In last year’s recap post I said “2010 was a rough year for me, as I know it was for many people. I hope 2011 is better.” I am happy to report that 2011 was amazing. Perhaps even more than amazing. I think it is safe to say that 2011 has been the best year of my life. I hope it is the beginning of an up-and-up trend, come on, 2012, don’t let me down!
I turned 28 this year, I don’t actually remember what I did on my birthday. But, the next day–which happens to be Valentine’s Day–was my second date with J-Mo. I told him he could come see me if it was just another Monday and not Valentine’s Day. He brought me cupcakes that he’d made himself. With sprinkles. Swoon.
While I did not go on any international vacations (yep, move that New Year’s Resolution into the “fail” column), I did visit three new states, four new National Parks (and five more return visits) and a gaggle of other places. I went to Phoenix for the annual booksale, I walked all over San Francisco, hiked Angel’s Landing in Zion National Park, wandered through The Devil’s Garden in Arches National Park. I rode on the back of a Harley through the desert. I went to Montana for the first (and second, and third) time and fell in-love with the gorgeous mountains and laid-back living. I visited Yellowstone National Park for the very first time and pretended I was a real photographer. I visited (and feel I truly “discovered”) White Pine County, Nevada. I went to see an old roommate in Portland and knocked Oregon off my list of states to see. Before I started my final semester, J-Mo and I went on another motorcycle trip to Glacier National Park in Montana (trip #2!) and rode the amazing Going-to-the-Sun Road. This fall I went to Philadelphia, the birthplace of America, and the famous Mushroom Festival in Kennett Square, PA. On this trip I also made a quick detour through Delaware, making my states visited 36 of 50 (only 14 more to go!). Add two weekend trips to Phoenix to see family (no photos/no blog post), a road trip of beautiful scenery around Southern Utah, another weekend with J-Mo in Zion National Park to see the fall leaves, and then the most wonderful weekend imaginable in Bryce Canyon National Park. A trip back to Montana for Christmas rounded out my travels for 2011.
I read 18 books this year, which is not the 25 I was hoping for and certainly nowhere near the 60 I read last year, but I am happy with my number. I had a lot of other stuff to fill my brain with (ahem, 8 university classes and the required readings and assignments that go with them). The best book I read in 2011 was Half the Sky. It is not an easy read, nor is it fluffy, but it changed me forever. Check out my post detailing all the books I read this year for extra details.
I did not suffer any major illness, but I have the somewhat freakish, undiagnosed business going on in my chest. Hopefully 2012 will bring some resolution and peace on that front. I am still dealing with back/spine issues from the aftermath of my car accident almost four years ago. I have a sneaky suspicion my spine and hips just won’t ever be the same.
I fell in love with a boy, and I fell hard. J-Mo and I started dating in the early months of 2010 and got engaged in November. Our low-key, non-traditional wedding celebration will be this January. He is, hands down, the best match I could have ever imagined for myself. I have even started seeking out country music (I know, I know) because it reminds me of him. It’s a darn good thing J-Mo has decent taste in country music, no twangy bangoy business about missing your truck and your dog.)
I did not lose any weight, I didn’t even try.
My little sister gave birth to my new niece in November (can’t wait to meet her!) and several other friends and extended family members had new babies of their own, some in better circumstances than others.
I did not attend a funeral, although my grandfather is getting more and more frail. I don’t know if I will be so lucky for 2012.
I did not contribute significantly to my savings account, but I did pay off my student loan and my car. In February I tried a financial experiment to try and curb extraneous spending, not sure if I can feasibly do it again this year, but I wouldn’t mind trying.
Year after year, I find my largest expenses are for travel. I don’t operate on a massive consumption budget. I bought more shoes and more books in 2011 than I did in 2010, which isn’t saying much as I was employed for the entirety of 2011 and only half of 2010. Unemployment means no new shoes or new books. Except for a few “fill in the gap” items J-Mo and I will need, and hopefully a new mattress, I see 2012 going about the same way.
I wish I had done more pleasure reading (as in, not a textbook, don’t be gross), more cooking, and more exercising. I wish I’d spent less time on Facebook. Although, Mr. Zuckerburg’s recent changes have mostly eliminated my desire for it altogether. I’m kind of over social media, I’ve removed Twitter and Facebook from my phone, cleaned up my contact lists and locked down my security and privacy settings. Perhaps I’m paranoid, or perhaps I’ve just had enough.
The TV shows I managed to keep up with are Bones and Project Runway (although I’m kind of over Brennan being pregnant, I think it was a lame-sauce plot point. Angela was pregnant all last year and now Brennan is pregnant…I just want them to be smart and solve crimes, not talk about puking and breast feeding and stuff like that. I have enough blogs to cover that, thank you). I have recently fallen head-over-heels for Big Bang Theory. I think part of my brain assumes that listening to all those geeks and nerds talk about physics and…stuff…will somehow increase my IQ. So far it just keeps me up far later than I should be watching the DVR’d episodes back-to-back-to-back.
My biggest achievement this year was finally finishing my University degree, a Bachelor of Science in Economics. It has been a long, hard road, and I am absolutely THRILLED to be done with it. I honestly don’t really think it has sunk in quite yet, give me another few weeks.
My biggest failure…I’ve failed at a lot of things this year, but at this point I am over it. I’m sure I have let people down, hurt others unintentionally (and perhaps even intentionally), I’ve probably told less than the complete truth and purposefully omitted certain facts to spare myself some embarrassment. I’ve eaten too much chocolate and spent more money than I could have, but I don’t think of myself as a failure. I guess I failed at going on 2 international vacations, and I did not hike to the top of Mt. Timpanogos, I didn’t even try. So both of those things will go back on my resolutions list, however, “failure” seems like a pretty harsh label for something like that.
This year I think I finally realized how great my Dad is, growing up we had a strained relationship at best, but for the last ten years or so it has gotten better and better, and this year, in particular, I think it has really blossomed. He has been my biggest support, loudest cheerleader, and a really great friend. He’s like a trump card I keep in my back pocket, he has taken care of me for a long time and while I may not need him as much as I have in the past, I like knowing that he’s always going to be there. This is really new for me, and I’m surprised at how choked up I’m getting while writing this paragraph. You may have had your parent as a BFF when you were tiny, but for me I didn’t learn to really see or appreciate my Dad until well into my twenties. I’m glad it turned out this way, actually.
This year I was also surprised and embarrassed by the appalling behavior of others, and of one person in particular (who, I should note, is in no way related to me). I won’t go into much detail here, but her behavior is strikingly similar to something I’ve seen before. In fact, I had a front-row seat to this kind of ridiculous, immature behavior for quite a while. In the long run, things didn’t turn out so great the first time, and I really don’t see how it could possibly turn out the way she thinks it will this time. MB: you’re doing it wrong. Knock it off already before you screw yourself over for the next 10 (or 40) years. Or don’t, no skin off my nose. (Yes, I am being deliberately vague.)
Dates that stick out to me from 2011 are November 5, the day I got engaged to my sweetheart; November 23, the day I took a spontaneous, adventurous plunge; December 15, the day I discovered I passed all my classes and am officially a college graduate! (Wow, it’s been a good 2 months!)
My New Year’s Resolutions for 2010 were kind of hit and miss; some I kept, some I didn’t. New ones will be made–per tradition–for Chinese New Year in a few weeks.
Life lessons for 2011:
1. It all works out in the end. If it hasn’t worked out, it isn’t the end.
2. Good things come to those who wait.
3. Always say “yes” to an adventure.
In 2010 I read 60 books, this year I knew I wouldn’t have nearly that many, but I hoped to get in 25. I only read 18 but I still consider that a success, sure, I could spend the next two days cramming my face full of short, fluffy novels to hit my goal of 25, but I have found, of late, that I don’t particularly care for short, fluffy novels. I read more and more non-fiction and am loving the change of pace. I am getting a lot pickier about what I read, I don’t want to bother if it is somehow going to be subpar.
These are listed starting with the ones I liked the best and petering out to the ones I didn’t necessarily love, listed alphabetically by rating because heaven knows I would never be able to get this posted today if I tried to rank them from most favorite to least.
5-STAR READS:
Fifth Avenue, 5 A.M., Sam Wasson. This book is about the making of the movie Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which has been my go-to feel-good movie for over a decade. I love Audrey Hepburn, I love the whole premise of Tiffany’s, and I absolutely loved reading about the behind-the-scenes moments and even the production issues of trying to get Truman Capote’s book turned into a film. This isn’t necessarily ground-breaking stuff, but I would definitely read it again.
Half the Sky, Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn. By far the best book I read in 2011, Half the Sky is about the plight of women around the world, more specifically in the underdeveloped world where women are still very much seen as commodities and treated as such. (The title comes from an old Chinese proverb that says “Women hold up half the sky.”) I was shocked at the stories, the statistics, and the lack of real options to help women. This book changed how I think, it changed what I want to do with my life. It is not a happy book, not by any means, but it is important. Read it.
I am Nujood, Age 10 and Divorced, Nujood Ali with Delphine Minoui. Another book about the oppression against women, this one set in the Yemen. This is the true story of young Nujood who was forced to marry a much older man when she was 9 years old, the man raped her, beat her and basically treated her like most men in his country treat their wives. Nujood fought back, she walked into the Supreme Court of Yemen and asked for a divorce. At age 10. Without a father/brother/uncle/husband to speak for her. This story was picked up by the media and a young female Yemeni lawyer decided to fight with Nujood, this is their story.
Superfreakanomics, Steven D. Levitt, Stephen J. Dubner. Yes, I am an economics nerd. If you read Freakanomics you know how this book goes, Levitt and Dubner pick apart statistics to relate two seemingly unrelated things. They are related by either factual stats, or by both adhering to the same economic processes. Entertaining, and a justification that economics majors can have a sense of humor.
4-STAR READS:
Supernaturally, Kiersten White. The second in the Paranormalcy series and written by my childhood friend. Oh, and it also made the New York Times Bestseller list the week it came out, no biggie. (Translation: It’s a BIG FREAKING BIGGIE!) I don’t usually read YA books, but I have very much enjoyed following Evie’s story and can’t wait for the third installation, set to be published this summer.
The Chosen, Chaim Potok. I don’t know much about the Jewish religion or the Jewish culture (there aren’t a lot of Jews here in Salt Lake City, although we do have one very lovely synagogue.) I loved the way Potok writes, I loved the details about pre- and post-war life for the Jews in America (WWII), and I loved the writing style and voice of the two young men, Daniel and Rueven. I liked this book so much I ordered another by Potok, I can’t wait to start it as well.
The Happiness Project, Gretchen Rubin. I know this has made the rounds in blogdom and book clubs everywhere, I feel like I was a bit late to the Happiness Project train, and I really think I need to read it again, this time with a notebook and a pen, scribbling notes in the margins and making my own plans to reboot.
The Help, Kathryn Stockett. This is the first audio book I have ever listened to, and it took me over 6 months to finish it. I enjoyed the book, and I loved the character voices on the audio recording, but I don’t know how much I love the idea of listening to a book instead of reading it. Jury is still out on that, I’ll keep you updated. I haven’t seen the movie yet, nor do I feel I need to, but I did love the message that words and books can change things for the better (or worse, I get that too). I loved that all it takes are a few people standing up for something important to change the way a town thinks.
The Male Brain, Louann Brizendine. I read The Female Brain last fall and scribbled in the margins, highlighted entire paragraphs, and felt that Brizendine had sat me down and told me all the reasons that I am the way that I am, and that I was okay this way. I cried a lot. I had a lot of “A ha!” moments. I wished I had been able to read it again the next day. I didn’t have the same emotional reaction to The Male Brain, but I was fascinated by the insights and chemical processes that happen as a young boy matures into a man and then becomes a father.
Under the Banner of Heaven, Jon Krakauer. This is the most disturbing book I have ever read, and probably not for the reasons that you may think. Yes, it is about the founding of my home state and the beginnings of the Mormon church. No, it is not particularly flattering account on either of those events. That’s not why it was disturbing. I really need to write an entire post on this because I am not exaggerating when I say that I could not sleep for the two days it took me to finish this book, and for weeks afterward I would wake up with nightmares.
Undress Me in the Temple of Heaven, Susan Jane Gilman. Gilman and a college friend spent 6 weeks backpacking across China when it very first opened it’s borders to western tourists. This was pre-Tienanmen Square and China was very much soaked in drowning under communist rule. Her insights and thoughts and experiences on the country I love were fascinating, and disheartening, and engaging. And even though China was no block party back in 1986, and Gilman’s writing reflects that, I still cannot wait to visit and explore.
3-STAR READS:
A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole. I have heard a hundred times from friends, bloggers, review boards, and a half-dozen other sources that A Confederacy of Dunces is the most hilarious, amazing book ever written. Respectfully, I total disagree. I did appreciate Toole’s use of language, I love a book where I need to look up words in the dictionary ever few pages, but I hated his main character. Ignatius J. Reilly mostly just pissed me off. It took me months to finish this book, and I kept waiting for it to get better. Nope, it didn’t. I give it 3 stars (instead of 1 or 2) based on the vocabulary alone.
Das Kapital, Karl Marx. I plowed through 1,000 pages of Das Kapital, text and annotations for my Marxist Economics class. Did I enjoy it? No. Did I understand it? I aced my tests, so yes, I did. Do I agree with Marx? Um, no. In theory he has some interesting ideas and I think that many businesses owners would do themselves a favor by reading it, but do I think all his ideas (or even most of them) work in practical application? No. They don’t. The basic tenet of Marxism is that any business owner who makes a profit is exploiting his employees. Even if those employees are making a good, livable wage. Even if they are being paid $100,000 dollars a year. Or $200,000. The idea is that if there is any profit whatsoever the capitalist bastard CEO should burn at the stake. Ok, I may have embelllished the last part of that sentence, but the sentiment is still correct. I know capitalism has it’s problems, but I don’t see how the technological, medical, scientific and anthropological advances of today’s society could ever have been achieved if an entrepreneur didn’t figure out how to make those advances to turn a profit. Boo, Marx.
DIY U, Anya Kamenetz. Kamanentz theory is that traditional higher education is on it’s way out and the only way to education the workforce is to completely reboot the way we learn, the way institutions grant degrees, and the entire education process. She makes some excellent points, and in some respects I agree with her. But I also think there is more to college than churning out degrees, or even devouring knowledge. There is a work ethic, an expansion of the mind, and an exposure to new ideas that are not generated by a social media platform that also focuses on celebrity gossip. Perhaps I’m a snob. Or perhaps my position of working in higher education is showing through a bit and coloring my opinions. Again, Kamanentz has some good points, but about halfway through I decided that I just couldn’t agree with her call for a complete and total overhaul of the post-secondary education system.
Madame Bovary, Gustav Flaubert. Meh. Not awesome. Not even great, really. Again, points (or in this case, an extra star) for vocabulary and sentence structure that I both enjoyed and appreciated, but the story is pretty tedious and the character of Madame Bovary herself is quite wretched. Sure, there are a lot of people like her, slumming/sleeping around for social position and power, but I just am not interested in that sort of thing and her emotional turmoil over her loveless marriage doesn’t really move me. At all.
History of Love, Nicole Krauss. Recommended by a friend this was a quick read and one that I enjoyed. I liked–although sometime was a bit lost by–the weaving story that crossed generations and continents and through various individuals. Honestly, I remember liking the book, but I don’t remember much more about it than that.
2-STAR READS:
Woman, Child for Sale, Gilbert King. I wanted to love this book, I wanted it to move me and change me the way several of the other books I’ve read on the topic of the degradation of women have…and this book failed. It started out strong enough, but quickly devolved into a mess of terrible stories (they are supposed to be terrible, there is nothing light or happy or fluffy about women being sold or kidnapped into sexual slavery) but the author was not a capable enough writer to do them any justice whatsoever. Perhaps my expectations were too high, but after reading Half the Sky this book seems like a footnote in a boring newsletter. Not awesome, please skip.
For the rest of my reading, ranked by star and sorted by year, click here.
Last Christmas I spent the week leading up to it cavorting around Mexico, trying to remember my high school Spanish and doing currency exchange in my head.
Last Christmas Day I was lounging on the sun deck of a cruise boat catching up on my reading.
Last Christmas I ate a delicious meal (one I do not remember precisely but can guarantee included chocolate cake).
Last Christmas was quiet. And lonely. And in some ways, desperately needed.
Last Christmas I realized I had probably lost one of my best friends, and while I was definitely not okay with it then, I am now.
Last Christmas I was, for all intents and purposes, alone.
***** ***** ***** ***** *****
This Christmas was the fourth in a row that I have, more or less, skipped my own family’s traditions. Last year I was in Mexico, the year before that I was working 90 hours weeks and only had a day and a half off, the year before that I was in Seattle.
This Christmas was another departure from my own, personal, traditional Christmas morning.
This Christmas I spent the weeks leading up to it finishing up my last round of finals, working hard on some important office deadlines, last minute shopping (mostly online, thank you Amazon!), and a few holiday parties.
This Christmas J-Mo and I drove north to Montana to spend Christmas with his family.
This Christmas I read three books in four days (and started another) and reveled in my new-found Reading For Fun bliss.
This Christmas I was smushed into a cabin with 16 other people (9 of whom are of the pint-sized variety).
This Christmas I loved being able to help out in the kitchen, I have discovered that cooking for people makes me happy. Strangely enough, so does doing a lot of dishes. (Good thing too, because 17 people eat a lot and dirty a lot of dishes.)
This Christmas I was treated to the most amazing turkey I have ever had–it was wrapped in latticed bacon, people. I tell you, it was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
This Christmas was not quiet. The Pint Sized People received, collectively, 2 karaoke machines, 2 iPods, a couple of wii games, 18,376 remote control cars/motorcycles/helicopters/tractors/Things That Go and a pogo stick. No, it was definitely not quiet.
This Christmas I spent a lot of time thinking about a handful of my closest friends and while I did not get the chance to talk to them all on Christmas Day, I have told them all in the last few weeks how much they mean to me.
This Christmas I realized even more how much I love J-Mo, how much better off I am with him in my life. I cannot wait until all the craziness from finishing school/making it through the holidays/planning a wedding settle down and we can just be together. You and me, babe.
This Christmas, and Christmases for the rest of my life, I will no longer be alone. Part of this security comes from finding and choosing an amazing man for a husband. But that isn’t all of it. Part comes from the handful of friends and family who will always be a constant in my life, the unconditional “no matter what” love we have for each other won’t diminish. But that isn’t all of it. The bulk of this realization comes from a the deep, constant, and life changing love I have for Jesus Christ. And, most importantly, the love He has for me. And that, right there, is what Christmas is all about.
Filed under: All about me
Six weeks ago I detailed some really crazy stuff (read: lump) going on in my right boob. I was overwhelmed by the support and care that spewed forth from the Interwebs. Yes, spewed. I got phone calls, text messages, emails and in-person conversations from friends and strangers who all showed concern and support, many had some incredibly helpful bits of advice on women’s health, healthcare in general, and on advocating for my own health (something I’ve never had to do and am still very new at). Many woman recommended their own doctors who had considerably more delicate bedside manner and could maybe give me some more answers. I made lists, I tried to stay away from Dr. Google for the most part, I weighed pro’s and con’s and factored in the feelings in my gut (not some kind of disease, just heidikins’ intuition) and I decided to wait for my follow-up appointment. In November (you know, before finals and last-semester-of-my-life craziness hit in full force) I went back to the same OB/GYN clinic where Dr. Fill-In had treated me so poorly. However, I saw Dr. Awesome. Dr. A. is NOTHING like Dr. F. (Ha! Their initials make me laugh, and yes, I do still have grades and school on the brain. It’s only been 12 hours since I finished that decade-long project, give me a break!) Anyway, Dr. A. is great. She sat down and asked a lot of questions, probed a little deeper into some of my concerns and offered some suggestions as to what it could be BEFORE she felt me up. And then she felt me up. Ok, not entirely true (but kind of), she gave me a thorough examination and said that what to me felt like one big lump to her felt like several smaller ones. Like a little cluster of lumps. Then she explained that sort of thing is fairly common and usually goes away (she gave it a big, fancy Latin name…but it’s basically bumpy ducts or nodes or something like that, it’s probably not a tumor as those are one giant lump, not a bunch of little ones). She told me that she’d watch if for another few months and if it hasn’t gone away or reduced significantly in size she’ll schedule an MRI and a consult with a surgeon and have it taken out. Because, she says, “you shouldn’t have to worry about that kind of thing. You have good insurance and it will cover the surgery.” I almost cried with relief. This was exactly what I was hoping for. Dr. A. doesn’t believe whatever it is is cancerous, but she will take it out before it can progress to that just to ease my mind.
Goodness, what a huge relief! Answers! They’re coming! And if that means going under the knife to get them I’ll do it, because ANSWERS! Hello!
(The only bad news is that (TMI Alert! As if the former paragraph wasn’t already TMI!) until cancer or any other major disease is completely ruled out, I cannot take birth control because the hormones could interfere with the upcoming rounds of tests. Which is fine, except for the part where I am currently set to start my period the day after I get married. So I’ll be all crampy and bloaty, doesn’t that sound lovely? What? I told you it was TMI! Don’t scrunch up your nose in disgust and act like I didn’t warn you.)
Anyway, I don’t have all the answers, but I feel really confident in Dr. A. When I told her how Dr. F had treated me and what my experience was like she visibly cringed, she apologized for his bad bedside manner and ensured me that she would do everything she could to make sure that I understood everything that was going on in my body, and that she answered all my questions, and that, in the end, we figure out what this thing is and take care of it. I almost hugged her even though I was still wrapped up in my super classy paper gown and everything. Weight from shoulders: lifted. I have a follow-up appointment in February, and I’ll be sure to let you know the next steps from there.
Again, a million thanks to all of you who offered support and a virtual (or literal) shoulder to lean on, cry into, and rant over; it means the world to me.
Tomorrow This morning I am taking the last test of my undergraduate career. (That is, assuming I will get at least a C- in my classes so that I will a) not have to retake any classes and b) actually graduate. As I am currently in a sleepless, caffeine-fueled, near trance-like state where I routinely hallucinate about Karl Marx and econometrics, let us assume that after a solid 37 hours of sleep and a proper meal (or three) that I will be more lucid and realize that the idea of my not garnering anything above a D+ is nothing more than the ridiculous rantings of a mad woman. Mmmkay?)
So, tomorrow I end this 9-year project of earning a Bachelor of Science in Economics. Will you please take a moment to do a happy dance at your desk? No, I’m serious. Get up and bust out your moves like Jagger. Awww, very nice busting! Thank you. You may sit. There isn’t a convocation ceremony for winter graduates, but I am giving myself permission to do the whole pomp and circumstance thing in the spring if I want to, although at this point I just want to be done. And take a nap.
This weekend I get to watch two of the most amazing women I know marry their sweethearts. I can hardly imagine a better way to spend a weekend than seeing a friend choose her love, in front of God and witnesses and everyone. Being able to witness that two days in a row just leaves me all warm and fuzzy inside. (Or, alternately, that could be the latest jug teeny, tiny, teacup of Diet Dr. Pepper that I’m guzzling sipping that is making me feel all warm and fuzzy, although that kind of imagery doesn’t go nearly as well with my story about love and marriage and my favorite people so let’s just leave the diet caffeine out of this for now.)
Then there is Christmas. I have finished all of my shopping and just have a few small details to (literally) wrap up and I will be ready! This year J-Mo and I are heading up to Montana to spend Christmas with his family, and, subzero temperatures notwithstanding, I am looking forward to it. I am usually a bit Bah Humbug-y about Christmas–it’s usually too much tinsel and terribly high expectations–but this year I am excited and just wish the last two weeks I’d been able to spend less time studying and more time figuring out why on earth this year my attitude is so different. And spending some more time making gingerbread, it is high time to make some gingerbread goodness.
By the time I get back from Montana I will have just over three weeks to my own wedding.
Oh, did I not mention that? I’m getting married January 20. Now, for those of you doing math at home, that is just about 5 weeks from right now. Five. I know, I know, to many it probably seems like a suspiciously short engagement and a one-way ticket to CrazyTown. But, dear reader, rest assured that there are a lot of reasons for choosing that particular date, some of which will be discussed here as soon as I get this damn Econometrics final out of my hair. If you want the truth, our wedding date was only finalized this last weekend. There was a bit of a fuss (huge understatement) over some out-of-town family and whether or not they would be able to come at all; and then, if the travel arrangements could be made, what date would work the best for all involved. These particular family members are so important, loved, and special that both J-Mo and I would do absolutely anything and everything to ensure they are present. And if that means that, logistically, we only have 5 weeks to plan a wedding it is still worth any anxiety and/or frustration to have them there for the ceremony.
(Can I tell you a secret? I foresee a wee bit of anxiety. Anything more than showing up at the courthouse with two people for witnesses gives me anxiety. You’ll let me vent my anxieties here, right? What is a blog if not cyber-xanax? Hey, at least I am well aware that the moments of panic, fear, and frustration will be present and am giving you fair warning. Rest assured, I have never been more sure of my decision to marry J-Mo, I’m not talking about cold feet or second-guessing my relationship. Any panic will be revolved around a freakish warm spell in January that will eliminate our planned day of post-wedding sledding. (Not a euphemism. We really are going sledding the day after with all those very-important, out-of-town friends and family. No sense seeing them for 30 minutes and then high tailing it out of Dodge.) My fear is that my nearest and dearest will be let down at our very non-traditional approach to this whole “get married” business. No white gown, no reception, no wedding cake. I’m afraid people will be truly offended that there is no wedding cake.* The frustration will be directly tied to my reaction when–upon hearing my plans for a very small, simple, intimate ceremony and no formal reception–people get all snubby and pedantic and say “oh, well, it’s your second wedding…” while nodding to show that they understand something that I clearly do not. What the hell does that statement even mean? (More about this later, it’s still too annoying for me to properly formulate into actual paragraphs without resorting to angry, gnashing of teeth and lots of sweary words.)
*I know most normal people will not actually be offended that there is no wedding cake. Is joke. Kind of. I have already had to rain on quite a few parades when discussing what traditions J-Mo and I will incorporate into our wedding day (not many) and the subsequent GASP! and demanded explanation of why I don’t want my Dad to walk me down the aisle, and why I don’t want a bouquet, or a band, or a fancy white dress, or bridesmaids, or a plated dinner, or a photobooth, or anything that has made the rounds on a DIY and/or wedding board of Pinterest. None of that stuff is really “us” and while J-Mo and I are perfectly content with this non-traditional “us” thing we’ve got going, a lot more people than I anticipated are not entirely okay with it. And they feel like they need to tell me all the reasons why they aren’t okay with it. I don’t get it. It’s not like Great Aunt Mildred (or Cousin Ira, or I Thought We Were Friends Penelope) saying “a wedding without a white, floor-length gown and an exchange of dowry livestock just isn’t a real wedding at all,” or worse, “well, it’s your second wedding…” will really change my mind. No white dress. No cake. No livestock. Got it?
Once upon a time there was an evil stepmother and the rest of the story is basically irrelevant because we all know that the basis for a hundred fairytales ranging from Western Europe to China is a scary, evil stepmother who does everything she can to manipulate, maim, imprison, kill, or otherwise destroy the children in her charge. In fact, there are only a small handful of stepparent tales where the individual in question is remotely normal. In Enchanted there is a power-hungry stepmother, sure, but at the end Giselle becomes a lovely, caring stepmother herself and has a great “favorite aunt”/”fun older sister” relationship with McDreamy’s daughter. In Nanny McPhee the kids are terrified about having a mean, evil, “ship them off to boarding school” stepmother. But, with the help of a little magic, in the end their Dad marries a lovely woman who absolutely adores them, and whom they adore. Yours, Mine and Ours has a double set of stepparents, a gaggle of children to rival the Duggars, and in the end everyone gets along well enough. And in Stepmom Julia Robert’s character has a lot to learn about (step)parenting and must also gain the approval of the terminally ill ex-wife/mother, in the end even though she is flawed and imperfect, she succeeds. Her stepkids end up liking her, and Susan Sarandon is finally content with Julia’s character as the future caretaker of her kids. (The sticky fact remains that in all of these shows the mother is either dead, completely absent, or dying…which is not the case with most stepparent situations, but whatever. Yay for Fairytales!)
Over the course of my young life–okay, I’m not exactly “young” but just go with me on this–over the last twenty years I have had two stepmothers, a stepfather-in-law and a stepmother-in-law; that’s a lot of steps. However, for the sake of my sanity, pixel space, and, well, “my sanity” should have been sufficient, I’m going to leave the ex-in-laws out of this. (Although, hoo boy, are there some awesome stories there! One of them had a hook for a hand. Seriously.) The last little while I’ve been thinking about both of my stepmothers, they could not be more opposite and, in the end, I am thrilled my Dad ended up with the awesome one. In many ways I feel like I know all there is to know about stepparents, after all, I’ve had four of them. In other ways I’m sure I know absolutely nothing. I am only beginning to understand what these women felt when, after falling in love and marrying my Dad, they suddenly gained another five new personalities into their family. What I can say, with a bit of authority is that I know some of what should be done and a lot of what should not.
Disclaimer: The following story details some of my earliest, hardest times. Divorce in 1991–and especially in my hometown–was not what it is now (which, by all counts, is still terrible), my parents divorce was hairy and ugly for years, taking it’s toll on me and my siblings and I am sure altering how we look back at that time. I’m sure if you asked my 10-years-older-than-me brother he would have a different story. Ditto my 6-years-older-than-me brother. Or my twin, or my younger sister. But, at any rate, this is how I remember it.
When I was nine Lurch remarried The Wicked Witch of the West who has no actual name according to the original Wizard of Oz books so I’ll call her Bastinda as the more-popular Elphaba was not evil, just misunderstood. (Fun fact: Wicked author Gregory Maguire formulated the name “Elphaba” out of Oz author L. Frank Baum’s name, taking the phonetic pronunciation of his initials: hence, L.F.B became El-pha-ba.) (Moving on and away from Broadway.) (And parenthetical statements.) The best part about Bastinda is, ruby slippers not withstanding, she never had a thing for my shoes. At first Bastinda was polite and I think she actually tried to like my Dad’s kids. She had a brood of her own a few years older than I was, and at first I think they tried as well. But very quickly it became clear that Bastinda did not like us, or at least, I felt that way. She didn’t want us around, and she mostly saw us as an expensive interference to the life she was trying to create and enjoy with Lurch. She did very little to help my sister’s and I (we, may I remind you, were still in elementary school) feel welcome or wanted at their new house. It seemed she hated to initiate conversations and except for one or two mornings where she made us waffles and ice cream for breakfast, I have no truly positive memories of her. My older brothers feel differently, but to me, she was just mean, uncaring, and indifferent. As a 3rd, 4th, and 5th grader I really couldn’t understand why she couldn’t just like me. My little life was in some serious upheaval and I could have really used another stable, caring, friendly adult. My not-so-little problems were completely overwhelming and I just wanted this new woman to be nice to me, to at least pretend that I wasn’t some kind of leeching annoyance. Unfortunately, Bastinda was not all that great in that department.
When I was in high school Bastinda and Lurch got divorced, and after 24-hours of confusion, shock and a bit of anger towards my Dad for not telling me himself I was fine. (My Mom told me Lurch had got divorced again the day after it was finalized, it was the first I had heard of it.) I never really thought about Bastinda or her kids again.
About three years ago Lurch married Glinda the Good Witch who is not a witch at all, but is in fact funny and open and warm and supportive. I love Glinda, unquestionably and for reasons that are probably far too personal for me to ever post here. I have never thought of her as a “replacement mom,” or even really so much as a “stepmother,” but more as my Dad’s awesome wife and a good friend. She has listened to me rant and cry about boy problems, life problems, school frustrations, and work frustrations. She has celebrated with me and encouraged me in relationships, life milestones, my upcoming graduation, and my career. She has been supportive and caring and loves me unquestionably regardless of the decisions I make–even the ones that are pretty iffy. I am a better person, a more compassionate and whole adult as a direct result of Glinda’s awesome influence. We exchange phone calls, text messages and emails, not every day or anything like that, but frequently enough to support this still-growing stepmother-stepdaughter relationship. (I’m a stepdaughter…hmm…I don’t feel like a stepdaughter, I just feel like I gained a new friend who happens to be married to my Dad and show up at all my family functions.) Glinda has never tried to “mother” me, she just loves me. Over the last few years she has given me some excellent advice on a wide variety of subjects, but she has never lectured me, threatened me or my relationship with Lurch, she has never been mean or cruel or conniving, nor has she ever tried to usurp a “mother” position in my life. She actually does more than anyone else I know to encourage my (nonexistent) relationship with my own mother, she has a way of illuminating that very long and involved mess for me in a way that I can see and understand, and also, perhaps, even feel a bit of compassion. Glinda is nothing like the nasty stepmother depicted in all those fairytales, she has remained, and I hope will always remain, as a wonderful addition to my family tree, someone I love and trust and respect.
Do you have (or have you had) a stepmother? Are you a stepmother? What are your experiences? Horror stories? Warm fuzzies? Anything? I’d love your thoughts.
Filed under: Utah: Life Elevated
This morning I woke to my windows being rattled and the wind in the giant trees on my block making a terrific noise. We had hurricane-force winds today, the high was 102 mph and many places along my stretch of the Wasatch Mountains had gusts in the 80-90 mph range. Garbage cans have been blown blocks away from their homes, trampolines have mysteriously disappeared, semi trucks have rolled on the freeway, the commuter train is closed down due to debris on the tracks, entire roofs of homes have been ripped to pieces and siding and metal flashing has been flying around the neighborhoods, enormous trees are uprooted (and have been crashing into parked vehicles) all over the valley and I’m pretty sure I saw Dorothy and Toto fly by at some point. Thousands are without power and we have a snow storm blowing in tomorrow morning.
Extreme weather, folks, we has it.
Utahns are a hardy bunch, and we tend to take the optimistic side of many scenarios. Some attribute this to our “focus on the silver lining” Mormon attitudes and some attribute it to the large numbers of folks with anti-depressant medication. But, in the face of a lot of damaged property, some are making the best of their situations:
If you are in need of a fresh cut 32-foot Christmas tree, or a 50-60 foot one, you’re in luck! You figure out a way to haul it, they’ll give it to you for free!
The other good thing? These kinds of winds will completely eliminate the thick, brownish, practically toxic air that tends to congregate over my fair valley in the winter. Fresh air! Free Christmas trees! What more can you ask for a Thursday?!
Filed under: Family
I seem to have really messed up my shoulder, I don’t think it’s the shoulder joint/rotator cuff or anything like that. I think it’s either a torn muscle or a gunked up ligament or something. Any kind of movement in any direction is excruciating, almost dizzying pain. Simple things like blow drying my hair, or pulling up my underroos, or even sleeping are absolute torture. (Especially the pulling on of the clothing problem. Oh. My. Hell. I should just go pantsless the entire week.) After some serious couch time with an ice pack or twelve and some of that super-mentholy (read: stanky) IcyHot and a few hot baths thrown in the mix to prevent frostbite from the ice packs…I still feel like my arm is going to fall off at the shoulder.
It has taken me three days to figure out what happened. It wasn’t excessive blow-drying, or funky sleeping, or some crazy yoga class. I’m pretty sure it had everything to do with wrestling my 8-year-old nephew on Saturday. Last weekend I was hanging out with my family, laughing and eating and playing and teasing my 8-year old twin nephews, my older brother’s sons. Now, this particular brother is 6-years older, over a foot taller, and even in his 30′s is always ready to inflict a little torture on his little sister. As I was reclining comfortably on the sofa he told his 8-year old that he’d give him $20 bucks to pile drive me. I didn’t even do or say anything to provoke him! I usually call my brother out as fat and balding (he’s not exactly either of those things), but this time I didn’t! Not a single insult! And he still unleashed the wrath of the Kraken!! A Kraken who is quickly shooting up towards my average 5’7″ frame and physical strength limits. It took me at least 30 minutes of all I could muster to prevent my nephew from pile driving me on the couch.
Brothers? Brothers are awesome, if a bit torturous. Nephews? Nephews are the smaller version of awesome, the version that will quickly surpass me in height and won’t want his Aunt Heidi to man-handle him. I suppose that ultimately it’s for the best, I don’t know if I really want to lose the use of another limb.
It’s that time of year again, the time when -R- organizes the Great Blog Share. Today’s post was not written by me, it was written by Anonymous, everyone say hello. Hi, Anonymous. The great thing about Blog Share is you get to read some incredible, raw, uncensored posts written under the cover of anonymity. If you’ve been blogging for very long you’ll realize what a sweet, sweet mask anonymous posting can be–you can talk about ANYTHING without worrying you are going to offend your friends, or upset your family, or really, really piss off that one blog stalker/lurker who thinks he/she is hiding (I see your IP address, I am not as blonde as I look). My very own, somewhat raw, mostly uncensored post is out there somewhere today and it felt so good to finally get it off my chest. At any rate, I hope you a) enjoy this post, b) leave some comment love (be nice folks, Anonymous is a guest here), and c) check out some of the other sites hosting Blog Share today, see the end of the post for a list of participating blogs.
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So the thing of it is, my little sister and I, we both hooked up with the same guy.
Never in a million years would I ever have imagined that I’d be the kind of girl who could say that, but there it is. She hooked up with him first, and then me. I have a very slanted way of telling this story, but sometimes I wonder if that’s simply to justify the fact that I did, actually, kind of steal the dude away from her. (The way I tell it, she stole him from me.) Because I’m aware of my biased telling of the story, I’m going to tell it to you twice: first from her perspective, and next from mine.
HER STORY
The summer after my sophomore year of college, my older sister invited me to work at the YMCA camp where she worked year round. They were looking for more camp counselors, and she knew my only other option was to go back home and hang out with our incredibly religious, strict, and boring parents. I knew that, too, and so I decided to go.
I showed up for staff training and, single as I was, immediately began eyeballing the beef. I knew that my chance of having a fun fling this summer were great, as I was cute enough and there were lots of single men. Most of the men were foreign, and all of them were young and good-looking. One, in particular, caught my eye. He was muscled, tanned, a lifeguard with long curly blond hair that he kept back in a loose ponytail. He was also Australian, with the super hot accent to go with it. He was pretty well regarded as the hottest boy at camp, and so I resigned myself to ogling him from a distance and finding a more attainable dude. But at the very first party of the summer he sidled up to me and began to flirt like mad. The signals he was throwing down were undeniable, as was the fineness of his bod, and so I got bold and started flirting back. Insert copious amounts of alcohol and lots of prodding from the others in the group, and suddenly I found myself the number one rumor in the summer camp rumor mill.
The guy and I were hot and heavy for literally about three days, when he started inching uncomfortably away from me. After a day or two of him being a typical guy – going from hot hot hot to keeping me at arm’s leg for no apparent reason – Aussie boy took me out onto a porch swing and had a Talk. At the end of that convo, I knew our brief summer fling was going to be briefer than I’d thought. He apologized for, as he put it, making a mistake and leading me on, but he wanted us to just be friends. I hadn’t been in love with the guy (though that might have eventually come), and though I was disappointed, I was ok. It wasn’t, like, total heartbreak or anything. I was confused as to his quick change of mind, but still flattered that he’d ever been interested me in the first place.
A couple of days later, I figured out what prompted his change of mind. My sister had just dumped her incredibly mean and crappy boyfriend, and she was suddenly single. We all went out to a wings place one night, and Aussie boy just stared at her across the table. She stared back. It could not have been more obvious. She followed me into the bathroom at one point, and tried to talk to me about what was growing between them, but I brushed her off. When he’d been leaving me “just because,” it had felt a lot different. Now he was leaving me FOR MY SISTER. It stung.
It stung so badly that instead of hanging around all summer with my sister, I just pretty much avoided her. In one of my more mature moments, I wrote her a long note telling her to go ahead and seek her joy, that I wouldn’t stand in her way. But I didn’t feel mature much of the time. She and the Aussie-boy were oopy droopy goopy in love, and it honestly made me want to gag. Every time I saw them together, I thought about how he’d once been mine but had thrown me over for her in a hot minute. She tried to make it up to me for a while, and then got disgusted with my failure to be thrilled for their every happiness, and quit talking to me altogether.
We stayed distant until over a year later, when he left her in the lurch for a friend we both knew. It caused her so much pain, I couldn’t keep her cut off. He’d fooled me into thinking he was amazing – I understood that now he’d been fooling her, too, all along. It’s been years, and we never talk about him anymore. But it meant a lot to me when she promised, after the breakup, that she would never pick a boy over me again.
And she never has.
MY STORY
My boyfriend was a horrible person. We had a horrible relationship, one that involved lots of physical and emotional abuse. I hated every minute of the last few months I was with him. My boyfriend was not American, and I knew he’d be going back to his home country at the beginning of the summer, so my plan was to wait until then to break up with him. It would be more safe for me to wait.
In the meantime, I tried to avoid him. I was his boss, actually, and so I wrote our schedules so that we rarely had time off together. I had another employee who reported to me, a lovely Australian guy who I’d known for a couple of years and who was the best employee we had at the camp. I scheduled him to work with me as much as possible, and shoved my lazy boyfriend off on other people. I knew that unlike my boyfriend, the Aussie boy would do his work, and cheerfully, and that he was a gentleman who would never stick me with packing up supplies or cleaning up our class areas by myself.
We ended up working really well together. As I mentioned, I’d known him for years, and that whole time I’d had this terrible boyfriend and Aussie had had a stream of casual girlfriends, so we’d never looked at one another in a romantic way. But this springtime, while I was just trying to get through life with as few beatings as possible, I couldn’t help but contrast how my horrid boyfriend treated me against how lovely the Aussie behaved. Little by little, we became very close friends, still totally platonic. We would linger for a while after our work was done for the day, packing up slowly and talking – at first general small talk, but over time it became more and more personal. A few weeks before my boyfriend was due to leave the country, I confided in the Aussie about what I’d been going through with him, though I didn’t mention my plan to break up with him when he left. My Aussie friend’s reaction was (and remains, to this day) the best one I’ve ever gotten after admitting to someone that I’ve been abused. He was gentle, protective, offered help without judgment. I lost my heart. I was officially falling in love.
The Aussie was falling, too, I could tell, but it was tricky. I didn’t want to start our relationship while I was still in another one. Even though in my heart I’d left the bad boyfriend long ago, I was still technically exclusively dating him. He was an ass, but I didn’t want to cheat on him, and the Aussie didn’t want to be part of a cheating situation. So we stayed just friends as the clock ticked down til the boyfriend would take flight.
A few weeks before I would put that ass on a plane, my sister arrived. She went to a party that the Aussie also attended, one that I didn’t go to because my controlling boyfriend wouldn’t permit me. The Friday night party turned into a whole weekend away, and when they came back to camp on Sunday evening, I learned for the first time that they were an item. I wept in my room. I’d been mistaken. He wasn’t falling for me like I was for him. I’d imagined it all, having been, after the bad boyfriend’s cruel treatment, so desperate to have a man be kind to me. My heart broke in a million pieces, and I suddenly felt tremendously weary and hopeless.
A few days later, with my boyfriend due to leave town in just a week, the Aussie ended things with my sister. She told me about it. I patted her hand, and felt guilty as my heart leaped in hope. Maybe . . . maybe . . . I resolved not to date him anyway, even if he did come calling. I wouldn’t do that to my sister.
Hos before bros.
Ah, but then after I put my boyfriend on the plane, and called the jerk just as soon as he arrived at home to break up with him, and after he threatened and screamed and hollered and railed at me over the phone, and I was simultaneously thrilled to be free and exhausted from the phone call and trying to process it all – well, the only one I could even imagine talking to about it all was the man who had slowly become my best friend. The Aussie. I caught him on a porch swing, and sat several chaste inches away, telling my story. He listened. He was awesome. And then, testing the waters a bit, I teased him about his fling with my sister. He looked stricken, and then said the words I’d been hoping to hear: “I never thought you’d leave him, and so I thought maybe I could still have you a little bit, by having your sister. It was so stupid. I was so drunk. I’ll forever be sorry.” I flew those few inches across the porch swing and into his arms. My feet wouldn’t touch the ground again for a whole year.
Our relationship was immediate, all encompassing, dizzying. I could barely get through the days, I was in such a fog of love. My resolve to put hos before bros burned up in the inferno that was this love affair. I made a few half-hearted attempts to patch things up with my sister, but I just hoped she could see what everyone else saw, commented on constantly – that we had some freaky electric connection, an unbreakable bond, that we were already the strongest couple any of them had ever known. Looking back, I still remember it as this heady period of joy, of relief from escaping from dark, painful days into this brilliant sunshine of this boy’s love. His nickname was Sunshine, actually.
We lasted well over a year before things fell apart. I barely talked to my sister during that year, but after he left me for a mutual friend in a betrayal that was as all-encompassingly painful as our beginning had been joyful, my sister suddenly popped up again, supportive and awesome. With him gone, all was forgiven. I wasn’t sure, and I’m still not, about whether or not what I’d done had been wrong and I’d gotten what I deserved after being so careless of my sister’s feelings. It’s a love affair I’m very glad I experienced, even though it all went pear shaped in the end. I’m also very glad that I didn’t have to lose my sister forever in order to experience it.
In any case, both of us are married to different people now. We g chat every day, and call several times a week. I haven’t heard from the Aussie in years, and I’d guess that she hasn’t either. Hos before bros.
Better late than never.
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Andrea Unplugged
And You Know What Else
April On Ashley
Barfing Rainbows and Unicorns
Bright Yellow World
Did I Say That Outloud?
Drifts Get Deeper
Malfeasance
Mama Bub
Nonsense and Frippery
Nothing Is Easier Than Self-Deceit
Operation Pink Herring
Our Little Geekling
Snarke
The Reluctant Grownup
Together They Come
This post was written in segments over the last few months.
September 26, 2011
For a few weeks now J-Mo and I have been talking about getting married. It’s been a half-whispered dream-idea that has been bounced around a little without really sticking on any given conversation. It’s been giggled about, smiled about, insinuated and dreamed about. But it hasn’t been delved into too much in any given conversation. Until yesterday. On a beautiful, sunny afternoon drive J-Mo and I started talking fairly seriously about spending the rest of our lives together. We were listening to some of our favorite country love-songs (yes, now I listen to AND enjoy country music. I know. It surprises me too), we both giggled and smiled and asked half-believing questions that mostly came out as “Really? I mean, really?” I may have blushed a bit and I definitely swooned. But, admittedly, I was also a little nervous. Not about J-Mo, I want nothing more than to be with him, to love him, to grow old with him. I want to come home to him and have him come home to me, I want to take care of him and I love how passionate he is about taking care of me. But getting married? That’s a big deal. And I was perhaps a little more nervous about the conversation than I thought I’d be.
Even so, we curled up on the couch that evening and started exploring some logistics and asking more questions and trying to get a better understanding of what we were both feeling. The nervousness was still there, but only incidentally. This morning any lingering nervousness is gone. This is the man I will marry and I couldn’t be more excited about it. (And yes, perhaps a bit nervous about the “Wow, this is only the biggest decision you will make in your love life, no pressure!” but that’s normal, right?)
October 2, 2011
J-Mo told his parents that we are looking at January for a wedding. I could hear his mom squeal through the phone. I am excited and happy and (reportedly) a little more glowy than usual, but I don’t feel any different. I don’t feel SuperExtraRidiculouslyOverTheTop EXCITED!!!11!! In the last few months I have come to the decision that I just want to be with J-Mo, I want to spend my life with him. Sometimes I get all teary when I think about it. But I am not squealing or obnoxious, I am just here, happy, like I have been for months. It seems like a natural progression to me, nothing completely out of the blue, it’s not a surprise, it’s just the obvious next step. In talking with my recently engaged friend, A., I expressed a little concern because I wondered if I wasn’t giddy enough, if there was something wrong because I wasn’t bouncing off the walls and telling anyone who would listen. She talked me down from whatever ledge I’d left myself on and reminded me that it was perfectly normal I was more excited about spending my life with someone (the marriage part) instead of jumping up and down over the idea of a gorgeous white dress and a towering fondant cake (the wedding part). I couldn’t care less about the white dress or the towering fondant cake. Or the flowers. Or the invitations. Or the food. Or the favors. Or the 5,389 other “required!” bits of weddingism that I will be skipping over completely. I don’t want a reception, or a big fluffy white dress, or fancy-pants announcements or flowers or monogrammed cocktail napkins. I just want to be married.
October 8, 2011
Even though I don’t have a ring yet, I introduced J-Mo to an old friend I rarely get to see as “my fiance.” And then I squee’d. “Fiance.” As in, pre-cursor-to-husband. (Husband…wow. I’m going to have a husband.) (Which leads one to presume I will also be a wife…Wife.) (My mind is exploding with both of these, I thought “fiance” was exciting, the husband-wife thing is making me light headed.) (Yes, I have thought this out, but usually in terms like “I will be with him forever.” and “We’re going to grow old together.” Both of which sound lovely and are true, but adding that husband-wife–eep! there it is again!–label is a whole new level of…something. Commitment? Happiness? Labeling? I’m not sure, but it brings a new level of squee.) (/parantheticals.)
October 15, 2011
We went ring shopping this afternoon; I have never done this before and am a bit overwhelmed by all the sparkle and shine and by how little I actually know about real jewelry. Also, the idea that J-Mo and I are actually getting hitched is starting to set in. I am giddy for no reason. I smile constantly. I am experiencing some kind of never-talked-about “nesting” phase where I want to clear out half of my apartment to make room for him. (My roommate is getting married in December, so I will politely wait until she moves out before I start measuring her bedroom and dreaming up new furniture arrangements.) (Except I’m already dreaming up new furniture arrangements. Sorry, D.) J-Mo wants to surprise me with a ring, so we mostly shopped around to find what I like and what I don’t. Turns out, I like white gold or platinum, art deco styling, princess-cut/square diamonds, a lot of filigree and pave diamonds. I don’t so much care about carat weight or the size of a center stone. I mostly want it flat on my finger.
October 16, 2011
I am going to marry this man. Cue: ridiculous amounts of swoony-ness. Apparently the giddy swoontastic feelings that were missing when J-Mo and I first started talking about getting married have hit me full force. Or, at least two-thirds force. It’s good for my soul that I am more and more twitterpated though; “twitterpated” is not a normal state of being for me, but I think it’s a good look. I am still dreading the idea of actually planning a wedding. My swooniness ALL comes from the idea of being with J-Mo, of being married to him. When I think about the stress and energy and money of a wedding I actually get a little queasy. I just want to be married. If I had my druthers we’d email our families and let them know what time to show up at the court house and then go have Mexican food afterwards. (Wait, can I actually do that? I can, right? Right?)
October 29, 2011
J-Mo went to talk to my Dad today. I am a bit anti-traditional in most aspects of my life, but the more I think about this the more I love that J-Mo had a man-to-man conversation with him about his intentions. Over the last couple of years Lurch has been such a tremendous support to me, the last 5 years have been pretty rough–tedious jobs, unemployment, tough breaks, horrible car accident, bad boyfriends–and my Dad has made sure I knew he cared. He has picked me up, dusted me off, and cheered me on in countless ways and I can guarantee that without that parental love and support I would not be where I am right now. I’d probably be living in a cardboard box, charging a 10-cent admission to see my shoe collection. At any rate, I love that J-Mo went over to my Dad’s house and promised that he’d take care of me from now on. I love that J-Mo was nervous. I love that while my Dad didn’t give him a terribly hard time, he let him know what he expected. I know Lurch (and J-Mo) are very aware that I can and even prefer to take care of myself, but it is so sweet to me that they had a heart-to-heart conversation about making sure I was always okay. Perhaps this “Tradition” thing isn’t so bad after all.
…but I still don’t want a fluffy white dress.
November 3, 2011
I got a manicure, you know, just in case. And scheduled another for the next week, just in case. And also perhaps the week after that. I like to be prepared, okay?
November 5, 2011
J-Mo asked me to marry him in the sweetest possible way. I said “yes.”
