Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Monday, December 19, 2011
After a quite stressful week leading up to the wedding, I finally had a bit of time to relax. My awesome aunt, who traveled down from Idaho for the wedding, pulled me aside, handed me $35 and said, "Go get a pedicure, relax a little bit." It was exactly what I needed. After finding a little hole in the wall salon and getting a pedi and mani, the inner girl in me (and the cause of all my Bridezilla outbursts) was finally given what she needed; a good foot rub.
Stress with the band/van ordeal, and general money woes, had made the week leading up to the wedding nearly unbearable. (I'll post all about that soon.) After that magical foot rub, I was able to just take a deep breath, be okay with the chips falling where they may, and focus on the fun part of my wedding.
And just to clarify (and toot my own horn a little bit) I was stressed out about the wedding. For over a year now, Husband (I love calling him that!) and I have been introducing each other as husband and wife. We've been referring to the wedding as "A Big Party and a Piece of Paper." Because that's really all it is. Marriage is a state of mind, one that has existed between Husband and I almost from the beginning of our romantic relationship. In my stressier, pre-pedicure moments, Husband would hug me and say, "We're getting married. This wedding is happening. We have a suit and a dress and the rings and a license. That's all that matters." What I was stressing out about was the wedding. Orchestrating a big party on a tiny budget and a tiny amount of time. The marriage is what was able to get me through it all.
Sunday evening I went flower shopping, found all of the flowers I wanted/needed, and headed back to the big, pretty rental house my parents had for the week. The Bestest, her Boyfriend, and my family were all hard at work, preparing the cake, the zombie figures (yes, you read that correctly), the favors, the candle holders, the food; everything. My Bridezilla melt down (which involved tears and an indulgent door slamming) after some bad van news on Saturday morning had made everyone come together to help me pull off the last details. My dad made a miniature Thanksgiving dinner, since we wouldn't be able to travel for Turkey Day, since it so nearly followed the wedding.
Everyone stayed up pretty late that night, but by 4am it was just Husband and I, the Bestest and her Boyfriend. That was when we decided it was time for a burrito run. Oh, how I already miss that shady but delicious Mexican fast food.
I finally passed out at 5:15am, but Husband stayed up all night, since he'd woken up permanently at 3am. I got back up at 6:30am to start my wedding day. A quick shower, a cup of coffee, and the running around began. We loaded up the car that Husband's parents loaned to us for the weekend, and took the decorations down to the reception hall to pick up the key at 9am. We quickly set up the tables and chairs, ran back to the rental house for the forgotten decorations and our wedding clothes, picked up the champagne from the liquor store, and came back. At noon the hairdresser (a girl I grew up across the street from and sister to my oldest friend) and the make up artist showed up. Husband (wisely) ran out to grab us some lunch from a little Greek joint around the corner, while my preparation for cuteness began.
Everyone else began trickling in, and after my face was properly painted, Husband took a break from decorating the reception hall and we were able to eat. After that it was a whirlwind of hair doing and decor approving for me. As the time for photos neared, I had to silently pat myself on the back for telling everyone the time for photos was 3pm, when it was really 3:30pm. Go me! Planning for tardiness.
By 4pm, though it became apparent I hadn't budgeted enough. Husband and I ran over to the venue to decorate that, too, before getting pictures started. We hid upstairs and did a few more photos while the crowd began to gather down in the courtyard. (We also snuck a little airplane sized bottle of Jim up with us, to help us get rid of the nerves.)
The time came to line up and get ready to walk down the aisle. Husband and his father started out first, and stood up front. The music changed and my bridesmaids got ready to go. My dad took my arm and I was only able to blurt out, "I have to pee."
Everyone laughed, and my father said, "Too late for that, honey!"
Then my cousin Jinx, my Oldest Friend and the Bestest were all walking down the aisle. My Oldest Friend had recorded a song for me, and I couldn't even hear it. As hard as I tried, I couldn't hear the music over my own nervousness and excitement. Then the flower girl walked down the aisle. She's nine years old now. I've known her since she was only four. And there she was, walking with straight posture, carefully scattering the artificial leaves I'd given her.
Then it was my turn. I was straining over my own nerves, trying to hear the music. It had been so important to me, and now I couldn't hear it. It felt as though everyone there at the wedding was cheering for me... cheering for me and Husband, and I couldn't hear the delicate piano arpeggios being playing over the sound system.
As my Dad and I reached the front of the aisle, Husband joined us, and he took my other arm in his. And as the officiants (my Mom and the GBF) began the ceremony, all I could think about was the tear that had run down my nose, and was now hanging on the very tip, refusing to just drip off. I was hoping that the Bestest's Boyfriend (who served as our primary photographer) wouldn't be able to see that dangling tear with his super awesome camera. (It didn't!)
My nerves took hold of me, and it took all of my energy to not cry. I was at that stage of nervousness/excitement where I can't stop smiling. Seriously. I tried, at it resulted in a strange little twitchy smirk that made me look like a crazy person. So I just smiled. I realized, halfway through the ceremony, that I had been so worried about locking my knees and passing out, that instead I had been doing an awkward, pseudo-pee pee dance. I haven't seen any video yet, but I just hope it wasn't too obvious to everyone else.
Then it was time for the vows. I was most worried about bursting into ugly cry face during this part, but strangely enough, it was the most calm I felt during the entire day. Husband held my hands, and looked me right in the eye, and recited the words we had carefully crafted together in July. We wrote our own vows;
The ceremony only took eight minutes. It felt even quicker than that. It was strange that all of that planning, fussing over all the weird little details, were over in eight minutes. I knew going into it that there were certain elements that no one would care about or remember but me (like what my bridesmaids were wearing, and our flowers, hence the $7 dress for my 'flower' girl and the grocery store flowers.) I remember that when it was over, I was thinking, "Already?"
But then it was over, we were Husband and Wife, and that was that. Time to party!
The Reception was at an old building just two small blocks away (most everyone walked). My parents and the Bestest's Boyfriend did almost all of the cooking, with help from one of my Aunts. They also made the cake. While the ceremony was mostly Autumn themed (we had tiny Jack O'Lantern lights on the arch), the reception is where we went spooky. There were fake spiders and skulls all over. Candles were sitting on top of the wine bottles I had made labels for (potions and various potion ingredients.) It ended up feeling like a slightly spooky, whimsical family meal. There was almost no dancing, as people were too busy eating and talking. The food, by the way, was Penne with Meat Sauce, and Rotini with Spinach Alfredo, a veggie tray, a meat tray, and fresh bread made my the Bestest's Boyfriend. (He seriously saved the day. The wedding wouldn't have come together like it did if it weren't for his tremendous amount of help.) There was also a desert table, with Pumpkin Cheesecakes supplied by one of Husband's fans, who became a good friend of mine, a bowl of jelly beans with Bertie Bott's mixed in, and a plate of cream puffs. Each table also had a trick or treat tub full of candy. I wanted to make sure that if people gave up their Halloween to celebrate with us, they still got their sugary goodies.
I suppose the rest of the story I can tell in pictures;
By the time the reception was drawing to a close, Husband and I had managed to eat one plate of food each (over the course of the night, which is more than a lot of bride and grooms get at their weddings), and said hello and goodbye to everyone that had come. It was hectic, and as the center of attention, we were pulled in many directions at once. But it was lovely. The Bestest caught my bouquet, and her Boyfriend caught the garter.
The best part of the night, I do have to say, is how everyone just suddenly pitched in and helped us clean up and put everything away. It wasn't even coordinated. It started with my Oldest Friend and her sister (the one who did my hair), and it just spread from there. Once all of the decorations were packed up and the tables and chairs folded and away, everyone stood around and socialized, and even got a little bit of dancing in. I was blown away by how everyone came together to help us make this little shindig happen. If it hadn't been for the generosity of my creative and talented friends and family, I don't know how we could've done this. It truly moved me to see everyone pitch in to help us out.
After the night was through, we piled back into the cars with all of our decorations, and went back to the rental house (a gorgeous 4 bedroom with a giant back yard, pool and tiki bar) to crash. We brought in what needed to be refrigerated or would melt in the sun, and everyone collapsed in bed, asleep. Except for me. I had to take off the false eyelashes and the professional make up and all of the curls. It took almost as long to undo all the pretty as it did to heap it on. By the time I finished my shower and got into bed, Husband was sound asleep. I didn't have the nerve to wake him, so just crawled into bed and fell asleep next to him.
I figured we had the rest of our lives to do 'husband and wife' things. You know, now that we'd had our big party, and signed that piece of paper.
Stress with the band/van ordeal, and general money woes, had made the week leading up to the wedding nearly unbearable. (I'll post all about that soon.) After that magical foot rub, I was able to just take a deep breath, be okay with the chips falling where they may, and focus on the fun part of my wedding.
And just to clarify (and toot my own horn a little bit) I was stressed out about the wedding. For over a year now, Husband (I love calling him that!) and I have been introducing each other as husband and wife. We've been referring to the wedding as "A Big Party and a Piece of Paper." Because that's really all it is. Marriage is a state of mind, one that has existed between Husband and I almost from the beginning of our romantic relationship. In my stressier, pre-pedicure moments, Husband would hug me and say, "We're getting married. This wedding is happening. We have a suit and a dress and the rings and a license. That's all that matters." What I was stressing out about was the wedding. Orchestrating a big party on a tiny budget and a tiny amount of time. The marriage is what was able to get me through it all.
Sunday evening I went flower shopping, found all of the flowers I wanted/needed, and headed back to the big, pretty rental house my parents had for the week. The Bestest, her Boyfriend, and my family were all hard at work, preparing the cake, the zombie figures (yes, you read that correctly), the favors, the candle holders, the food; everything. My Bridezilla melt down (which involved tears and an indulgent door slamming) after some bad van news on Saturday morning had made everyone come together to help me pull off the last details. My dad made a miniature Thanksgiving dinner, since we wouldn't be able to travel for Turkey Day, since it so nearly followed the wedding.
The bottles were candle holders for the reception. Tom Selleck up there went on the cake.
Everyone stayed up pretty late that night, but by 4am it was just Husband and I, the Bestest and her Boyfriend. That was when we decided it was time for a burrito run. Oh, how I already miss that shady but delicious Mexican fast food.
I finally passed out at 5:15am, but Husband stayed up all night, since he'd woken up permanently at 3am. I got back up at 6:30am to start my wedding day. A quick shower, a cup of coffee, and the running around began. We loaded up the car that Husband's parents loaned to us for the weekend, and took the decorations down to the reception hall to pick up the key at 9am. We quickly set up the tables and chairs, ran back to the rental house for the forgotten decorations and our wedding clothes, picked up the champagne from the liquor store, and came back. At noon the hairdresser (a girl I grew up across the street from and sister to my oldest friend) and the make up artist showed up. Husband (wisely) ran out to grab us some lunch from a little Greek joint around the corner, while my preparation for cuteness began.
Everyone else began trickling in, and after my face was properly painted, Husband took a break from decorating the reception hall and we were able to eat. After that it was a whirlwind of hair doing and decor approving for me. As the time for photos neared, I had to silently pat myself on the back for telling everyone the time for photos was 3pm, when it was really 3:30pm. Go me! Planning for tardiness.
By 4pm, though it became apparent I hadn't budgeted enough. Husband and I ran over to the venue to decorate that, too, before getting pictures started. We hid upstairs and did a few more photos while the crowd began to gather down in the courtyard. (We also snuck a little airplane sized bottle of Jim up with us, to help us get rid of the nerves.)
The time came to line up and get ready to walk down the aisle. Husband and his father started out first, and stood up front. The music changed and my bridesmaids got ready to go. My dad took my arm and I was only able to blurt out, "I have to pee."
Everyone laughed, and my father said, "Too late for that, honey!"
Then my cousin Jinx, my Oldest Friend and the Bestest were all walking down the aisle. My Oldest Friend had recorded a song for me, and I couldn't even hear it. As hard as I tried, I couldn't hear the music over my own nervousness and excitement. Then the flower girl walked down the aisle. She's nine years old now. I've known her since she was only four. And there she was, walking with straight posture, carefully scattering the artificial leaves I'd given her.
She scattered artificial autumn leaves from a plastic Jack O'Lantern trick or treat tub.
Then it was my turn. I was straining over my own nerves, trying to hear the music. It had been so important to me, and now I couldn't hear it. It felt as though everyone there at the wedding was cheering for me... cheering for me and Husband, and I couldn't hear the delicate piano arpeggios being playing over the sound system.
As my Dad and I reached the front of the aisle, Husband joined us, and he took my other arm in his. And as the officiants (my Mom and the GBF) began the ceremony, all I could think about was the tear that had run down my nose, and was now hanging on the very tip, refusing to just drip off. I was hoping that the Bestest's Boyfriend (who served as our primary photographer) wouldn't be able to see that dangling tear with his super awesome camera. (It didn't!)
My nerves took hold of me, and it took all of my energy to not cry. I was at that stage of nervousness/excitement where I can't stop smiling. Seriously. I tried, at it resulted in a strange little twitchy smirk that made me look like a crazy person. So I just smiled. I realized, halfway through the ceremony, that I had been so worried about locking my knees and passing out, that instead I had been doing an awkward, pseudo-pee pee dance. I haven't seen any video yet, but I just hope it wasn't too obvious to everyone else.
Then it was time for the vows. I was most worried about bursting into ugly cry face during this part, but strangely enough, it was the most calm I felt during the entire day. Husband held my hands, and looked me right in the eye, and recited the words we had carefully crafted together in July. We wrote our own vows;
I, Husband, take you, Lori, to be my wife, my constant friend, my partner for life. I promise to love you without reservation, and to be open and honest with you always. We will stand together in times of joy and times of sorrow, in times of plenty or times of want, in sickness and in health; to love, honor and cherish unconditionally. I will be faithful to you. I will love you alone all the days of my life.
The ceremony only took eight minutes. It felt even quicker than that. It was strange that all of that planning, fussing over all the weird little details, were over in eight minutes. I knew going into it that there were certain elements that no one would care about or remember but me (like what my bridesmaids were wearing, and our flowers, hence the $7 dress for my 'flower' girl and the grocery store flowers.) I remember that when it was over, I was thinking, "Already?"
But then it was over, we were Husband and Wife, and that was that. Time to party!
The Reception was at an old building just two small blocks away (most everyone walked). My parents and the Bestest's Boyfriend did almost all of the cooking, with help from one of my Aunts. They also made the cake. While the ceremony was mostly Autumn themed (we had tiny Jack O'Lantern lights on the arch), the reception is where we went spooky. There were fake spiders and skulls all over. Candles were sitting on top of the wine bottles I had made labels for (potions and various potion ingredients.) It ended up feeling like a slightly spooky, whimsical family meal. There was almost no dancing, as people were too busy eating and talking. The food, by the way, was Penne with Meat Sauce, and Rotini with Spinach Alfredo, a veggie tray, a meat tray, and fresh bread made my the Bestest's Boyfriend. (He seriously saved the day. The wedding wouldn't have come together like it did if it weren't for his tremendous amount of help.) There was also a desert table, with Pumpkin Cheesecakes supplied by one of Husband's fans, who became a good friend of mine, a bowl of jelly beans with Bertie Bott's mixed in, and a plate of cream puffs. Each table also had a trick or treat tub full of candy. I wanted to make sure that if people gave up their Halloween to celebrate with us, they still got their sugary goodies.
I suppose the rest of the story I can tell in pictures;
By the time the reception was drawing to a close, Husband and I had managed to eat one plate of food each (over the course of the night, which is more than a lot of bride and grooms get at their weddings), and said hello and goodbye to everyone that had come. It was hectic, and as the center of attention, we were pulled in many directions at once. But it was lovely. The Bestest caught my bouquet, and her Boyfriend caught the garter.
The best part of the night, I do have to say, is how everyone just suddenly pitched in and helped us clean up and put everything away. It wasn't even coordinated. It started with my Oldest Friend and her sister (the one who did my hair), and it just spread from there. Once all of the decorations were packed up and the tables and chairs folded and away, everyone stood around and socialized, and even got a little bit of dancing in. I was blown away by how everyone came together to help us make this little shindig happen. If it hadn't been for the generosity of my creative and talented friends and family, I don't know how we could've done this. It truly moved me to see everyone pitch in to help us out.
After the night was through, we piled back into the cars with all of our decorations, and went back to the rental house (a gorgeous 4 bedroom with a giant back yard, pool and tiki bar) to crash. We brought in what needed to be refrigerated or would melt in the sun, and everyone collapsed in bed, asleep. Except for me. I had to take off the false eyelashes and the professional make up and all of the curls. It took almost as long to undo all the pretty as it did to heap it on. By the time I finished my shower and got into bed, Husband was sound asleep. I didn't have the nerve to wake him, so just crawled into bed and fell asleep next to him.
I figured we had the rest of our lives to do 'husband and wife' things. You know, now that we'd had our big party, and signed that piece of paper.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Alright, the final countdown is on.
Ten days from now, Future Husband will lose the 'Future' portion of his name, and I get to officially adopt a new alliterative moniker.
At this point in the game, I have so much stress from the planning stages over the last year (not to mention the hell of a summer we had), that I'm just ready for it to be over. Is that strange? I already feel married, I just haven't had a big party and signed a piece of paper yet.
Although, that big party is going to be pretty awesome...
I haven't really gushed about my wedding on here (my facebook friends will say otherwise), so let me give you the highlights real quick (because I still have SOOOO much to do in the next ten days.
-The wedding's in Arizona, at a coffee shop that we found out we both frequented as teenagers, before we knew each other. It's gorgeous. I can't wait to post the pictures.
-The wedding is on Halloween. We wanted November 1st, (so our anniversary would be 11-1-11), but you'd be surprised at how hard it is to find a reasonably priced wedding venue for a Tuesday.
-Everyone in the wedding party is wearing Chuck Taylor's.
-Instead of flowers, we're decorating everything with Fall Leaves and Pumpkins.
-No YMCA or Chicken Dance at the reception. Instead, it'll be Thriller and The Time Warp.
Great Googily Moogily... I am SO EXCITED to share pictures!
Ten days from now, Future Husband will lose the 'Future' portion of his name, and I get to officially adopt a new alliterative moniker.
At this point in the game, I have so much stress from the planning stages over the last year (not to mention the hell of a summer we had), that I'm just ready for it to be over. Is that strange? I already feel married, I just haven't had a big party and signed a piece of paper yet.
Although, that big party is going to be pretty awesome...
I haven't really gushed about my wedding on here (my facebook friends will say otherwise), so let me give you the highlights real quick (because I still have SOOOO much to do in the next ten days.
-The wedding's in Arizona, at a coffee shop that we found out we both frequented as teenagers, before we knew each other. It's gorgeous. I can't wait to post the pictures.
-The wedding is on Halloween. We wanted November 1st, (so our anniversary would be 11-1-11), but you'd be surprised at how hard it is to find a reasonably priced wedding venue for a Tuesday.
-Everyone in the wedding party is wearing Chuck Taylor's.
-Instead of flowers, we're decorating everything with Fall Leaves and Pumpkins.
-No YMCA or Chicken Dance at the reception. Instead, it'll be Thriller and The Time Warp.
Great Googily Moogily... I am SO EXCITED to share pictures!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
*Warning!* - Another seriously old, seriously introspective blog! Proceed with caution!
When it comes to being a Hero or Villain, there are definitely shades of gray. With all of the 2007 turmoil, I didn't consider Future Husband a Villain. Conflicted, yes. Foolish, definitely. But I was just as much to blame for the mess. When he told me about his feelings, I could have told him that I reciprocated, but that he needed to end things with Crazy Ex#1 before we started carrying on. I initially did that, but the longer it took, the harder it was to resist him. Eventually it was a full fledged affair. And when it went sour, it hurt all three of us involved, and split our once tight social circle into two distinctive sides, even those that didn't want to be involved. Even today I say the bulk of the blame lies with Future Husband, but I'm not responsibility free. I know that.
And I'd like to think I'm smart enough to not make the same mistake twice... but I did.
Though in my defense, I didn't think I was making the same mistake. And the scenario wasn't exactly the same: It was actually worse. When Future Husband and I finally got together I lived in Oklahoma, and he lived in Seattle... with soon-to-be Crazy Ex #2. I thought that it would just be a fling, and he would finally be out of my system and out of my life. But it was the exact opposite of what ended up happening. Even when he started pushing for a relationship, I suggested we be friends while we were apart, and lovers while we were in the same city. Because, apparently, I like to make things unnecessarily complicated. Just like before, I didn't resist him for long. He promised to break up with Ex #2, just like he had with #1. I hoped that he had enough courage to do it, but was terrified he wouldn't. But something had changed in the years in between. Maybe finally being with me entirely was enough to make him realize I was worth fighting for. I was worth being a Villain for.
During the weeks between us becoming us, and him returning to Seattle from tour, he vented all of his frustrations and insecurities to me. He hated that he had to be a bad guy, but he gave himself the pep talks. I just agreed. He decided he would just blame the band for his reason for leaving Crazy Ex #2. I advised him that this was a bad idea, but if it's what he was comfortable doing, to go for it. He thought it would soften the blow. He also didn't want her to stab him or set his record collection on fire. I couldn't blame him, there. I'd heard through the web of mutual friends that she was just like Crazy Ex#1.
When he got back to Seattle, he followed through, broke up with her, and moved out. Things weren't easy, but he didn't make the same mistake he had in 2007. He chose me, this time. However, things didn't stay peachy for long. It turned out that Crazy Ex#2 had suspected me for a while, and had been facebook stalking me. A few days before Christmas, she was able to track down 'proof' in a comment I'd left on someone's page. She understandably blew her gasket.
She acted like a love torn 13 year old. It was embarrassing. Like those awkward comedies where you laugh because you feel so very bad for the person. For a woman who's almost 30, her behavior was abominable. She logged into Future Husband's social networks, sent out emails to his family and friends, and then changed his passwords so that he couldn't get back in right away to delete everything. She sent me numerous emails. She even sent one to my father on Christmas morning, preaching sisterhood, all the while sending drunken emails to Future Husband about how much she hated me and how I had ruined her life. Me. Not Future Husband for cheating on her. Me.
She harassed me for a few weeks online (she only tormented Future Husband for about a week), and even her mother and two friends got in on it. Months later, when she found out I was going on tour with the band, her nasty messages to me started back up. With only one friend getting in on the action the second time, so I guess that's an improvement. Though, she did threaten me. I'm not sure if she threatened to somehow use the internet to find me and cause me physical harm, or if she meant that she'd find my personal information and like... I don't know. Ruin my credit? Either way, the threat (thankfully) never panned out. Which is fortunate for them, too, because while I am not violence prone, I am vindictive, have a long memory, and have many beefy, violent Italian men that are wrapped around my little finger and willing to do literally anything for me. (Seriously. Back in 2007 when things imploded with FH, I argued with two of my cousins about giving them his home address.) Even now that my family (all of it) is happy with Future Husband, since the engagement I've gotten a few, "We're happy for you, but does he know that if he hurts you again, he's still dead?" It's the Italian in us., what can I say?
Although, on a side note, after months and months of Crazy Ex #2's online harassment, I finally gave in and replied. I never sent a reply to any of her emails (though I wrote a few) and never acknowledged her. I figured ignoring her would probably anger her more, and it kept my own muddled feelings from exploding and making me feel worse. After her last snarky comment (actually on this blog) I gave in to my mischievous side. I had her email address (and home address, and phone number, and work number - because she apparently assumed that I don't know how to use google) and decided to be naughty. After she stalked me and wrote me horrible nasty things for months, after she wrote to my father on Christmas in an effort to ruin our holiday, after she tried her hardest to hurt me (because she assumed I knew absolutely nothing about FH's history, flaws or dark side)... I signed her up for Midget Porn. Yep. You read that correctly. Midget Porn. After her hurtful words and hostile behavior, I threw a rubber chicken. I thought it was hilarious. I had one angry email from her even crazier friend after that, but since then she's left me alone. Never underestimate the power of miniature dominatrices.
What bothers me, to this day, about this situation, is that she considers me the Villain. Not Future Husband. Sure, I was a bad female. I was knowingly the 'other woman.' She even used the word "stole" in one of her tirades. That's always bothered me. It seems like the women who loudly proclaim that they do not want to be objectified are the first to accuse another woman of 'stealing her man.' It's not like I snuck into her backyard one night and took Future Husband because she forgot to lock him up. He's not a bicycle. He's an adult; fully capable of making his own decisions, good and bad.
We (thankfully) haven't heard from her for a few months now, so we're hoping she finally came to her senses, and has recognized that Future Husband treated her horribly. He pretty much used her as an excuse to get away from Crazy Ex #1, and then as a place to live so he wouldn't be homeless when the band moved from Arizona to Seattle. He even told me (before we became a couple) that he knew she was more in love with him, and that he felt bad about it. On the whole, he was truly villainous towards her, and yet she still seems to hold him up on a pedestal. I understand despising me (I would, too), but she's never met me. I don't know Crazy Ex #2 and hold nothing against her, aside from her atrocious behavior towards me concerning this fiasco. She should be angry at Future Husband. She should loathe him. And for some reason, I get the impression she doesn't. She still thinks I stole her bicycle.
Evil Lori will steal your man, and your Penny Farthing. All while wearing a jaunty hat!
In her story, he was Willoughby, and she just can't figure that out. Jane never lets us see Ms. Grey/Mrs. Willoughby. We only hear how Willoughby relates her to Elinor. So who knows how accurate that portrait was, given his past history of self preservation? So if you're still cyber stalking me, Crazyhead- forget Willoughby. Go find yourself your Colonel Brandon.
(On a side note, it seems I'm painting a really horrible picture of Future Husband and I. I guess I'm just trying to clear the air, and my conscience. I'm not perfect, neither is he. He's the Hero in my love story because he's perfect for me. Not because he's Clark Kent. We've both done bad things in our social lives and our love lives, but who hasn't? I'm just willing to share mine.)
Crazy Ex #2 has been intermittently on my mind since we went public with our engagement. I don't think I'll hear from her ever again, but I wouldn't be surprised, either, if there was another little flip out when she finds out that we're getting married and I'm not pregnant. Maybe the new batch of angry messages will come in November, after the wedding. Who knows? Let's hope, for everyone's sake, that she realized what a Douchey McDouchebag Future Husband was to her. That he was a villain in her story, not an anti-hero. Let's hope that she's come to the mature realization that harassing me (It's actually legal harassment - I looked it up. I could press charges if I wanted to.) isn't going to make her feel better, or help her move on.
And how do I do it, you ask? How do I sleep at night being a Villainess? After being instrumental in the heart break of two different women? Well, there are three things that keep me from feeling guilty for more than a few seconds;
1- Future Husband knew me before he know either of them, and in his own 2007 words, fell in love with me the night he met me. It's almost like they were the 'other women.' I was the original.
2- I was only an instrument. My favorite analogy; if you get stabbed by someone, you don't get angry at the knife.
3- Completely good heroes are boring. ;-)
When it comes to being a Hero or Villain, there are definitely shades of gray. With all of the 2007 turmoil, I didn't consider Future Husband a Villain. Conflicted, yes. Foolish, definitely. But I was just as much to blame for the mess. When he told me about his feelings, I could have told him that I reciprocated, but that he needed to end things with Crazy Ex#1 before we started carrying on. I initially did that, but the longer it took, the harder it was to resist him. Eventually it was a full fledged affair. And when it went sour, it hurt all three of us involved, and split our once tight social circle into two distinctive sides, even those that didn't want to be involved. Even today I say the bulk of the blame lies with Future Husband, but I'm not responsibility free. I know that.
And I'd like to think I'm smart enough to not make the same mistake twice... but I did.
Though in my defense, I didn't think I was making the same mistake. And the scenario wasn't exactly the same: It was actually worse. When Future Husband and I finally got together I lived in Oklahoma, and he lived in Seattle... with soon-to-be Crazy Ex #2. I thought that it would just be a fling, and he would finally be out of my system and out of my life. But it was the exact opposite of what ended up happening. Even when he started pushing for a relationship, I suggested we be friends while we were apart, and lovers while we were in the same city. Because, apparently, I like to make things unnecessarily complicated. Just like before, I didn't resist him for long. He promised to break up with Ex #2, just like he had with #1. I hoped that he had enough courage to do it, but was terrified he wouldn't. But something had changed in the years in between. Maybe finally being with me entirely was enough to make him realize I was worth fighting for. I was worth being a Villain for.
During the weeks between us becoming us, and him returning to Seattle from tour, he vented all of his frustrations and insecurities to me. He hated that he had to be a bad guy, but he gave himself the pep talks. I just agreed. He decided he would just blame the band for his reason for leaving Crazy Ex #2. I advised him that this was a bad idea, but if it's what he was comfortable doing, to go for it. He thought it would soften the blow. He also didn't want her to stab him or set his record collection on fire. I couldn't blame him, there. I'd heard through the web of mutual friends that she was just like Crazy Ex#1.
When he got back to Seattle, he followed through, broke up with her, and moved out. Things weren't easy, but he didn't make the same mistake he had in 2007. He chose me, this time. However, things didn't stay peachy for long. It turned out that Crazy Ex#2 had suspected me for a while, and had been facebook stalking me. A few days before Christmas, she was able to track down 'proof' in a comment I'd left on someone's page. She understandably blew her gasket.
She acted like a love torn 13 year old. It was embarrassing. Like those awkward comedies where you laugh because you feel so very bad for the person. For a woman who's almost 30, her behavior was abominable. She logged into Future Husband's social networks, sent out emails to his family and friends, and then changed his passwords so that he couldn't get back in right away to delete everything. She sent me numerous emails. She even sent one to my father on Christmas morning, preaching sisterhood, all the while sending drunken emails to Future Husband about how much she hated me and how I had ruined her life. Me. Not Future Husband for cheating on her. Me.
She harassed me for a few weeks online (she only tormented Future Husband for about a week), and even her mother and two friends got in on it. Months later, when she found out I was going on tour with the band, her nasty messages to me started back up. With only one friend getting in on the action the second time, so I guess that's an improvement. Though, she did threaten me. I'm not sure if she threatened to somehow use the internet to find me and cause me physical harm, or if she meant that she'd find my personal information and like... I don't know. Ruin my credit? Either way, the threat (thankfully) never panned out. Which is fortunate for them, too, because while I am not violence prone, I am vindictive, have a long memory, and have many beefy, violent Italian men that are wrapped around my little finger and willing to do literally anything for me. (Seriously. Back in 2007 when things imploded with FH, I argued with two of my cousins about giving them his home address.) Even now that my family (all of it) is happy with Future Husband, since the engagement I've gotten a few, "We're happy for you, but does he know that if he hurts you again, he's still dead?" It's the Italian in us., what can I say?
Although, on a side note, after months and months of Crazy Ex #2's online harassment, I finally gave in and replied. I never sent a reply to any of her emails (though I wrote a few) and never acknowledged her. I figured ignoring her would probably anger her more, and it kept my own muddled feelings from exploding and making me feel worse. After her last snarky comment (actually on this blog) I gave in to my mischievous side. I had her email address (and home address, and phone number, and work number - because she apparently assumed that I don't know how to use google) and decided to be naughty. After she stalked me and wrote me horrible nasty things for months, after she wrote to my father on Christmas in an effort to ruin our holiday, after she tried her hardest to hurt me (because she assumed I knew absolutely nothing about FH's history, flaws or dark side)... I signed her up for Midget Porn. Yep. You read that correctly. Midget Porn. After her hurtful words and hostile behavior, I threw a rubber chicken. I thought it was hilarious. I had one angry email from her even crazier friend after that, but since then she's left me alone. Never underestimate the power of miniature dominatrices.
What bothers me, to this day, about this situation, is that she considers me the Villain. Not Future Husband. Sure, I was a bad female. I was knowingly the 'other woman.' She even used the word "stole" in one of her tirades. That's always bothered me. It seems like the women who loudly proclaim that they do not want to be objectified are the first to accuse another woman of 'stealing her man.' It's not like I snuck into her backyard one night and took Future Husband because she forgot to lock him up. He's not a bicycle. He's an adult; fully capable of making his own decisions, good and bad.
We (thankfully) haven't heard from her for a few months now, so we're hoping she finally came to her senses, and has recognized that Future Husband treated her horribly. He pretty much used her as an excuse to get away from Crazy Ex #1, and then as a place to live so he wouldn't be homeless when the band moved from Arizona to Seattle. He even told me (before we became a couple) that he knew she was more in love with him, and that he felt bad about it. On the whole, he was truly villainous towards her, and yet she still seems to hold him up on a pedestal. I understand despising me (I would, too), but she's never met me. I don't know Crazy Ex #2 and hold nothing against her, aside from her atrocious behavior towards me concerning this fiasco. She should be angry at Future Husband. She should loathe him. And for some reason, I get the impression she doesn't. She still thinks I stole her bicycle.
Evil Lori will steal your man, and your Penny Farthing. All while wearing a jaunty hat!
In her story, he was Willoughby, and she just can't figure that out. Jane never lets us see Ms. Grey/Mrs. Willoughby. We only hear how Willoughby relates her to Elinor. So who knows how accurate that portrait was, given his past history of self preservation? So if you're still cyber stalking me, Crazyhead- forget Willoughby. Go find yourself your Colonel Brandon.
(On a side note, it seems I'm painting a really horrible picture of Future Husband and I. I guess I'm just trying to clear the air, and my conscience. I'm not perfect, neither is he. He's the Hero in my love story because he's perfect for me. Not because he's Clark Kent. We've both done bad things in our social lives and our love lives, but who hasn't? I'm just willing to share mine.)
Crazy Ex #2 has been intermittently on my mind since we went public with our engagement. I don't think I'll hear from her ever again, but I wouldn't be surprised, either, if there was another little flip out when she finds out that we're getting married and I'm not pregnant. Maybe the new batch of angry messages will come in November, after the wedding. Who knows? Let's hope, for everyone's sake, that she realized what a Douchey McDouchebag Future Husband was to her. That he was a villain in her story, not an anti-hero. Let's hope that she's come to the mature realization that harassing me (It's actually legal harassment - I looked it up. I could press charges if I wanted to.) isn't going to make her feel better, or help her move on.
And how do I do it, you ask? How do I sleep at night being a Villainess? After being instrumental in the heart break of two different women? Well, there are three things that keep me from feeling guilty for more than a few seconds;
1- Future Husband knew me before he know either of them, and in his own 2007 words, fell in love with me the night he met me. It's almost like they were the 'other women.' I was the original.
2- I was only an instrument. My favorite analogy; if you get stabbed by someone, you don't get angry at the knife.
3- Completely good heroes are boring. ;-)
Sunday, August 21, 2011
**WARNING!** Serious Lori ramblings lay ahead. In fact, you will see the darker side of Lori in the following paragraphs. Not 'Making Cartoons in MS Paint' Lori, but 'Sitting in the Dark and being Unhealthily Introspective' Lori. You have yet to see this on this blog. Proceed with Caution!
Okay, I'll soften the blow with a cartoon.
Warning #2!! - I wrote this blog months and months ago, but just never posted it. Which is a pity, because I dearly love the above cartoon. I've decided, in the interest of getting back in the habit of blogging, to post this. A pretty sizable contributing factor to my lack of posting lately has been that I feel I can't really say what I want to say. Self censoring, in a way. Mostly because I've been afraid of offending people, should they happen across my little corner of cyberspace. Recently a few things have happened that have made me stop caring whether or not I offend someone by telling everyone the Emporor's naked. So I decided, before I start venting my frustrations by showing off everyone else's dirty laundry, I would expose a little of my own.
It probably doesn't come as any surprise to you that I enjoy writing fiction, as well as over exposed diary entries. I mean... blogs. So I've been mulling over the idea of Heroes and Villains. And in the good stories, there are no differences in their motivations. Each character believes they are doing what is right. The Villain doesn't know they are the antagonist, or at least, have not set out to be the bad guy. It seems that in the best stories, the Hero and Villain don't even know they're the protagonist and antagonist, they just are.
I've had the word 'fairytale' thrown at me as an insult by both friend and foe, and I fully admit that my coping mechanism is storytelling. I put things into a linear storyline so it's easier for me to swallow. I know perfectly well that life doesn't always happen that way. People don't even behave in a linear fashion, usually. Many factors motivate people, not a sequence of events. Literature, Life and Fairytales alike begin and end in medias res. Life is told in chapters. I've been translating my written world way of thinking into real life, and I've realized that we are all both Hero and Villain. Even the people I love most - me, my family and friends, Future Husband - we have all been both.
Okay, maybe two cartoons.
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Crazy Ex #1 and Crazy Ex #2. It's well known among Future Husband's friends and family that he has terrible taste in women. The joke is that he's just very lucky that I have strange taste in men, and we ended up together.
(Seriously, when I met his parents for the first time at Christmas 2010 I could tell they were uneasy. Even in March when we stayed with them for two weeks, it seemed like they were a little reserved, just waiting for me to take a sudden detour into Crazytown. It took them a while to realize I wasn't going to go kookoo bananas anytime soon.)
Future Husband and I met before he'd even met Crazy Ex #1. Which is how I've been able to justify being a terrible female by allowing him to cheat on her with me, back in 2007. Things didn't turn out very well for me then, which I suppose is exactly what I deserved. In the beginning I made the mistake of trying to become friends with Crazy Ex #1, so when everything went to hell in a hand basket, she not only had to deal with her boyfriend being unfaithful, but someone she thought was a friend betraying her. That is what I feel awful about. I never should have tried to be friendly with her. After everything exploded spectacularly (I won't tell the story here, as it's the subject of an entire novel I'm writing), Future Husband had a lot of back peddling and butt kissing to do. Their relationship only lasted another year, which delighted me - he lost forever with me for one more year with a crazy girl (or so we thought). In that year, he got her name tattooed inside a heart on his arm. It's also a common man's name, so it's kinda funny. We humorously took care of that in Denver. But he also made the mistake of entering into a Domestic Partnership with her. We've been working to dissolve that, and we're almost done, but that's why she's been on my mind lately.
Thinking of Crazy Ex #1 has made me feel something I thought I never would, especially where she is concerned. She is a spectacular waste of space and, in general, a lousy human - nothing to contribute to mankind on an intellectual, creative or humanitarian basis - but that doesn't mean she deserved to be treated the way I treated her. That doesn't raise her on the human bean scale at all, but it does seem to lower me. I'm disappointed in myself for behaving so poorly towards her, and not doing myself justice. I purposely manipulated her, used her, and thoroughly despised her during the entire duration of our 'friendship.' I felt territorial over Future Husband. He knew me first, and yet she had somehow wiggled in line in front of me. She's a pretty loud, 'out there' kind of personality. While I was flirting subtly with young FH, she was bold and socially aggressive. Of course, now I know that FH was just as unsure of me returning his feelings as I was of his. So it's understandable why a 21 year old boy would go for the girl that made her feelings readily available and easy to read. I can't blame him for that. I can't blame her, either.
A long time ago I made a joke to Future Husband about Crazy Ex #1, and he said, "Well, we know how that turned out. You won."
It ruffled my feathers a bit, because I always considered her to be the competitive one. (Towards the end of the craziness in 2007, she kept lightening her hair, and flat out told me she wanted it to be the same color as mine.) I realized something when he said that; I hadn't cared about winning where she was concerned, I'd cared about being right. I've always been one of those stubborn kids that has a hard time admitting they're wrong, and on the same note, backing off when I'm right. To me, Crazy Ex #1 and Future Husband just didn't make sense together. They were incompatible. We made sense. We fit; we were right. They weren't. That's why I was territorial. Why I was uncharacteristically competitive, manipulative and mean.
Now, with Crazy Ex #1 on my mind while Future Husband and I work on getting rid of her paper trail, I am prepared to do something I rarely do. Crazy Ex #1 is unintelligent, uncaring, spiteful, competitive and manipulative. And I lowered myself to her level.
So if you ever come across my little corner of the blogosphere, Crazyhead, on that long walk I want you to take off a short pier... know that I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I was genuinely terrible to you, and I should not have been. Your inferiority to me did not give me the right to behave badly.
I was wrong. I'm sorry.
As far as Crazy Ex #1 is concerned, when the credits roll on her life story, I'll be billed as a Villain, and justly so. I'm the Hero of my own story, and she's simply a plot point. But I was a terrible person towards her, and she has every right to feel that. If she's capable of human emotion (I have my doubts.)
Maybe it's the time and the distance between the shit storm that was 2007, and now; maybe it's just that I'm older and a little wiser, but I feel more forgiving towards Crazy Ex #1's behavior towards me. Granted, just because I was horrible, doesn't mean she was Pollyanna, she's bar fight kind of crazy. Once she realized I had feelings for Future Husband she was just as manipulative and mean. Now I can see why, though. How horrible to realize that someone you thought was your friend was actually using you just to be closer to your boyfriend. Major suckage. And honestly, I probably would have acted the same. But when the manure did hit the oscillating air dispersal device, I got mad at Future Husband. In fact, I was mad for years. Sure, I wasn't quiet about recognizing what an awful person Crazy Ex #1 was, but I didn't write blogs about how angry I was at her. Because I wasn't. I didn't turn into one of those ridiculous Springer-esque kind of girls that gets mad at the girl. I got mad at FH for using me, and treating me horribly. Like I should have.
Crazy Ex #2, however, can't say the same about her behavior....
Okay, I'll soften the blow with a cartoon.
Warning #2!! - I wrote this blog months and months ago, but just never posted it. Which is a pity, because I dearly love the above cartoon. I've decided, in the interest of getting back in the habit of blogging, to post this. A pretty sizable contributing factor to my lack of posting lately has been that I feel I can't really say what I want to say. Self censoring, in a way. Mostly because I've been afraid of offending people, should they happen across my little corner of cyberspace. Recently a few things have happened that have made me stop caring whether or not I offend someone by telling everyone the Emporor's naked. So I decided, before I start venting my frustrations by showing off everyone else's dirty laundry, I would expose a little of my own.
It probably doesn't come as any surprise to you that I enjoy writing fiction, as well as over exposed diary entries. I mean... blogs. So I've been mulling over the idea of Heroes and Villains. And in the good stories, there are no differences in their motivations. Each character believes they are doing what is right. The Villain doesn't know they are the antagonist, or at least, have not set out to be the bad guy. It seems that in the best stories, the Hero and Villain don't even know they're the protagonist and antagonist, they just are.
I've had the word 'fairytale' thrown at me as an insult by both friend and foe, and I fully admit that my coping mechanism is storytelling. I put things into a linear storyline so it's easier for me to swallow. I know perfectly well that life doesn't always happen that way. People don't even behave in a linear fashion, usually. Many factors motivate people, not a sequence of events. Literature, Life and Fairytales alike begin and end in medias res. Life is told in chapters. I've been translating my written world way of thinking into real life, and I've realized that we are all both Hero and Villain. Even the people I love most - me, my family and friends, Future Husband - we have all been both.
Okay, maybe two cartoons.
The Tale of Crazy Ex #1
---
---
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Crazy Ex #1 and Crazy Ex #2. It's well known among Future Husband's friends and family that he has terrible taste in women. The joke is that he's just very lucky that I have strange taste in men, and we ended up together.
(Seriously, when I met his parents for the first time at Christmas 2010 I could tell they were uneasy. Even in March when we stayed with them for two weeks, it seemed like they were a little reserved, just waiting for me to take a sudden detour into Crazytown. It took them a while to realize I wasn't going to go kookoo bananas anytime soon.)
Future Husband and I met before he'd even met Crazy Ex #1. Which is how I've been able to justify being a terrible female by allowing him to cheat on her with me, back in 2007. Things didn't turn out very well for me then, which I suppose is exactly what I deserved. In the beginning I made the mistake of trying to become friends with Crazy Ex #1, so when everything went to hell in a hand basket, she not only had to deal with her boyfriend being unfaithful, but someone she thought was a friend betraying her. That is what I feel awful about. I never should have tried to be friendly with her. After everything exploded spectacularly (I won't tell the story here, as it's the subject of an entire novel I'm writing), Future Husband had a lot of back peddling and butt kissing to do. Their relationship only lasted another year, which delighted me - he lost forever with me for one more year with a crazy girl (or so we thought). In that year, he got her name tattooed inside a heart on his arm. It's also a common man's name, so it's kinda funny. We humorously took care of that in Denver. But he also made the mistake of entering into a Domestic Partnership with her. We've been working to dissolve that, and we're almost done, but that's why she's been on my mind lately.
Thinking of Crazy Ex #1 has made me feel something I thought I never would, especially where she is concerned. She is a spectacular waste of space and, in general, a lousy human - nothing to contribute to mankind on an intellectual, creative or humanitarian basis - but that doesn't mean she deserved to be treated the way I treated her. That doesn't raise her on the human bean scale at all, but it does seem to lower me. I'm disappointed in myself for behaving so poorly towards her, and not doing myself justice. I purposely manipulated her, used her, and thoroughly despised her during the entire duration of our 'friendship.' I felt territorial over Future Husband. He knew me first, and yet she had somehow wiggled in line in front of me. She's a pretty loud, 'out there' kind of personality. While I was flirting subtly with young FH, she was bold and socially aggressive. Of course, now I know that FH was just as unsure of me returning his feelings as I was of his. So it's understandable why a 21 year old boy would go for the girl that made her feelings readily available and easy to read. I can't blame him for that. I can't blame her, either.
A long time ago I made a joke to Future Husband about Crazy Ex #1, and he said, "Well, we know how that turned out. You won."
It ruffled my feathers a bit, because I always considered her to be the competitive one. (Towards the end of the craziness in 2007, she kept lightening her hair, and flat out told me she wanted it to be the same color as mine.) I realized something when he said that; I hadn't cared about winning where she was concerned, I'd cared about being right. I've always been one of those stubborn kids that has a hard time admitting they're wrong, and on the same note, backing off when I'm right. To me, Crazy Ex #1 and Future Husband just didn't make sense together. They were incompatible. We made sense. We fit; we were right. They weren't. That's why I was territorial. Why I was uncharacteristically competitive, manipulative and mean.
Now, with Crazy Ex #1 on my mind while Future Husband and I work on getting rid of her paper trail, I am prepared to do something I rarely do. Crazy Ex #1 is unintelligent, uncaring, spiteful, competitive and manipulative. And I lowered myself to her level.
So if you ever come across my little corner of the blogosphere, Crazyhead, on that long walk I want you to take off a short pier... know that I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I was genuinely terrible to you, and I should not have been. Your inferiority to me did not give me the right to behave badly.
I was wrong. I'm sorry.
As far as Crazy Ex #1 is concerned, when the credits roll on her life story, I'll be billed as a Villain, and justly so. I'm the Hero of my own story, and she's simply a plot point. But I was a terrible person towards her, and she has every right to feel that. If she's capable of human emotion (I have my doubts.)
Maybe it's the time and the distance between the shit storm that was 2007, and now; maybe it's just that I'm older and a little wiser, but I feel more forgiving towards Crazy Ex #1's behavior towards me. Granted, just because I was horrible, doesn't mean she was Pollyanna, she's bar fight kind of crazy. Once she realized I had feelings for Future Husband she was just as manipulative and mean. Now I can see why, though. How horrible to realize that someone you thought was your friend was actually using you just to be closer to your boyfriend. Major suckage. And honestly, I probably would have acted the same. But when the manure did hit the oscillating air dispersal device, I got mad at Future Husband. In fact, I was mad for years. Sure, I wasn't quiet about recognizing what an awful person Crazy Ex #1 was, but I didn't write blogs about how angry I was at her. Because I wasn't. I didn't turn into one of those ridiculous Springer-esque kind of girls that gets mad at the girl. I got mad at FH for using me, and treating me horribly. Like I should have.
Crazy Ex #2, however, can't say the same about her behavior....
...to be continued.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
"WTF?" were Future Husband's first words when he saw me. Not abbreviated, of course.
But let's go back a little bit further.
I finished writing my blog about the San Diego snafu about 9:00am, but decided to schedule it to post four hours later, just in case something else funny happened that I needed to add to the story. So I spent the rest of the morning texting FH about how much I missed him, talking about silly things, talking about naughty things. Usual text banter for us. By 11:00am I was so nervous I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. Or die. Or both.
I'd gone over in my head exactly how I wanted the surprise to go. He was going to come through the back door, and I would be in the living room, which is situated a little behind the door, but with a clear view of it. He would see my things on the kitchen table, and I would wait until he looked to be at the apex of confusion, then walk up behind him and say something witty like, "Did you figure it out yet?" or something romantic, like, "Hello, Handsome." I pulled all of the blinds down, so he wouldn't see me when he walked through the back yard.
By 11:30am, I knew he had to be nearly to town. And ten minutes later I was told they were at a friend's house, unloading the equipment. That's when my palms started sweating. I knew I would be seeing Future Husband for the first time in two months. It felt like longer; it felt like three. The tiny week he was home between tours didn't give us nearly enough time together. The more I watched the clock, the faster my heart was racing, and the knottier my stomach was becoming. I forced myself to focus on silly things, like Mah Jong and Cracked.com. But it wasn't working too well. All I could do was run over the upcoming moment in my head. I wanted it to be perfect.
Finally, about 12:15pm, I heard voice outside. I dropped everything (literally, hours later I recovered my cell phone from under the couch) and ran to the window, careful to not be seen through cracks in the blinds. I could see the big white Ogre, and could hear a few different voices. The front door rattled, but was still bolted.
Oh, crap. I thought. He's trying to come through the front. Did she say she left the key up front?
My nerves disappeared. I no longer worried about what I was going to say to make the moment perfect. I knew the plan was out the window, so I had to improvise. I ran to the front door (seriously, I ran) and flung it open. G and D turned around and shock flashed across their faces.
"Holy shit! What are you doing here?" G said.
"Surprise!" I laughed. Future Husband was no where in sight. I looked into the van, hoping maybe he was pulling something out from under a bench, but no luck.
"He went around back," G said. Crap. My plan totally could have worked, but I got impatient. G hugged me, and I nervously explained my being in Arizona (which in hindsight, was probably barely coherent.) As I was rambling on, G looked at something over my shoulder and pointed behind me.
I turned around to see Future Husband in the doorway, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "What the f***!?" He grabbed me into a tight hug, and I giggled as my head swam with dizziness. It was finally here. After weeks of planning and scheming, and long hours spent pining after him, he was finally back in my arms. Scruffier, smellier and a lot skinnier than when I saw him last on April 5th, but back. With me. My heart stopped racing, and my palms stopped sweating, but the shaking had started. Every part of me, especially my hands, were quivering. We hugged and kissed, and tried to finish getting his things out of the van.
"I... I just can't even think right now," he said, after I asked him if he'd gotten everything. Over the next few hours he told me I was 'fantastic' and 'amazing' and 'awesome' and other wonderful adjectives to be described as. We got him showered and fed and well... I'm sure you can guess what else.
So I didn't get to say any of the clever or romantic I had rehearsed endlessly in my head. Nothing ended up going according to plan. But when all was said and done, the moment was still perfect. And now we're reunited, and it feels so good.
But let's go back a little bit further.
I finished writing my blog about the San Diego snafu about 9:00am, but decided to schedule it to post four hours later, just in case something else funny happened that I needed to add to the story. So I spent the rest of the morning texting FH about how much I missed him, talking about silly things, talking about naughty things. Usual text banter for us. By 11:00am I was so nervous I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. Or die. Or both.
I'd gone over in my head exactly how I wanted the surprise to go. He was going to come through the back door, and I would be in the living room, which is situated a little behind the door, but with a clear view of it. He would see my things on the kitchen table, and I would wait until he looked to be at the apex of confusion, then walk up behind him and say something witty like, "Did you figure it out yet?" or something romantic, like, "Hello, Handsome." I pulled all of the blinds down, so he wouldn't see me when he walked through the back yard.
By 11:30am, I knew he had to be nearly to town. And ten minutes later I was told they were at a friend's house, unloading the equipment. That's when my palms started sweating. I knew I would be seeing Future Husband for the first time in two months. It felt like longer; it felt like three. The tiny week he was home between tours didn't give us nearly enough time together. The more I watched the clock, the faster my heart was racing, and the knottier my stomach was becoming. I forced myself to focus on silly things, like Mah Jong and Cracked.com. But it wasn't working too well. All I could do was run over the upcoming moment in my head. I wanted it to be perfect.
Finally, about 12:15pm, I heard voice outside. I dropped everything (literally, hours later I recovered my cell phone from under the couch) and ran to the window, careful to not be seen through cracks in the blinds. I could see the big white Ogre, and could hear a few different voices. The front door rattled, but was still bolted.
Oh, crap. I thought. He's trying to come through the front. Did she say she left the key up front?
My nerves disappeared. I no longer worried about what I was going to say to make the moment perfect. I knew the plan was out the window, so I had to improvise. I ran to the front door (seriously, I ran) and flung it open. G and D turned around and shock flashed across their faces.
"Holy shit! What are you doing here?" G said.
"Surprise!" I laughed. Future Husband was no where in sight. I looked into the van, hoping maybe he was pulling something out from under a bench, but no luck.
"He went around back," G said. Crap. My plan totally could have worked, but I got impatient. G hugged me, and I nervously explained my being in Arizona (which in hindsight, was probably barely coherent.) As I was rambling on, G looked at something over my shoulder and pointed behind me.
I turned around to see Future Husband in the doorway, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "What the f***!?" He grabbed me into a tight hug, and I giggled as my head swam with dizziness. It was finally here. After weeks of planning and scheming, and long hours spent pining after him, he was finally back in my arms. Scruffier, smellier and a lot skinnier than when I saw him last on April 5th, but back. With me. My heart stopped racing, and my palms stopped sweating, but the shaking had started. Every part of me, especially my hands, were quivering. We hugged and kissed, and tried to finish getting his things out of the van.
"I... I just can't even think right now," he said, after I asked him if he'd gotten everything. Over the next few hours he told me I was 'fantastic' and 'amazing' and 'awesome' and other wonderful adjectives to be described as. We got him showered and fed and well... I'm sure you can guess what else.
So I didn't get to say any of the clever or romantic I had rehearsed endlessly in my head. Nothing ended up going according to plan. But when all was said and done, the moment was still perfect. And now we're reunited, and it feels so good.
Friday, May 6, 2011
One blustery day towards the end of March, while I had Future Husband home for a week between tours, our new friends Josh and Ali from JayLee Photography took us out and shot us.
With their cameras.
Sometime around Birthmas I had posted an ad on Craigslist, seeing if any budding photographers wanted to build up their portfolio with an Engagement Shoot. There was one fellow we were strongly considering, a photographer that had many years experience with architecture and nature shots, but was wanting to transition into the Wedding business. And then Josh and Ali came along. Already quite seasoned in the biz, they offered to do a shoot with us, and we couldn't resist after seeing their beautiful photography.
Having dabbled in photography in college, it's hard for me to not look at someone's work and immediately start critiquing it, even if I like it. I don't mean to imply that I could do any better, it's just simply that I know the technical side of what goes into a photograph, and it's hard for me to turn off the analytical part of my brain. I'll wish they'd used a different aperture, or shutter speed, or hadn't gone crazy with the photoshopping. With Josh and Ali's work, I don't do that. I look at it, and feel something first. So much so that it takes real effort for me to critique it. Their photos are full of whimsy and romance, and seem to capture the essence of the couples they work with. Their pictures aren't posed and plasticine. They are all little views into candid, happy moments with the couples they worked with.
Needless to say, Future Husband and I were massively excited about working with them. And we were not let down. Some of these pictures even moved me to tears, they so well captured FH and I.
You can see a nice selection of our shoot here. Though I highly recommend checking out their portfolio. You won't be disappointed.
We were so happy with the shoot, even if it was wet, cold and windy (it's Seattle, what else would it be?) and thrilled with the photos that came from it. Thank you so much, Josh and Ali!!!
With their cameras.
Sometime around Birthmas I had posted an ad on Craigslist, seeing if any budding photographers wanted to build up their portfolio with an Engagement Shoot. There was one fellow we were strongly considering, a photographer that had many years experience with architecture and nature shots, but was wanting to transition into the Wedding business. And then Josh and Ali came along. Already quite seasoned in the biz, they offered to do a shoot with us, and we couldn't resist after seeing their beautiful photography.
Having dabbled in photography in college, it's hard for me to not look at someone's work and immediately start critiquing it, even if I like it. I don't mean to imply that I could do any better, it's just simply that I know the technical side of what goes into a photograph, and it's hard for me to turn off the analytical part of my brain. I'll wish they'd used a different aperture, or shutter speed, or hadn't gone crazy with the photoshopping. With Josh and Ali's work, I don't do that. I look at it, and feel something first. So much so that it takes real effort for me to critique it. Their photos are full of whimsy and romance, and seem to capture the essence of the couples they work with. Their pictures aren't posed and plasticine. They are all little views into candid, happy moments with the couples they worked with.
Needless to say, Future Husband and I were massively excited about working with them. And we were not let down. Some of these pictures even moved me to tears, they so well captured FH and I.
You can see a nice selection of our shoot here. Though I highly recommend checking out their portfolio. You won't be disappointed.
We were so happy with the shoot, even if it was wet, cold and windy (it's Seattle, what else would it be?) and thrilled with the photos that came from it. Thank you so much, Josh and Ali!!!
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
My cousin Sara reposted this blog, and I felt I had to repost it as well. I'm pretty sure every girl that reads my blog will identify with this, especially those that have ever felt romantically ignored. And I know quite a few of you will identify (probably a little too well) with the last sentence.
---
"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
---
"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
—
Rosemarie Urquico (via kblitz)
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
New Year's Day was spent mostly in bed. Future Husband and I rolled out of bed about 5pm, mostly because we were painfully thirsty. Literally, in pain. My New Year's Eve got a little out of control. I was fine with what I was drinking, but Future Sister in Law brought Jell-O shots, and because you chew them, I forget that they are not food. So yes. I woke up at 5pm on January first, desperately needing a glass of water and missing an earring. I still haven't found it.
We came downstairs, and the Future Parents in Law had just finished eating all of the snacky deliciousness that was leftover from the party. Not wanting leftover Turkey and Dumpling soup (again) we decided to throw caution to the wind and use some of our Christmas money to go out to eat.
We ended up at Native New Yorker with hot wings, a meatball hoagie, a calzone, and trivia. And lots and lots of tea and water. Even though we joined the game late, we still won by 5,000+ points. Still, though... not the most exciting New Year's Day.
The second, however, was relatively eventful for us. FH had band practice, and I stayed behind to get ready for our Engagement Photo shoot. It wasn't like we hired a photographer, unless you consider paying his sister by taking her out to dinner payment. When FH got home from practice, and FSiL arrived, and I had finished straightening my ridiculously unruly hair (which only took a surprising 45 minutes), we walked over to one of the little grassy, park like areas near the FPiL's house.
(On a side note, all of these crazy abbreviations make me feel like I'm writing something of more importance than a personal anecdote.)
We got there, and were all a little confused as to what to do. We knew that most couples took happy looking pictures in pretty green places, so we had that down. We were losing light, though, and hadn't brought any sweatshirts or jackets, so it was rapidly getting colder. We even had matching out fits, intentionally, for once.
The results were pretty hilarious. Since none of us knew what we should do, we just kind of winged it. The only advice my mother had given me a few days previously was, "Don't make stupid faces. I don't know what it is about you two, but for such good looking kids, you always take horrible pictures. Don't mug and make faces. Just relax and smile."
We tried to relax and smile, we really did. But the problem with that is that we relax and start talking. And don't stop. And then laugh. So of the 55 photos FSiL took, 5 or 6 of them turned out nicely. If you don't count the one where we look good, but there is quite obviously dog poopies in the grass behind us. The other fifty or so... well. See for yourself;
We came downstairs, and the Future Parents in Law had just finished eating all of the snacky deliciousness that was leftover from the party. Not wanting leftover Turkey and Dumpling soup (again) we decided to throw caution to the wind and use some of our Christmas money to go out to eat.
We ended up at Native New Yorker with hot wings, a meatball hoagie, a calzone, and trivia. And lots and lots of tea and water. Even though we joined the game late, we still won by 5,000+ points. Still, though... not the most exciting New Year's Day.
The second, however, was relatively eventful for us. FH had band practice, and I stayed behind to get ready for our Engagement Photo shoot. It wasn't like we hired a photographer, unless you consider paying his sister by taking her out to dinner payment. When FH got home from practice, and FSiL arrived, and I had finished straightening my ridiculously unruly hair (which only took a surprising 45 minutes), we walked over to one of the little grassy, park like areas near the FPiL's house.
(On a side note, all of these crazy abbreviations make me feel like I'm writing something of more importance than a personal anecdote.)
We got there, and were all a little confused as to what to do. We knew that most couples took happy looking pictures in pretty green places, so we had that down. We were losing light, though, and hadn't brought any sweatshirts or jackets, so it was rapidly getting colder. We even had matching out fits, intentionally, for once.
The results were pretty hilarious. Since none of us knew what we should do, we just kind of winged it. The only advice my mother had given me a few days previously was, "Don't make stupid faces. I don't know what it is about you two, but for such good looking kids, you always take horrible pictures. Don't mug and make faces. Just relax and smile."
We tried to relax and smile, we really did. But the problem with that is that we relax and start talking. And don't stop. And then laugh. So of the 55 photos FSiL took, 5 or 6 of them turned out nicely. If you don't count the one where we look good, but there is quite obviously dog poopies in the grass behind us. The other fifty or so... well. See for yourself;
Friday, December 31, 2010
Looking back at where I was last New Year's time, and where I am now, is really sort of mind boggling.
This time last year, when I had to sit down and name this blog, I knew that I was about to undergo a lot of change. So I decided to call it 'Third Time's the Charm.' Not, as a certain Crazy Ex of Future Husband's alleged, because I was giving him a third chance, but because this is the third time I've had a big, life altering change.
A lot of my past blogs (and before that, diaries) have complained about feeling stagnant or lost, not really knowing where I was going or why or who with. When I was 11 years old, my family's home burnt down on New Year's Day. Since then, it's always been a strange day for me. Not so much a holiday, but more like a day of remembrance. Like when a loved one passes away. When the house burned, we lost literally everything. There were a few things we were thankfully able to save; some of my cousins dug through the rubble and found my parents' wedding rings, the contents of my mother's cedar chest (her wedding dress included), and the family photos the firemen grabbed off the wall when they realized we weren't home. We lived in a hotel for a while, then bounced around with relatives until the insurance company got us an apartment. The people at our church donated clothes and toys for us, but really, all we had left from before was what we had when the house went up in flames; each other.
Eleven years later (and funnily enough, the fire marking the middle point in my life), my family fell into financial ruin. We'd tried to keep our heads above water, but my mother and I got laid off within two weeks of each other. Me one week before Christmas, and her one week after. Only a few weeks earlier, knowing we were living paycheck to paycheck and fed up with Phoenix's price and weather, we'd had a family meeting and decided to move to Tulsa. We'd been through the city before on a family road trip, and fallen in love with the area. The cost of living was less than half of Phoenix's, and the economy and job market better. So when Mom and I were both suddenly jobless, we decided that instead of moving to Tulsa in the Summer of '09, we'd go right then. So in early January (again), we decided that it we'd start over. Again.
The two years I spent in Tulsa were some of the happiest of my life. I made friends, I made and saved money. I paid for two vacations entirely by myself, as well as helping support my family. I had a job I loved and finally lived in city I liked. I felt like I had finally found a home. But as everything started falling into place for me financially and personally, I found myself thinking more and more of Future Husband. At that point in time, he was still The One Who Got Away. Or rather, to him I was The One Who Got Away Because I Was A Stupid Git. We hadn't spoken to each other since May of 2007. As more and more of 2008 passed by, I found myself missing his conversation and company, and remembering all the fun we'd had together, rather than the heartache and sleeplessness and weepy self loathing he had caused me. Believe me, there was plenty of that, but that's not what I found myself thinking of in quiet moments. I missed him. I hated myself for it, and looked for answers in the bottoms of bottles. Because of the internet and our circle of mutual friends, I was able to keep tabs on him from afar. So when I found out in October of 2008 that his band would be playing a show in Tulsa in December, I seized my opportunity. I thought I might get some sort of closure out of it, but all it did was rip the stitches out of a wound that was not yet healed.
The rest, as they say, is history. Nine months after that, we were a couple. And I was faced with another big decision- try and tackle this incredibly significant relationship long distance (as if we hadn't been over enough speedbumps), or move to Seattle? Future Husband had said he was willing to quit his band and move to Tulsa, but I knew that he wouldn't be happy, and that he, G and D would miss out on something great. (Now that I live with them, and vicariously reap the benefits of a functioning band, I kick myself for not trying harder when I was in a band as a teenager. We could have been good, too, and we weren't, because I never took it seriously enough. One of the few regrets I carry.) I desperately tried to think of a way that things would work if I stayed in Tulsa, but there was just no way. Future Husband had mentioned marriage only five days into our romantic relationship. It surprised me, but the idea felt right. (That was even more surprising.) So I decided to leave behind everything I had worked to build up over the last two years, and move to Seattle, leaving behind the job I loved, The Bestest, my home, and most importantly, my Family. All for love.
So now I've started over for a third time. I'm hoping that this is the last time I will have to change everything about my life and begin with nothing. It probably won't be, but I sure hope it is. I like the idea of building a life with Future Husband, and slowly accumulating and accomplishing all of the milestones that couples pass.
I love lists, so I'm going to make a list of all of the crazy/awesome things that have happened to me over the last year.
-I moved to Seattle, a city I probably would have always wanted to visit, but never would have.
-I went to (or through) 18 states that I had not been to before, leaving 18 continental states that I have yet to see. (I'd already been through 12 of them.)
-I visited New Orleans twice.
-I became formally engaged.
-I lived in a van for 7 months.
-I visited three foreign countries, and got my first stamps in my first Passport.
-I was a bridesmaid for the first (and probably only) time.
-I've made new friends all over the country (and one in France!). Seriously. My facebook list is awesome.
And as I've been reflecting over this for the past few days, thinking of what would go on that list, I've realized that though I worry about things; like planning the wedding, and money, and being able to tour next year, I don't feel stagnant or lost anymore. I don't worry about not ever doing anything with my life. I thought that I felt like myself in Oklahoma, and undoubtedly without those years I wouldn't be who or where I am now. For the first time I can remember in a long time (honestly, probably since my pre-fire childhood), I finally feel like myself. I feel completely comfortable in my own skin, in my own life. I don't find myself yearning for things I don't have (except money) and comforting myself with the idea of 'someday.'
All of my somedays are happening.
This time last year, when I had to sit down and name this blog, I knew that I was about to undergo a lot of change. So I decided to call it 'Third Time's the Charm.' Not, as a certain Crazy Ex of Future Husband's alleged, because I was giving him a third chance, but because this is the third time I've had a big, life altering change.
A lot of my past blogs (and before that, diaries) have complained about feeling stagnant or lost, not really knowing where I was going or why or who with. When I was 11 years old, my family's home burnt down on New Year's Day. Since then, it's always been a strange day for me. Not so much a holiday, but more like a day of remembrance. Like when a loved one passes away. When the house burned, we lost literally everything. There were a few things we were thankfully able to save; some of my cousins dug through the rubble and found my parents' wedding rings, the contents of my mother's cedar chest (her wedding dress included), and the family photos the firemen grabbed off the wall when they realized we weren't home. We lived in a hotel for a while, then bounced around with relatives until the insurance company got us an apartment. The people at our church donated clothes and toys for us, but really, all we had left from before was what we had when the house went up in flames; each other.
Eleven years later (and funnily enough, the fire marking the middle point in my life), my family fell into financial ruin. We'd tried to keep our heads above water, but my mother and I got laid off within two weeks of each other. Me one week before Christmas, and her one week after. Only a few weeks earlier, knowing we were living paycheck to paycheck and fed up with Phoenix's price and weather, we'd had a family meeting and decided to move to Tulsa. We'd been through the city before on a family road trip, and fallen in love with the area. The cost of living was less than half of Phoenix's, and the economy and job market better. So when Mom and I were both suddenly jobless, we decided that instead of moving to Tulsa in the Summer of '09, we'd go right then. So in early January (again), we decided that it we'd start over. Again.
The two years I spent in Tulsa were some of the happiest of my life. I made friends, I made and saved money. I paid for two vacations entirely by myself, as well as helping support my family. I had a job I loved and finally lived in city I liked. I felt like I had finally found a home. But as everything started falling into place for me financially and personally, I found myself thinking more and more of Future Husband. At that point in time, he was still The One Who Got Away. Or rather, to him I was The One Who Got Away Because I Was A Stupid Git. We hadn't spoken to each other since May of 2007. As more and more of 2008 passed by, I found myself missing his conversation and company, and remembering all the fun we'd had together, rather than the heartache and sleeplessness and weepy self loathing he had caused me. Believe me, there was plenty of that, but that's not what I found myself thinking of in quiet moments. I missed him. I hated myself for it, and looked for answers in the bottoms of bottles. Because of the internet and our circle of mutual friends, I was able to keep tabs on him from afar. So when I found out in October of 2008 that his band would be playing a show in Tulsa in December, I seized my opportunity. I thought I might get some sort of closure out of it, but all it did was rip the stitches out of a wound that was not yet healed.
The rest, as they say, is history. Nine months after that, we were a couple. And I was faced with another big decision- try and tackle this incredibly significant relationship long distance (as if we hadn't been over enough speedbumps), or move to Seattle? Future Husband had said he was willing to quit his band and move to Tulsa, but I knew that he wouldn't be happy, and that he, G and D would miss out on something great. (Now that I live with them, and vicariously reap the benefits of a functioning band, I kick myself for not trying harder when I was in a band as a teenager. We could have been good, too, and we weren't, because I never took it seriously enough. One of the few regrets I carry.) I desperately tried to think of a way that things would work if I stayed in Tulsa, but there was just no way. Future Husband had mentioned marriage only five days into our romantic relationship. It surprised me, but the idea felt right. (That was even more surprising.) So I decided to leave behind everything I had worked to build up over the last two years, and move to Seattle, leaving behind the job I loved, The Bestest, my home, and most importantly, my Family. All for love.
So now I've started over for a third time. I'm hoping that this is the last time I will have to change everything about my life and begin with nothing. It probably won't be, but I sure hope it is. I like the idea of building a life with Future Husband, and slowly accumulating and accomplishing all of the milestones that couples pass.
I love lists, so I'm going to make a list of all of the crazy/awesome things that have happened to me over the last year.
-I moved to Seattle, a city I probably would have always wanted to visit, but never would have.
-I went to (or through) 18 states that I had not been to before, leaving 18 continental states that I have yet to see. (I'd already been through 12 of them.)
-I visited New Orleans twice.
-I became formally engaged.
-I lived in a van for 7 months.
-I visited three foreign countries, and got my first stamps in my first Passport.
-I was a bridesmaid for the first (and probably only) time.
-I've made new friends all over the country (and one in France!). Seriously. My facebook list is awesome.
And as I've been reflecting over this for the past few days, thinking of what would go on that list, I've realized that though I worry about things; like planning the wedding, and money, and being able to tour next year, I don't feel stagnant or lost anymore. I don't worry about not ever doing anything with my life. I thought that I felt like myself in Oklahoma, and undoubtedly without those years I wouldn't be who or where I am now. For the first time I can remember in a long time (honestly, probably since my pre-fire childhood), I finally feel like myself. I feel completely comfortable in my own skin, in my own life. I don't find myself yearning for things I don't have (except money) and comforting myself with the idea of 'someday.'
All of my somedays are happening.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Here's the best picture I was able to get myself. It's kinda blurry, but it was the clearest I took. We're supposed to have some pictures taken with a friend later this week, so hopefully there'll be some better, non-self-portrait pics later.
And yes, I know I should clean that hair brush.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
For those of you that don't keep up with the news, or are not astronomical nerds like me, tonight was a ridiculously rare event. Tonight is Winter Solstice, a full moon, AND a total lunar eclipse. The last time this happened was in 1638, 372 years ago.
Here in Arizona, there's an Italian restaurant that Future Husband's been wanting to take me to, called Baci. It's kind of out in the middle of nowhere, but seems to be doing well, which tells me they probably have a seriously loyal customer base. For dinner tonight, FH took me out for dinner to celebrate the Solstice. We started the night with an amazing Antipasto Salad. It was like Caprese Salad, but on delicious, meaty steroids. We chose soup over salad; I had Meatball and Orzo, he had Tortellini. For dinner, he had Shrimp and Scallops Florentine, and I had Chicken and Artichoke Limone. And desert? We split a Cannoli, of course. It was an amazing (and painfully filling) meal. And even though I've lived in a van with him for seven of the last ten months (and we literally cannot escape each others company), I still enjoy alone time with Future Husband. Especially date nights. It's one of the traits of my secretly girly side.
We drove home for a little pit stop until it was time to go out to see the eclpise. We chose to go to one of the county parks far away from everything, even the suburbs, so it was nice and dark. After getting a little turned around, we found the park and pulled Future Mother-in-Law's truck onto a little dirt road. We spread out sleeping bags in the back of the truck, and got to moon watching. Or trying to, anyway. Thick cloud cover had rolled in a few hours earlier, though. So we cuddled up under the sleeping bags (on the chilly, 55 degree Arizona night), and eavesdropped on the two other groups out in the park with us. We heard what sounded like a group of four teenagers talking about the Zombie Apocalypse. It was sooo tempting to sneak over to try and scare them, but we didn't. With my luck, I would've stumbled across a snake or scorpion, anyway.
As the time for the total eclipse neared, we realized we weren't going to be able to see anything because of the cloud cover. (Honestly, we spent a good deal of the time kissing anyway, so we wouldn't have seen much.) During one of our snuggly moments, Future Husband turned his face towards mine, and did that uber romantic, so-hard-to-not-get-fluttery-feelings thing where he puts his palm on my cheek and his fingers in my hair. You know, that super cinematic, really whimsical move to pull my lips to his. He kissed me eagerly, and when he pulled away, told me he loved me. He dug his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a ring.
So even though we're 'Facebook Official', and we're already knee deep in wedding plans, we didn't have a ring yet. We'd meant to get one earlier, but we hadn't run across one we liked, and practical things like not being in the country or not having a paycheck had postponed its purchase.
I smiled, and slipped it on, and Future Husband kissed me again. I held my hand up to look at my ring and saw this;
So I'll post a picture of it soon, once I have some light and Future Husband isn't kissing my neck, wanting to drag me away from my laptop. ;-D
Here in Arizona, there's an Italian restaurant that Future Husband's been wanting to take me to, called Baci. It's kind of out in the middle of nowhere, but seems to be doing well, which tells me they probably have a seriously loyal customer base. For dinner tonight, FH took me out for dinner to celebrate the Solstice. We started the night with an amazing Antipasto Salad. It was like Caprese Salad, but on delicious, meaty steroids. We chose soup over salad; I had Meatball and Orzo, he had Tortellini. For dinner, he had Shrimp and Scallops Florentine, and I had Chicken and Artichoke Limone. And desert? We split a Cannoli, of course. It was an amazing (and painfully filling) meal. And even though I've lived in a van with him for seven of the last ten months (and we literally cannot escape each others company), I still enjoy alone time with Future Husband. Especially date nights. It's one of the traits of my secretly girly side.
We drove home for a little pit stop until it was time to go out to see the eclpise. We chose to go to one of the county parks far away from everything, even the suburbs, so it was nice and dark. After getting a little turned around, we found the park and pulled Future Mother-in-Law's truck onto a little dirt road. We spread out sleeping bags in the back of the truck, and got to moon watching. Or trying to, anyway. Thick cloud cover had rolled in a few hours earlier, though. So we cuddled up under the sleeping bags (on the chilly, 55 degree Arizona night), and eavesdropped on the two other groups out in the park with us. We heard what sounded like a group of four teenagers talking about the Zombie Apocalypse. It was sooo tempting to sneak over to try and scare them, but we didn't. With my luck, I would've stumbled across a snake or scorpion, anyway.
As the time for the total eclipse neared, we realized we weren't going to be able to see anything because of the cloud cover. (Honestly, we spent a good deal of the time kissing anyway, so we wouldn't have seen much.) During one of our snuggly moments, Future Husband turned his face towards mine, and did that uber romantic, so-hard-to-not-get-fluttery-feelings thing where he puts his palm on my cheek and his fingers in my hair. You know, that super cinematic, really whimsical move to pull my lips to his. He kissed me eagerly, and when he pulled away, told me he loved me. He dug his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a ring.
So even though we're 'Facebook Official', and we're already knee deep in wedding plans, we didn't have a ring yet. We'd meant to get one earlier, but we hadn't run across one we liked, and practical things like not being in the country or not having a paycheck had postponed its purchase.
I smiled, and slipped it on, and Future Husband kissed me again. I held my hand up to look at my ring and saw this;
So I'll post a picture of it soon, once I have some light and Future Husband isn't kissing my neck, wanting to drag me away from my laptop. ;-D
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Within a week of Boyfriend and I becoming 'Boyfriend and I' last September 9th, we knew we were altar bound. Just a day after we finally got our act together, he happily told me, "We have a lifetime of Scrabble ahead of us."
On September 14th of last year, he asked me to tour with his band. Turned out it wasn't even his idea. G and D suggested it, and of course, Boyfriend (and then I) enthusiastically agreed with it. That night Boyfriend told me he loved me for the first time. Within a week of that, he was telling me about the Domestic Partnership he had with Crazy Ex #1 from a few years ago. He said, "I have to get rid of that so I'm free to marry you."
Ever the self doubter and over thinker, I couldn't quite believe I'd heard him right, so I didn't ask him to clarify. That's what girls are supposed to do, right? Not talk about commitment, cause boys are afraid of that? But a few days later I jokingly referenced what our children might look like, and he called them, 'inevitable.'
It blew me away. I've been in love with Boyfriend since I was 19 years old. I never thought we'd actually be together, and the few times I allowed myself to actually think/fantasize about that, I never thought we'd make it for the long haul. I always thought we'd have a few happy years together, have a lot of fun, and then decide we wanted different things. I thought I'd go start a family, and he'd continue to live his rock 'n roll lifestyle. We would've stayed friends, of course, but it would have just been a fun relationship. I never thought I'd fall as hard as I did (or rather, didn't realize how hard I'd already fallen). But as soon as Boyfriend mentioned babies and marriage (and he brought them up first) I finally accepted how deeply I loved him.
On my birthday last year (which was epically awesome) after a couple rounds of Jell-O shots, I pulled my mother away from her palm reading station at the party and said, "I want to tell Boyfriend I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Should I?" Mom just laughed at me.
Later, in the bouncy castle (yes - there was a bouncy castle), Boyfriend and I were snuggling. The aforementioned Jell-O shots gave me enough courage to pull him close and say, "I want to spend every day with you. For the rest of my life."
His response? "I thought that was the plan."
Told you there was a bouncy castle.
Since that night last October we've occasionally mentioned forever. At some point over the last year we somehow arrived at a conclusion for the date. I thought it was awesome that we got together on 9-9-09, and jokingly said, "We should get married on 11-1-11. Then our rehearsal dinner could be a costume party."
"And that would be a super easy anniversary to remember!" Boyfriend said. (Even then, when he told his mother last month, he told her it was the 11th we wanted. Silly boy.)
Our second night out on my first tour, as we were walking to a party after parking the van a few blocks away, Boyfriend lamented, "I don't know how to introduce you to people. You're not my fiance yet, because I haven't gotten a ring, but you're so much more than just my girlfriend." He then changed the subject to what kind of ring I wanted. Smooth, that one.
The only hold up so far has been telling his folks. My parents have known since I knew. I'm extremely close to my parents, and tell them everything. Boyfriend, however, while he loves his parents and is close to them, he's not as friendly with his parents as I am with mine. And my parents have known him for six years. Boyfriend's parents met me last Christmas. His original plan was to tell his father he wanted to ask me to marry him, but things kept coming up, or getting in the way. It's adorable, really, how much he admires his parents. Even at 26, he's still worried about making them proud and not disappointing them. When we were in Arizona last month on the way back from tour, Boyfriend finally worked up the nerve to tell his mom. When Boyfriend told me the story, he said he was trying to lead her to the subject, and she brought it up. When she told me the story they next day (while we were getting our toes done), she said she told him he had to marry me. It's a disagreement I'm happy to let them have.
I jokingly told my future sister in law that even though we knew we were going to get married, and had picked out the date, we weren't 'engaged' because Boyfriend hadn't asked and there wasn't a ring. The GBF said that I couldn't call myself 'engaged' until Boyfriend made it 'facebook official.' Either way, though we've been discussing our wedding party, the menu for the reception, and where we want to honeymoon, we weren't referring to ourselves as engaged.
Until now.
A few days ago, while we were shopping for Halloween Costume accessories, a cheapy ring in the thrift store case caught my eye. (When we discussed rings, I told him he wasn't allowed to spend more than $20 on my ring. They're just symbolic anyway, I'm clumsy and bad with jewelry, and we can use the extra money to have a longer honeymoon.) Boyfriend said, "Hey, we're getting married a year from Monday, huh?" I answered positively, and he said, "We should change our facebook status."
Sunday night, a few minutes after midnight, Boyfriend left the couch, grabbed my laptop, and pulled up facebook. He went immediately to the 'Relationships' page, changed his status to 'Engaged to,' nudged me and pointed to it. I looked over and he asked, "Eh?"
I smiled at him, said, "Sure!" and he clicked save.
So 363 days from now, I'll be in a white dress in Arizona, celebrating with my closest friends and family, and calling my dearest friend 'Husband.'
On September 14th of last year, he asked me to tour with his band. Turned out it wasn't even his idea. G and D suggested it, and of course, Boyfriend (and then I) enthusiastically agreed with it. That night Boyfriend told me he loved me for the first time. Within a week of that, he was telling me about the Domestic Partnership he had with Crazy Ex #1 from a few years ago. He said, "I have to get rid of that so I'm free to marry you."
Ever the self doubter and over thinker, I couldn't quite believe I'd heard him right, so I didn't ask him to clarify. That's what girls are supposed to do, right? Not talk about commitment, cause boys are afraid of that? But a few days later I jokingly referenced what our children might look like, and he called them, 'inevitable.'
It blew me away. I've been in love with Boyfriend since I was 19 years old. I never thought we'd actually be together, and the few times I allowed myself to actually think/fantasize about that, I never thought we'd make it for the long haul. I always thought we'd have a few happy years together, have a lot of fun, and then decide we wanted different things. I thought I'd go start a family, and he'd continue to live his rock 'n roll lifestyle. We would've stayed friends, of course, but it would have just been a fun relationship. I never thought I'd fall as hard as I did (or rather, didn't realize how hard I'd already fallen). But as soon as Boyfriend mentioned babies and marriage (and he brought them up first) I finally accepted how deeply I loved him.
On my birthday last year (which was epically awesome) after a couple rounds of Jell-O shots, I pulled my mother away from her palm reading station at the party and said, "I want to tell Boyfriend I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Should I?" Mom just laughed at me.
Later, in the bouncy castle (yes - there was a bouncy castle), Boyfriend and I were snuggling. The aforementioned Jell-O shots gave me enough courage to pull him close and say, "I want to spend every day with you. For the rest of my life."
His response? "I thought that was the plan."
Told you there was a bouncy castle.Since that night last October we've occasionally mentioned forever. At some point over the last year we somehow arrived at a conclusion for the date. I thought it was awesome that we got together on 9-9-09, and jokingly said, "We should get married on 11-1-11. Then our rehearsal dinner could be a costume party."
"And that would be a super easy anniversary to remember!" Boyfriend said. (Even then, when he told his mother last month, he told her it was the 11th we wanted. Silly boy.)
Our second night out on my first tour, as we were walking to a party after parking the van a few blocks away, Boyfriend lamented, "I don't know how to introduce you to people. You're not my fiance yet, because I haven't gotten a ring, but you're so much more than just my girlfriend." He then changed the subject to what kind of ring I wanted. Smooth, that one.
The only hold up so far has been telling his folks. My parents have known since I knew. I'm extremely close to my parents, and tell them everything. Boyfriend, however, while he loves his parents and is close to them, he's not as friendly with his parents as I am with mine. And my parents have known him for six years. Boyfriend's parents met me last Christmas. His original plan was to tell his father he wanted to ask me to marry him, but things kept coming up, or getting in the way. It's adorable, really, how much he admires his parents. Even at 26, he's still worried about making them proud and not disappointing them. When we were in Arizona last month on the way back from tour, Boyfriend finally worked up the nerve to tell his mom. When Boyfriend told me the story, he said he was trying to lead her to the subject, and she brought it up. When she told me the story they next day (while we were getting our toes done), she said she told him he had to marry me. It's a disagreement I'm happy to let them have.
I jokingly told my future sister in law that even though we knew we were going to get married, and had picked out the date, we weren't 'engaged' because Boyfriend hadn't asked and there wasn't a ring. The GBF said that I couldn't call myself 'engaged' until Boyfriend made it 'facebook official.' Either way, though we've been discussing our wedding party, the menu for the reception, and where we want to honeymoon, we weren't referring to ourselves as engaged.
Until now.
A few days ago, while we were shopping for Halloween Costume accessories, a cheapy ring in the thrift store case caught my eye. (When we discussed rings, I told him he wasn't allowed to spend more than $20 on my ring. They're just symbolic anyway, I'm clumsy and bad with jewelry, and we can use the extra money to have a longer honeymoon.) Boyfriend said, "Hey, we're getting married a year from Monday, huh?" I answered positively, and he said, "We should change our facebook status."
Sunday night, a few minutes after midnight, Boyfriend left the couch, grabbed my laptop, and pulled up facebook. He went immediately to the 'Relationships' page, changed his status to 'Engaged to,' nudged me and pointed to it. I looked over and he asked, "Eh?"
I smiled at him, said, "Sure!" and he clicked save.
So 363 days from now, I'll be in a white dress in Arizona, celebrating with my closest friends and family, and calling my dearest friend 'Husband.'
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
25 years ago today, Marty McFly went to a parking lot to meet with Doc Brown. The rest, as they say is history.
Also, in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona, my mom squeezed me out.
I know I haven't been blogging much lately. Tour puts a damper on my productivity (malnutrition, tiredness, lack of reliable internet connection), and now that I'm home I've been distracted with things like looking for work, working, and household chores. And Breaking Bad. Seriously, Boyfriend and I have put away almost three seasons since October 8th. That's a lot of sitting in front of a boob tube.
I don't think I'll draw any cute cartoons today, as I just want to put a blog up so you all know I haven't mysteriously disappeared. Also, it's my birthday. My 25th freaking birthday. It seems like a blog worthy day.
Birthdays have never made me feel any different. As a child, I always expected some sort of magical transformation over night, or at the very least, for the day to feel unusual. Like Christmas. There's this sort of stillness in the air on Christmas. I always expect my birthday to feel that way, but it doesn't.
This birthday makes me want to better myself, though. Like it's a chance for New Years-esque resolutions. Like I'm really starting my adult life now, with a nice, round, halfway to 50 age.
But here are my Quarter Life resolutions:
-Write EVERY day. 1,000 words on a novel would be nice, but that's not realistic. A paragraph or two, or a blog, or even just jotting down ideas of stories and novels... hell, even fan fiction, is better than not writing at all.
-Eat better. I've been doing a good job of it since tour, but I've had entirely too much fast food and too many restaurant outings this year. I don't feel good. Good food makes you feel good.
-Be smarter with money. Just because I have money sitting in my bank account, doesn't mean I have to spend it.
-Practice music more. I miss playing and writing and singing. It's an amazing way to express myself, and I miss getting lost in it.
I can't really think of anything else. I mean, I've got a great guy by my side, a wonderful family, and friends that actually care about me. The outlook from here is pretty swell. Honestly, I couldn't ask for more. Well, maybe a book deal or to win the lottery, but as far as practicality goes... this is Happily Ever After, and I'm lucky enough to have found it this young.
Also, in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona, my mom squeezed me out.
I know I haven't been blogging much lately. Tour puts a damper on my productivity (malnutrition, tiredness, lack of reliable internet connection), and now that I'm home I've been distracted with things like looking for work, working, and household chores. And Breaking Bad. Seriously, Boyfriend and I have put away almost three seasons since October 8th. That's a lot of sitting in front of a boob tube.
I don't think I'll draw any cute cartoons today, as I just want to put a blog up so you all know I haven't mysteriously disappeared. Also, it's my birthday. My 25th freaking birthday. It seems like a blog worthy day.
Birthdays have never made me feel any different. As a child, I always expected some sort of magical transformation over night, or at the very least, for the day to feel unusual. Like Christmas. There's this sort of stillness in the air on Christmas. I always expect my birthday to feel that way, but it doesn't.
This birthday makes me want to better myself, though. Like it's a chance for New Years-esque resolutions. Like I'm really starting my adult life now, with a nice, round, halfway to 50 age.
But here are my Quarter Life resolutions:
-Write EVERY day. 1,000 words on a novel would be nice, but that's not realistic. A paragraph or two, or a blog, or even just jotting down ideas of stories and novels... hell, even fan fiction, is better than not writing at all.
-Eat better. I've been doing a good job of it since tour, but I've had entirely too much fast food and too many restaurant outings this year. I don't feel good. Good food makes you feel good.
-Be smarter with money. Just because I have money sitting in my bank account, doesn't mean I have to spend it.
-Practice music more. I miss playing and writing and singing. It's an amazing way to express myself, and I miss getting lost in it.
I can't really think of anything else. I mean, I've got a great guy by my side, a wonderful family, and friends that actually care about me. The outlook from here is pretty swell. Honestly, I couldn't ask for more. Well, maybe a book deal or to win the lottery, but as far as practicality goes... this is Happily Ever After, and I'm lucky enough to have found it this young.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Sometimes my relationship with Boyfriend feels really weird. I've known him for almost six years, so most of the time it feels like we've been together that long. In reality, we've been together romantically for ten months, and only living together for four months. Granted, we lived in a van together for two of those months, so it kinda got fast tracked. Every once and a while, something will happen that reminds me how young the openly romantic aspect of our relationship still is.
Like when he does something ridiculously cute and I giggle more than I should, or find it much more adorable than it actually is. Like when he plays video games and laughs like a ten year old when things blow up. Or when he randomly tackles me in a hug and tickles me.
I got on my computer the other day and found this:
When I asked him what it was, he said, "Oh... that's me doing a handstand."
I laughed appreciatively and said, "I'm saving this."
He protested, "You don't have to, it's just a doodle."
"Nope. It's awesome." And so it's now on the front of my virtual refrigerator.
Like when he does something ridiculously cute and I giggle more than I should, or find it much more adorable than it actually is. Like when he plays video games and laughs like a ten year old when things blow up. Or when he randomly tackles me in a hug and tickles me.
I got on my computer the other day and found this:
When I asked him what it was, he said, "Oh... that's me doing a handstand."
I laughed appreciatively and said, "I'm saving this."
He protested, "You don't have to, it's just a doodle."
"Nope. It's awesome." And so it's now on the front of my virtual refrigerator.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Little toes are disgusting. It's like God had left over callus and a little tiny bone, and your hands and ears were full and he was tired and the feet were the very last part and he thought, "Aw, fuck it!" and stuck it on there with a little tiny nail that is only there to keep the callus from growing to unbelievable proportions and overtaking your entire foot, and eventually your whole blasted body. Or maybe the nail's there so the little monstrosity didn't look so obviously out of place next to your normal toes.
It's totally up to something.
Let me be serious for a moment. Feet are gross. But it's almost like your little toe is there to remind you that feet are actually cute in a gross way. Like Pugs and English Bulldogs and deformed babies. There are only two possible reasons for the little toe's existence, and that's the first.
The second is that it must serve as some sort of social barrier. Like farting and burping. That's one of the very last things you do around a new partner. I think the little toe is the absolute last thing you let show. Sometimes I'll be hanging out with Boyfriend with my shoes off, and he'll be watching tv or reading, and I realize that I have my shoes off and I panic. What if he looks at my feet, and realizes I have this tiny toe stuck to the side of my foot, and all it does is get blisters and look gross? What if he sees the gross blister skin and the tiny little excuse for nail and my poor attempt to paint that little sliver of protein and he realizes that he can't really love me because someday I'll get a blister so bad that the nail will pop off and go flying across the room and it might hit him in the eye, and then he won't be able to run away from the callus as it envelopes my body and then his, and we'll both die and he's just not ready to die in such a gross way, and he'd rather just date a super model because they have plastic surgery to remove what evolution should have generations ago.
Artist's rendering of Boyfriend's murder by my little toe callus.
But then I remember that I've seen what his porn looks like, and I think that I'm too thin and pretty for him anyway, and he'll probably dump me because of that, and not because of the little mutant freak on the side of my foot.
I've also just realized I don't know what his little toes look like. I know what his big toe looks like. While we were watching tv the other day, I was admiring it, and thinking about how his big toe and his thumb are similar enough that you can tell that they're part of a set, but are still very definitely a big toe and a thumb. But I think because of my own little toe phobia, I subconsciously blocked his little toes from my memory.
That's the only possibly explaination.
UPDATE: I wrote this back on February 8th, I just never got around to posting it until now. I don't really feel like writing a blog today, or drawing. But I managed to draw two pictures for you, and I'm putting them up. I hope blogger cooperates.
Since writing this though, I made a point to look at Boyfriend's little toes. But now that I'm reading this I can't remember what they look like! I remember how I felt when I looked at them. It took me a little while to work up the courage to even look at his little toes because I was afraid they might be as gnarly as mine and then a little part of me was worried that maybe I would stop loving him because when we have babies they would have super ugly little toes that might take over the world with their super evil out-of-placeness, but I managed to do it. I remember thinking that it wasn't such a big deal, because his little toes matched the other four, and his toes look different but similar, like they should all be hanging out together. Like those twenty-somethings that play teenagers on TV shows that are supposed to be middle class kids but they all have expensive hair cuts and no acne so they look like a matching set of novelty salt and pepper shakers and cream and sugar bowls. Like that. Boyfriend's toes look like they have expensive TV show haircuts. That's an exaggeration, but I realized I like his toes. Not in a foot fetishy kind of way, but in a normal appreciation for a loved one's body parts. I'm much fonder of his hands (I could look at his hands all day), but his feet weren't horrifying. Like mine.
He's not allowed to read this blog. I don't want him to look down at my toes and be like, "Holy Christ, what is that villianous deformity!?"
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About Me
- Lori
- Seattle, United States
- During this course of study, you will come to learn much about the strange eating, sleeping and mating habits of the Instrospective Lori under stress. We will observe as she moves halfway across the country to start a life with her own Captain Wentworth, takes a year off of work to pursue a writing career, and incessantly references Jane Austen.