by Tessa Robinson
Two Words: Capital Club
Today I called to try to set up an appointment to visit so my mom and sister (both much more adept at picking out colors and centerpieces and shit) could see the place. Of course the coordinator wasn't able to accomodate. And, for kicks, she sent me the 2008 pricing. Now kids, I'm locked into this place . . . signed a contract and everything. And, when I suggested we finalize the menu at contract signing she balked. Apparently that was so she could raise the prices by $5 per person. I let her know that I will not be paying more and that I will be looking for another venue if she doesn't honor the prices that accompanied my contract. I'll find out on Wednesday if she and the club decide to grow some integrity.
Overall, though, much easier to stress about the stupid wedding than to continue feeling like the Angel of Death. So, thank you Capital Club, for giving me a destination (target) for my displaced anger.
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