When I set out as an engaged person, I swore I was the anti-bride. I didn’t want to get swept up in all the hoop-la of planning a wedding—and turn into a national youtube bridezilla phenomenon. I think I’ve done a pretty good job keeping my cool, but it’s impossible (if you’re having a somewhat traditional wedding, like we are) to ignore the details all together. At some point you actually have to do stuff—and that point was this past weekend.

Fred and I finally went to Men’s Wearhouse and picked out his and groomsmen’s tuxes. When I announced that I was clueless to the saleswomen (I’m not exactly a fashion guru), they laughed and made it a pretty painless experience.

Then we went to a jewelry store to find his ring. This was a challenge. Fred has gargantuan knuckles. I never really noticed before he squeezed a size 9 ½ ring over his knuckle and then it swam around his skinny, bony finger. (I mean, I really hope our kids don’t inherit his knuckles. It’s kind of gross.)

We have a friend who had a similar problem, although his knuckles aren’t as huge as Fred’s, and he bought a wedding band with a clamp, so it slides over the knuckle and then tightens on the finger, preventing it from being loose and annoying. It’s a great idea, but of course it cost $1000, compared to the $300 rings Fred tried on. Has anyone else ever had this problem? It doesn’t seem to be that common because there are only a few companies that offer these type of rings. We’re going to one of the stores that does so Fred can try it on and then decide what feels best. I have a feeling we’ll be shelling out the extra money.

Finally, I spent the rest of the weekend addressing our invitations. Fred’s so lucky he has horrible handwriting (probably due to his abnormally large knuckles), or I would have made him help.

So, those are a few more details checked off until the big day, which is in 9 ½ weeks, by the way. Which means I only have 4 weeks to get down to my wedding-day size. Is is possible to lose 20 pounds in 4 weeks, one may ask? I’ll keep you posted.

My sister (aka my matron of honor) threw me a bridal shower this weekend. It was at my house, and for those of you keeping score at home, you know that Fred and I have been remodeling our house in order to sell it. Three weeks before the party the kitchen didn’t have floors, we didn’t have furniture (all mine was in storage) and the walls hadn’t been painted in probably 15 years. I don’t know how we did it, but we got the house ready in time and it looked beautiful for the party. Fred even sent two vases of flowers with a card that said, “For your shower. Love your husband.” (Enter “awws” or bitter vomiting sounds here.)

I had been so focused on our remodeling efforts that I hadn’t thought much about the shower. It wasn’t until I was opening a gift and pulled out a set of the china that we had registered for, that it hit me. It hit my best friend Jaime too. “Oh my God,” she said, looking at the Crate & Barrel plate. “You have china. You’re getting married.”

She was right on both counts—I am totally getting married. And I have china. In this whole engagement process there are a few moments like this when the marriage thing becomes real: when you call your parents to tell then you’re engaged, when you try on the dress, and when you open your first set of china at your bridal shower.

I can’t explain it, but for me anyway, I don’t think about the fact that I’m getting married on a daily, or even weekly, basis. Yes, I spend every day with the guy that I love and I have shiny new bling on my finger, but the marriage part is kind of abstract until something—like china—makes it tangible.

My dress also came in last Friday (big weekend, huh?) and I went to the store with my mom (who was in town for the shower) to try it on. To my relief, I still loved it. And I still didn’t want to take it off. It’s a shame I only get to wear that dress once.  I was tempted to put it on for the bridal shower, but mom said that would be tacky.
So to sum up, I have my china, my dress, a really sweet groom, and kitchen floors. Engaged life, so far, is pretty good.

Fred bought Guitar Hero last week. I’ve always thought I was pretty lucky when it came to him and video games. I’ve dated other guys who would spend hours with that damned controller playing NFL game day and Mortal Kombat 47 and millions of other games. Fred, until last week, owned one game. Some baseball thing. And he plays about two hours a week.

That’s why, when he called me and told me he was going to get Guitar Hero, I didn’t mind. I figured it would be like having a new puppy. He would forget all about the baseball game and spend his two video game hours a week with the new toy. But I was a little surprised when he came home early from work in order to play it. Fred never comes home early from work.

A little voice in my head reminded me of my favorite line from the movie Prime with Uma Thurman. She wants to buy her much-younger boyfriend a Play Station and her friend says to her “You like having sex? Don’t buy him a Play Station.”

I watched in horror as Fred ripped open the box and began an afternoon jam session with Guitar Hero. (On a side note, I have to say that it’s kind of hot to watch him play that plastic guitar. I’ve always had a thing for musicians, and in my defense Fred plays the real guitar, too. I’m not just turned on by computer game nerds.)

Visions of our relationship turning into him being glued in front of the TV 24/seven and me being the nagging wife who never gets laid were running through my mind.

“You wanna give it a try?” he asked me after playing a few songs.

“Sure,” I said. My hand/eye coordination is terrible so I figured I would hate it, but as soon as the first few notes of “I Love Rock n’ Roll” came across the screen, I was addicted. No wonder he came home early from work! We played, switching off until dinner time and that night as I was laying in bed, I was secretly playing the Weezer song in my head. It had been a doozy.

The next day, Fred called me in the afternoon. I had a big assignment due and he was checking to see how it was going.

“What’s that noise?” he asked me.

“Uh….”

“Are you playing Guitar Hero?”

“Yeah. I’m just taking a break,” I said, defensively.

Fred started laughing. “I’ve created a monster.”

I went online yesterday to check our registry and see what gifts people have bought us so far (one of the many fun perks of registering) and on the Crate and Barrel web site, it thoughtfully gives us a countdown to the big day. In huge red letters it said “99 DAYS until your event.” I couldn’t believe it.

Whenever anyone asks how wedding planning is going, I give a no-big-deal shrug and say, “We’ve got nearly everything done.” And I used to believe that when I said it, until I saw that we only have 99 days left! We have to get his ring, pick out the tuxes, finalize the cupcakes with the baker, give the DJ our reception instructions and no-play list, get fitted for my dress, buy shoes and jewelry, and probably about 50 more things that I haven’t even thought of.

Not to mention, my shower is in two weeks at my house and for those of you who have been reading earlier blogs, you know that Fred and I are remodeling the house. It’s not exactly party-ready.

And Fred and I are even closer to moving. We both had really great interviews with prospective employers in New York and could possibly move in September — the month when Crate and Barrel will kindly remind me that we have less than “30 DAYS until your event.”

Even thought I’m not the crazy type and am not near turning into a bridezilla, I’m beginning to realize what all the stress is about…

I watched the finale of the Bachelorette last night. WTF? I didn’t think she had chemistry with either one of them, but what I really don’t understand is how she got engaged to him when she said she was “falling in love” with about 17 other men at the same time. I mean, how did Jesse feel when he had to watch her crying over Graham and Jeremy?

I love bad TV.

But what I would really love to see is what happens right after they get engaged and the cameras go off. Did DeAnna look at Jesse and think, “WHOA. I’m totally engaged to a dude that is kind of a stranger. And he says gnarly a lot.”

I remember the night that Fred and I got engaged. When I was lying next to him in bed, trying to catch glimpses of my new bling in the dark, there was still that tiny part of me that was freaking out. Do I know everything about him? Are we really going to be in love forever? What if that cute little smacking his lips thing he does when he’s hungry is incredibly irritating in 20 years? And I had known him for TWO YEARS.

I can’t imagine getting engaged to somebody that I had known for six weeks. On a national dating show.

I’m sure Jesse and DeAnna will go the way of all the other Bachelor/Bachelorette couples (besides Trista and Ryan) and call it quits in a few months when he realizes that Newnan, Georgia isn’t as exciting as the Bahamas and she realizes that surfer-speak may be “rad” for a few weeks, but really annoying for any serious length of time.

But by that point, we’ll be watching the next poor Bachelor (Jason, perhaps?) select his woman of the moment from a harem of desperate ladies. I’ll gossip about it with my friends (can you believe she said that on national tv??) and then crawl into bed with Fred and hold him tight, thankful that he loves me for all my quirks—even my bad reality tv show addiction.

Colleen is Tango’s weekly engaged love blogger.

I just had a much-needed “girl” weekend with my good friend Blane at my parents’ lake house in Savannah. We drank way too much wine, cooked good food, went skinny dipping late at night and stopped just short of giving each other mud masks during the Bachelorette (not because it was too cliché, just because we had too much to drink and forgot).

At one point she said to me, “You know this is the last weekend we’re going to have like this in a long time.” With me getting married and possibly moving and she and her live-in boyfriend building a house together, we realized that life is about to get pretty hectic and it will be tough to plan “just girl” weekends together.

That kind of sucks.

I love when Fred and I hang out with Blane and her boyfriend, but there’s just something about girl talk (which reminds me–remember that ridiculous board game from the early 90s where the losers had to put red zit stickers on their faces? I digress); the gossip, the giggling, the deeply emotional analyses of life and love that can’t be replicated with a boy.

I know that even with all the craziness of getting married and life with Fred, I will always make room for my girls. He just doesn’t have the same appreciation for the Bachelorette that Blane does.