I’m at the airport waiting for my flight to LA after a particularly stressful few days trying to get ready for Megan’s wedding.

That’s right.  I’m a guest at Megan Crane’s Dana Point wedding this weekend and I’m stressed.  Pitiful, isn’t it?

First, I haven’t attended a big fancy first wedding in a long time.  I do divorces now, and those are more like wakes.  Definitely not celebratory in my crowd.  Now I know there must be happy divorcees somewhere, but they aren’t my friends.  My friends don’t trade up.  If the marriage ends, they’re definitely worse off financially and they’ve got the kids and jobs to juggle, too.

But this blog isn’t about divorce, it’s about a beautiful Orange County celebration kicking off  with a Friday night BBQ on the beach, a Saturday night wedding with reception in the ballroom, and then a Sunday morning brunch.   So I do need clothes, and not Hawaii surfer girl clothes, and not booktour clothes (after all, this is Megan’s wedding and her soon-to-be-groom is an artist) but pretty and nice clothes, and I have those, too, but in the Seattle style which is heavy and dark, and too heavy and dark for ocean front mid-March.

So I went shopping.  Twice.  A light new coat to wear over my cocktail dress Saturday night in the event that the ceremony is outside (they’re reporting scattered showers and 58 degree high on Saturday), and then a proper purse, not a briefcase or battered bag the way I do.  That also meant shoes that aren’t Reef flip flops to go with the dress, and after buying heels, nice heels from Nordstroms, my shoes were nicer than my dress and I thought maybe I need a new dress, too.

Once the wedding outfit was finally sorted out, I began to doubt my brunch outfit for Sunday.  What if my dress was too bare?   What if the brunch place is more casual?  What if everyone is in fun slacks and cute little skirts and I’m wearing a matronly dress?

Maybe this is why I don’t get invited more places.  Maybe everyone knows I’m a tad neurotic and spend four days packing for a three day event.

Just when I thought I was finally done, just when I thought it was safe to get a proper blow out so my hair will at least look styling, I realized I had nothing to wear to lunch with Lucy Mukerjee Friday in Hollywood.  We are meeting at the Mondarin Hotel, too, home of the famous celebrity studded Sky Bar, to talk about the Flirting with Forty movie as well as the options on Odd Mom Out and Mrs. Perfect.  I was at a loss all over again.  What should I wear to a lunch in Hollywood?  What would make me look slim and smart and not Seattle but a little LA?

This morning I finally gave up realizing I’ve read far too many People Magazines’ style columns.  I’m a writer and a mom, not a celebrity.  I don’t have to look like a celebrity.   I don’t have to do anything but be there for Megan this weekend.

With my blown out hair.