor man. Does he even know this about her personality? Good grief!

I’ve literally got seven weddings going on in the next two months, plus one that is completely starting over from scratch. That one I don’t mind at all though since it’s an NBA wedding. I love celebrity weddings. Those are the hardest to plan for since anonymity is severely expected, but it’s also the easiest detail to forget...

There’s a quick, rattling knock on my office door interrupting my thoughts. “Come in,” I announce, and Lynne comes through the door wearing her worried as fuck look that she always seems to have on.

“Isabella, I need your wisdom for a brief moment,” she begs, not even waiting for my response. “The Bakers’ passports haven’t arrived yet in the mail and Samantha is on the phone crying. We are talking total break down in tears. I’m surprised water didn’t pour out of the phone when she was trying to explain the issue. She wants to know if we can help.” The whole conversation was delivered in a soft voice like Samantha could hear us gossiping about her.

Good Lord. Why is this my issue? Passports are not a part of the wedding planning process. They go with the honeymoon and I don’t plan those. 

“Has she attempted to track it via the US State Department’s website?” I ask calmly, knowing full well she won’t know that answer. Lynn has been my personal assistant and wedding planner-in-training for two years now. Things like this always pop-up, and she should know a quick off-the-cuff reply by now without seeking help.

“I’m not sure. I’ll go ask,” she turns to leave, scurrying through the door.

“Lynn,” I call her back, and after hearing a big bang and then a crash outside my office, she appears again quickly as if those noises didn't’ just happen (and I’m not even going to ask about them). “If she hasn’t done that yet, she should. Then if the status shows pending, there is a customer service number to call. Please have her call and not email since that can take up to 24-hours. Get the number for her from a separate online search since I don’t think it’s on their website for some stupid reason...it’s something like National Passport Information Center.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replies and leaves just as quickly as she came in.

Organizational skills people. Maybe I should write a book about it. Nah, writing is too hard, and I don’t have time for it.

Planning weddings is my passion. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve adored weddings. My parents were experts at it. Yes, I’ve had three step-fathers, and four step-mothers to prove it. Each one felt the need to include me in the planning and shopping process since I was an only child, and they didn’t have to worry about sibling rivalry or playing favorites.

Each new bride and groom coming into my life showered me with promises and gifts. I’ve lead a spoiled life for sure, and I won’t apologize for it. It’s given me the background and experience I’ve needed to find my success in this industry. But it’s also left me to raise myself while they were busy falling in and out of love.

I never felt the need to be jealous of them taking my parent’s time and energy away from me. I’ve been an independent soul since I was five swinging back and forth from home to home on every other weekday and weekend. That’s also why I am a great multi-tasker, I think. I always had to keep it straight in my head whose house, whose rules, and which spouse I was dealing with. Fun! Fun!

Each spouse brought something new and exciting to my life until it didn’t any longer. I’d watch the marriages be exciting, complacent, boring, and then downright hateful. My parents....well, let’s see, they are good people. They’ve taught me many lessons in life as most parents do, but the one thing they’ve taught me for sure is: LOVE ISN’T EASY.

You’re probably wondering if I’m bitter about that fact. Nope. I’m not because you know what that means. I always get to enjoy the best part of relationships – that warm, gooey, melt you on the inside feeling you can’t contain. It bubbles up and does weird things to your body and brain. You know, those feel-good endorphins that cause celebrities to jump on couches professing their eternal love or rent out whole stadiums for a proposal. Yes!

I’m too busy to seriously date. Men don’t ever seem to fit into my wedding schedules, so I never get to the complacent stage of a relationship. It’s always the candlelight, concerts, dancing, fancy dinners, fairs, festivals, movies, the opera, the theater, and the list goes on. San Francisco, my home base for business, has great “date night” options;  there are always many different things to do. Occasionally, my dates come from meeting people in other towns where some of the weddings are being held. It’s always different, especially with the choice of man.

I’ve dated all walks of life it seems, but each one was interesting in their own right. I’ve yet to find ‘the one’ that makes me want to change my single status, but I’ve definitely learned what I am not looking for. I can’t date men that are too short or too tall. I can’t date grunge, nor can I do metro-sexual styles. I can’t date cocky, and I especially do not do whiny. God help me with a crying, complaining man. Oh! I almost forgot...I refuse to date the animal hunting ‘gotta hang it on my wall to prove my manhood’ kind of man either. It’s not that they aren’t sexy in their gruff and rough ways (because good Lord the beard and the muscles), but I just can’t stop thinking about the poor animals.

I like men of sports. They hone their mind and bodies to perfection. I love a competitive man by nature. They know how to keep it interesting and keep what is theirs. Yes, I know that sounds a little caveman-ish, but a woman likes to know she’s wanted. I also love men who know how to build or fix things. They have a purpose and will always be able to hold a job.

I also adore men who love music and dancing. They show me that life is meant to be lived to its fullest and having fun is a must. Plus I like the softer side that it shows. I’ve always wanted a man to request a song with me in mind, and dance with me to it. It’s hard to believe that in my thirty-eight years of living, this hasn’t happened yet. I’m still waiting, and I will continue to wait until the day I die probably. It’s on my bucket list. But I digress with my love life.

I’m perfectly content to help bring my client’s vision of everlasting love to their lives. Each bride and groom is different, each love is different, and so every wedding is different. It’s been my life’s work to see it all brought together in one amazing start to a (hopefully) beautiful life.

Back to my work at hand. I glance at my phone and see that the last hour got away from me. Wow, I lost an hour to daydreaming about my love life. I don’t even think my love life has lasted a solid hour. Geez, that’s not good. Now I’m late for a meeting with my bride in Walnut Creek.  I grab my purse and head out my door, only to make a quick stop by Lynne’s desk.

“Lynne, how did your call with Samantha Baker end?” I ask. “Is everything going to work out nicely?

“Oh, gosh. I hope so,” she breathes nervously, licking chocolate off her fingers and smacking her lips together. I watch her wad up a few bright green foil wrappers of Andes Mints, tossing them to the trash at her feet. She picks up a contract from her desk and leaves a chocolate smudge on the corner.  Goodness. I need to buy hand wipes for this woman. “She said she’d call me back if she had any more problems, so I wait.” She shrugs her shoulders in her usually happy-go-lucky-until-I-need-assistance state.

“Okay,” I respond dryly, eyeing her as she folds the contract with the chocolate smudge on top for mailing. It’ll be the first thing they see. I’m going to have to let the boss lady out. “Umm, Lynne. What would you think if you got a contract in the mail and it had a light brown stain on the front?”

She looks at me and then at the contract in her hand, and shrugs her shoulders. “I probably wouldn’t even notice,” she giggles in a slightly irritating way that annoys me. Yeah, that’s Lynne, flighty as hell sometimes.

“If that were me receiving that, I would think that someone went to the bathroom and maybe didn’t wash their hands as thoroughly as they should. It’s unprofessional and just gross,” I explain, my voice growing sterner as my words progress. “Please reprint just the top page of the contract before mailing it out.” I stare down at her, trying to assert my authority with my hard glare.

I hate it when my inner boss lady has to come out and work over my employees. I want to be the boss that everyone loves, but sadly, that doesn’t always happen. She assures me she will reprint it and shoos me away, seeing my purse on my shoulder.

I merge onto the Bay Bridge and make it through Oakland in record time. What is going on with traffic? Did I miss a holiday or something? It’s so light. I end up making it to the Mossimo Ristorante in record time and proceed with ordering one of my favorite drinks, a White Wine Spritzer, while I wait on Aran Bailey, soon to be Daniels.

Aran is more than a client. She has become a good friend over the last few years in trying to plan her wedding.  We share similar opinions on many subjects and we both lead a very independent life. She’s definitely got her shit together, and that’s probably what I admire the most about her.

She’s the fiance of one of the best power forwards in the history of the NBA. Kyle Daniels has broken more records in three years than should be humanly possible in a basketball game. He’s a phenom and is currently THE highest paid player in the league. He was drafted three years ago as a first-round pick and has taken the Denver Nuggets to the Championships twice in the last two years.

The Sacramento Kings swooped in and offered the Nuggets a deal they couldn’t refuse in a deal for young, new talent at the next draft, and Kyle was traded a few weeks back. It was a sour deal for Kyle and Aran since they loved Denver. Nevertheless, feelings were hurt and loyalty was misplaced leaving them no choice but to cancel their massive wedding plans there and bring it all to California. Might I add my less-than-favorite part...on a short time schedule.

They are adamant they want to get married on July 1, 2017. Yes, that would be 7-1-17. It’s got some kind of crazy meaning to them, but all I can make of it is that Aran’s birthday is on the 17th, but that’s March 17th.

Aran didn’t want to get married while pregnant. She wasn’t comfortable proceeding due to the potential bad photo opportunities and the gossip that would surely tarnish Kyle’s reputation. He didn’t care, but Aran did and so everything was put on hold. As soon as they weren’t pregnant and we started planning the wedding, there was an ‘oops’, and she got pregnant again— with twins. 

They have both agreed they’re done. Now that the kids are a little older, and can participate in the wedding, we are moving forward again. She says her parents in Heaven are shaking their heads at her in shame, and that’s what has been causing these little tremors of earthquakes we’ve been feeling in northern California lately. She’s so damn funny.

“Hey, there,” Aran says, approaching the table breathless like she ran in here. She’s got her wedding portfolio tucked up under her arm. “Oh my god, let’s start planning this before something happens and I have to postpone it again.”

“Let’s get this party planning started then,” I cheer. “And don’t worry about me, because I’m not getting you pregnant.” We both laugh out loud, causing some of the other restaurant patrons to stare.