20 posts tagged “marriage”
Yesterday, this little marriage I'm in turned two years old.
Awwwww!
It's true! It's starting to walk and grow teeth and everything. Bless!
To celebrate this most glorious occasion, Iain and I went ice skating at Hampton Court Palace. (With approximately 454 other families.)
We've never really been a cheesy, "do what yer 'sposed-ta" couple, so sleeping in, grabbing a Starbucks and then driving over to a palace to do an hour of ice skating was the perfect day for us.
This was taken right before an Ice Marshal came over and told us to put our phones and cameras away. OooOoOo! Scary ICE MARSHAL! Your authority frightens me!
I actually surprised myself at how well I skated, considering I have not thrown myself on the ice whilst wearing tiny blades for about a decade. I wasn't doing triple sow cows or anything, but I didn't fall. Not once.
Iain did alright. He maaaaay have been wizzing in and out of families and adults and, you know, not falling and generally going faster than anyone else on the rink - but let's focus on the fact that I didn't fall and that I looked nice.
Seeing as the Ice Marshal completely scared us with his authoritative manner of skating, and - you know - marshalling the ice, we couldn't take any photos of us TOGETHER whilst skating, so we had to opt for taking Myspace-style photos off the ice.
They turned out like this.
Which looks frighteningly like this:
Out of focus? Check. Blurry? Check. Nighttime? Check. Glowing building behind us? Checkity check check.
Also, you'll be pleased to know that in two years of marriage I have been wearing the same ear muffs that I bought on our "honeymoon" in Brighton:
Then...
Now...
Nice? I'm glad that I care enough to update my wardrobe and accessories enough to try and keep things *exciting*.
Instead of going out to dinner, we decided to have a cozy night in.
Iain made Toad in the Hole....
The stellar camera on Iain's Blackberry Bold makes this look like a giant ham, but it's not. And it was freaking amazing, as well.
I baked a Lemon Drizzle Cake....
And then we sat around stuffing our faces, watching Batman Begins (all the while going, "Why the hell didn't we ask for Dark Knight for Christmas!?") and sucking down Asti Martini.
...Which I now call Astin Martin, totally on accident. I think I definitely watch too much Top Gear.
I really did mean to give you an update on what I think about marriage...but I'm too tired and grumpy for that. I believe tomorrow we're getting up early to go to the gym, so I best wrap this up.
I may not be dieting all that hard, but we are working out. And technically, an hour's worth of brisk ice skating is difficult on the ass, and therefore exercise.
Anyway....
It doesn't feel like we've been married for 2 years. It still feels like a strange mixture of everything we've been through and done feeling like it was yesterday...and yet a thousand years ago at the same time.
And we're happy. And we still like each other. Sometimes we even hold hands and go to second base.
I'm not sure what else a girl could ask for.
This is such a beautiful, beautiful post on marriage, friendship and partnership.
Hi everyone! How are you? You good? Good! I'm glad. [I'm glad you're good]
This week I finally got over The Sickness that I had last week. All I know is that I had flu symptoms, and my glands (in rather awkward places...) swelled up so badly I resorted to Googling my problems, which, let me tell you, was a bad idea. So bad in fact, I called Iain in a flood of tears explaining that I may have:
a) Sleeping African Disease
b) AIDS
c) The Plague
d) The Clap
e) Cancer
d) all of the above and would most certainly die or/and become infertile
These were all actual answers as to why my gland were swollen, paired
with my other symptoms. Apparently swollen glands equals cancer and
untimely death on the internet, so that's why I was more than glad when
a nurse at the NHS informed me that no, I probably wasn't dying, and
no, I more than likely didn't have African Sleeping Disease.
So, to celebrate my newfound health, I attended a rather boring
conference with the sole purpose of wanting to sit through an hour of a
rather intensely geeky Masterclass, put on by a certain "University".
Said Masterclass was useful, but the "professors" were the most dry,
unfunny, robotic people I've ever seen in my life. (Which is why I would much rather have attended this Google Talk in Mountain View, aka The Place Of My Birth.) They didn't even
attempt at making a joke, yet they were kind enough to provide us with a
plethora of goodies, including a bottle of water and a packet of candy
with a Google sticker on the front. However, I have a sneaking
suspicion that they were not actually Google candy, but simply an
assortment of sweets from another company and simply passed them off as
their own. I'M ON TO YOU.
Yesterday's traditional festivities are something I generally prefer to ignore and not acknowledge. I had an angry post all ready to go in my head, and I realized that hating Valentine's Day is just too hip this year, so I decided against it.
Iain and I had planned about a month ago that this year, we would finally celebrate V Day together properly, and maybe do a dinner and a movie thing, and finally go see Cloverfield. No presents. And then about Sunday last week we realized we just couldn't be bothered, and that maybe we'd just go to the movies this weekend...but probably not. (Staying home and watching Top Gear reruns whilst eating pizza is so much better.)
Come 6 o'clock last night we met on New Oxford Street, ready to do our usual walk/shove to the Tube station when we decided to pop into Jessops ( a camera shop) and lust after some of the JVC camcorders we've been drooling over for the past couple weeks...
...and then we wandered up Tottenham Court Road to all of the electronic shops just to look at the other cameras that are out now and to "let the tube crowds die down"...
And then some man showed us the most glorious camcorder I've ever touched. It was blue. It was shiny. It was lightweight. It could fit in my hand bag. It was recorded purely on SD. IT WAS LOVE.
Then, some sort of wildly erotic exchange happened when this man said
the magical words of "DISCOUNT" and "SPECIAL PRICE JUST FOR YOU" and
next thing I know, Iain and I were walking out of the shop sweating,
shaking, and giggling with ecstasy.
Iain got me the Sanyo Xacti VPC-CA65EX in the prettiest blue color I've ever laid eyes on. AND IT'S WATERPROOF!!! Plus, all the cool kid Bloggers in the states seem to think this is pretty nifty, too.
THEN we bought a 4GB SD card that you can fold and plug directly into your USB port. *quiver*
AND THEN he took me to the Eagle Bar & Grill were they serve ANCHOR STEAM...AND MACARONI AND CHEESE.
We sat there playing around with the Xacti and drinking and stuffing our face with American style food. It was probably one of the best moments that I've had in a long time. I was relaxed. I was content. We didn't intend on having a date on Valentine's day. Nor did I expect such a fabulous gift that pulls my face into some drooly, geeky smile whenever I think about it.
Last night was so much better than any Hallmark commercial or romantic comedy could have portrayed. Don't give me roses. Don't book us into some fancy restaurant where we'll feel obligated to be in good moods and enjoy the food and stare into each other's eyes longingly because we have to and because god dammit we payed good money for all this *romance*!!
Take me to a bar with good beer! Serenade me with the cheesy beats from some z-list DJ with a mullet! Seduce me with spontaneity! Shower me with 4GB SD cards, mini USB cables and waterproof cameras. *SWOON*
After last night, I think we're found that the best way to find romance...is on accident. (And with some really fucking cool gadgets.)
Today is a rather special day, as it is me and Iain's first wedding anniversary.
Last year, at 11:00 on the 11th of January 2007, we got hitched and I can proudly say that we can still mildly tolerate each other to this day.
I really can't believe it's been a year. Not because I feel like, "THANK GOD WE MADE IT!" but because this whole marriage thing really doesn't seem to be that hard. You always hear on TV shows and movies that "The first year of marriage is the hardest." and that "Marriage is such hard work!" and I have to disagree.
Relationships, and not necessarily marriage, are hard, simply because compromise is hard. Living with someone else is hard, because you have two egos, two sets of hopes, and two sets of opinions under one roof. Two tempers, two sets of insecurities and hangups and one person who's body freaks out once a month and goes all hormonal and crampy and SHEDEVILISH.
Marriage is simply a incredibly committed relationship where both people are truly, honestly, and 100% in it for the long haul. Where the mentality isn't, "Well, if we break up," or "Well, if we get divorced..." Or at least our marriage is.
I've found that the fiercer you love someone, the more tragic (though less frequent) your arguments seem. Iain and I don't really fight, but when we do, it's not fun.
I can't speak for Iain, but I know that I've had to learn a lot this year. I've learned that when I'm depressed, or angry, or stressed, I no longer have the luxury of just shutting everyone and everything out, climbing under the covers and crying my way through the days. It's not fair, and you cannot shut your partner out.
Of course there are moments where we both know that I need to fall apart for a minute, so I hide under the covers and cry my eyes out - but I always blow my nose, pull back the covers and then look Iain straight in the face and try my best to tell him how I feel. How I really feel.
I'm not perfect at this, but I'm trying.
I've learned that I have to come out of myself, and pull myself out of whatever mood I'm in to be there for my partner. I don't know about you, but it's very easy for me to just ball up with whatever I'm feeling and just stay there. It's very easy for me to just stay in my own little box and only come out when I want to.
But your partner needs you. There are times that even though I'm feeling miserable, I need to be able to pull out of my shell, pull my WOE IS ME cotton out of my ears and LISTEN to what Iain needs and BE THERE FOR HIM.
In marriage, you cannot be selfish. You cannot be self obsessed and needy. It's a give and take situation, just like any relationship. And if you love hard enough, and you love honestly, every stupid argument, every Kraft Singles plastic wrapper that gets left out on the counter and every used tea cup hiding under the bed is so, so worth it.
Happy Anniversary, Iain.
I love you.
"I have learned not to worry about love, but to honor its coming with all my heart."
I think I have spent my entire life worrying about love.
Wondering when it will find me, if it would find me, and if I were even worthy of it.
I spent a better part of my teens wanting boys to love me, even though they weren't capable of it. (Or were busy loving somebody else...) When I finally did find some one I thought loved me, I was sure that was it. I would never have to have my heart broken again.
However, my heart did break again. Over and over. It broke when I found out this boy didn't really love me. But it broke even further when I found out I did not love myself. The pain of not loving yourself is and will always be greater than any man breaking your heart - as chances are, you broke it long before he did.
I sat for months in two different rooms. I went from shop to shop in my car. I went to work. I watched the sunrise and sunset from the windows of that coffee shop. I watched the moonrise outside the same coffee shop, through the smoke from my cigarette, and the cigarettes from a group of people I pretended were my friends.
While I did all this, I worried about love. I worried about why it felt like my family didn't love me. I worried about why I didn't love me. I even worried that my dog didn't love me. ("WHY? WHY don't you like the sweater I bought you? It was TWENTY DOLLARS. Chihuahuas love sweaters! What is WRONG with YOU?")
Slowly but surely, I stopped worrying about everyone else so much, and I just thought about myself.
I watched Sex and the City in my pajamas. I went to the same bookstore night after night. My sister played me Jack Johnson in her car while we snuck out and went to In 'n Out burger because we didn't like the dinner our step dad made that night.
I cried listening to Fiona Apple. I screamed Since You Been Gone at the top of my lungs while flying down the freeway.
I figured out I could write.
Maybe, just maybe, I would be loved for the first time.
We spent our winter on opposite ends of the world, tucked in whatever empty, frozen corners we could find, talking until the wee hours of the morning.
We spent our spring, in love, and on opposite ends of the world. Both continuing to learn to love again, and learning how to love ourselves.
By the time we were finally under one roof, under one blanket, I knew love.
But knowing love doesn't mean I stopped worrying about it. I worried about the lost love of toxic friends, the love I never had from toxic parents, and still fought to fully love myself.
Somewhere along the way, all this worrying caused me to build up my own little shield. A shield that helped me fight the outside world. All the people who wanted a piece without wanting to give anything in return. I fought and I fought and then one day, I realized I was starting to fight the people who were on my team.
I got so concerned with protecting my heart that I forgot that I didn't need to protect it from you.
I was busy declaring to the world that if you don't love me enough you will never get in, that there were moments where I didn't let you in. I was hard, when I only needed to be soft. I was defensive, when there was no attack. I was tough when I could have been gentle.
And I worried about love when it was all around me.
There are people in my life who will never love me like I need them to. And that's okay.
I want to learn not to worry about love. I want to learn that just because one man did not love me the right way, it doesn't mean that you will stop loving me the right way.
I will stop worrying about love. I will honor it's coming. I will honor you, and all of the love that's on it's way.
Aaaaaaand we're back!
I really don't even know where to start...
We just got back yesterday, we're super jet lagged, but it's all good...because instead of relaxing and sleeping in, we're back at work and trying to find a place to live as we're basically getting kicked out of our flat on April 30th.
Woooo!
The BayVox meet-up was probably one of the coolest nights of my life...
Honestly.
I got to meet a ton of my Vox Homies, drank Cosmos, sang Karaoke, and even received THREE glorious bottles of Vox Vodka.
Best. Night. Ever.
Instead of me trying to chronologically explain to you how busy, fun, drunk, and memorable our wedding reception and trip back to the 916 was...
I'll just show you...
Out of the 706 photographs we combined from most of our family members, these are our favorites....
Here I am!
I took a little blog hiatus, as for the past couple weeks I didn't really have anything other than gratuitous amounts of bitching to offer on the internet...so I just kept my mouth shut, and my fingers far away from the Compose link.
I take myself too seriously in my own head and heart, the last thing I need to do is to puke it all up in a post, and have my inner bashing and Emo moments of shame published online.
That's what my frantic emails to my old therapist, and midnight phone calls to my imaginary friends are for.
However.
I had a lot of strange, yet utterly fantastic, things happen to Iain and I this week. I find myself either laughing hysterically or crying in disbelief that we have finally reached this point in our lives, and have actually arrived at this stage in our "Ultimate Plan To Take Over The World"™.
Last February, I was still waking up at 3:30 every single morning, making Matcha green tea lattes, and wallowing in a pit of long distance relationship despair. (I was also suffering a suspicious elbow injury which I later figured out was probably do to all those late night "special phone calls" to England, but that's beside the point.)
My head was full, my heart was heavy, and my stomach so anxiety ridden that it was constantly angry with me for only feeding it espresso, taco bell, and croissants; thus causing it to seek revenge by giving me horrible cramps and numerous fits of constipation, or its counterpart, diarreaha. (Isn't sharing fun??!!!)
Throw in a bit of sexual harassment from my customers, a boss that hated me, and the never ending fretting over how the hell I would-
A) Afford the move to England
B) Quit my job without my Boss slicing my throat and beating me to death with spoiled Frappuccino mix
C) Explain to my mother that I was moving to England...like for reals.
Never mind everyone asking me where I was going to live,
("With my Internet boyfriend! DUH!)
Where I was going to work,
"Um...I have a couple of ideas."
(...Which actually meant: "Fuck no. All I know is I'm getting the hell out of this place, and never making someone a 'Ven-tay, 'atra Crrramel Frappachacha' ever again...ever!")
And what kind of Visa I was getting,
"Um, a Working Holiday Maker's Visa...well, I should be getting that anyway. I'm just waiting to hear back from the Consulate"
....Which I did a few days after I sent my application off:
"Dear. Miss.CupCate. Your application for Working Holiday Maker Visa was denied, as you are a US National, and are therefore NOT PART OF THE COMMON WEALTH."
What I thought 'common wealth' meant when I read over the initial application, I'll never know. My ($200) bad.
How I lived through the stress, judgement, disapproval, and disappointment from others regarding my move, I really don't know. Well, I do, actually. It was probably due to my blind faith that everything would work out, Iain's practical planning, and the fact that we could no longer be apart from each other.
We were actually at the point where if we had to be separated for one more month, we would sell all our possessions, buy a small house boat, and live along the canals of Amsterdam. By day we would juggle and recite beat poetry to tourists (Iain's mad crazy on the bongos). And by night I would do nude interpretive dances to Iain's "Afro Celt Sound System" CD in the Red Light district...
Thankfully for us, and sadly for Amsterdam, it never got to that point.
Considering that our online romance originally sparked while I was flaunting myself under the name Adzurro on MyForeignBride.com (I think it was my offer to "take in lover man who presend me apartment in spa plase of egypt" that hooked him), marriage was always in our plans. **
When I moved over to England, I had just over $1,000 in my US bank account -er- make that £500 due to the US Dollar's incredibly astounding strength as a currency! Thanks Georgie!
Iain and I knew that until I could get a visa that allowed me to work, we would be living off of dented cans of chicken broth and boiled pots of rain water.
That's just how it was going to be.
However, the thought of financially depending on Iain, and having to ask him to buy me tampons every 28 days was so traumatic that the idea of shaving my head and assaulting innocent vehicles with golf umbrellas seemed totally plausible.
I was an independent woman! The shoes on my feet? I bought 'em! The car I was driving? I bought it! The watch I was wearing?? I bought it! Cuz I depend(ed) on me!
If I wanted to go out to dinner, buy an appetizer AND a dessert, and then go to a movie....I could totally afford it.
But no. Not any more.
The shoes on my feet? He bought 'em. The house I live in? He bought it. The clothes I'm wearing? He bought it.
Cuz I depend on him.
(All the ladies! Who are Dependent! Throw your hands up at maaaaaaeeee!)
Iain and I weren't exactly thrilled with the idea, as he's had past partners do the, "Oh I'm sorry, when you said that we would both have jobs, I thought that meant that my 'job' was to sit at home all day coloring and writing haikus about Xena ...." thing. While our poverty
situation was based on the fact that I could not work because it was
THE LAW, it was still difficult for me to have to depend on him, and to
be draining our financial funds, rather that contributing to them.
My god, the things we have learned about patience these past 10 months...
We've learned that you cannot force things to happen against their will, or speed time sensitive processes that are simply that: time sensitive.
We've learned to accept our financial situation. We don't like it, as, well, it makes EVERYTHING hard.
Not having money makes everything panicky.
Gah! The cat has fleas, we can't afford to take him to the vet!
Blarg! Does my tooth hurt? I think my tooth hurts. Holy shit. We can't afford the dentist!
And then I would lay awake at night imagining having to take our cat to some backstreet vet from Compton who's office consists of an ironing board used as a examining table and keeps his medical instruments in a tool box...or having to knock out my tooth with an ice skate like Tom Hanks in Castaway.
I think my worst moment was when my STUPID ASS FUCKING BANK (Washington Mutual) decided that July 3rd would be a good day to charge me $75 worth of "International Cash Withdrawal Fees", which depleted my account. Why is July 3rd significant? OH Washington Mutual FUNNY you should ask! July 3rd is significant because it was 2 days before Iain's BIRTHDAY and I was buying him his fucking birthday present. Needless to say, I cried in front of the cashier, all the way home, and then to the cats.
Never mind my HOME MADE birthday gifts, or Iain's self-paid Christmas gifts from me, there are also the effects it has on your own entertainment, social life, and self-esteem.
I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but one of the greatest financial obstacles I've had to overcome would be having to start a new life, make new first impressions, and try to give off my impression of who "Cate" really is to my new community....without any of the usual suspects.
For example...Starting a new year at school always involves shopping, doesn't it? Buy a new binder, new backpack, new glasses, new shoes, new tops....this is the NEW ME, and every accessory and possession must represent that.
Our accessories tend to define us, don't they?
Our appearance, our clothing, our fashion tells a story about us.
How many occasions do we run out and buy a new dress, T-shirt, or complete outfits for?
Job interviews, cocktail parties, dates, weddings, birthdays, Fridays, bad days, dinner parties, award ceremonies, meeting the parents, travel days....
I've had to go through every single one of these occasions, and let me tell you, our bank account hasn't exactly let me go shopping for them. "Recycle, re-wear, reuse!" has been my motto. And it's been fucking difficult.
I've had to make my very best impressions be about ME.
I haven't had a new manicure or haircut to make me feel empowered at a job interview.
I haven't had that new, sexy dress to surprise my husband with on his birthday.
Not even the new, posh sweater to help me "feel sassy" when walking into a room full of new people.
I've had to try and repress those, "God, I'm wearing the same jeans as I did last time I saw them, and I hate this stupid shirt that I've worn a thousand times..." feelings that I used to convince myself that I was ugly, unattractive, and therefore unworthy of everything.
Around the time I wrote my "Real Beauty" post I had a meltdown in our local Starbucks (Yes, that was me in the corner crying into my chai) because I thought I needed a hair cut. I needed new jeans. I said I needed a new shirt, a dermatologist, a gym, a house full or organic lowfat hippie food, new shirts, new underwear, a new bra, etc, etc. Basically, the message I was sending Iain was,
"Hand over your credit card and let me buy and fix everything wrong with my wardrobe, body, face, and hair. Money will fix how ugly and fat I feel."
I never actually said that. But my message was basically, "Money will fix how ugly I feel about myself." He offered to get my hair done, cut out our already limited funds so I could join a gym, take me shopping if it would make me feel better.
I stopped crying. I looked at him. And something snapped,
"No, thank you, sweetheart...but no. If it's not my hair, it would be something else."
And it would. All of the money couldn't turn off the negative, horrible things I was telling myself.
I then told myself that if I couldn't feel pretty and good enough about myself in my old jeans, Converse, and worn out tshirts...then there's no way I could feel beautiful and worthy of love even if I were wearing the Burberry Prorsum dress of my wet dreams.
However, on the same token, I'm starting to learn that just because you're leaning on the "our credit card debt is large enough to fund a small country" side of things...doesn't mean you can't enjoy life.
Iain and I don't have a TV.
Truth be told, we'll like to have one, and will have one when we can justify spending the money on a TV license...
But we talk to each other. We go for walks, because HEY! walks are free.
We still go out for drinks, even if we can't afford it, because Iain and Cate going more than 1 week sober = getting the shakes, cold sweats, and severe hallucinations.
("Honey?...Do you hear the bagpipes? Is there a man playing bagpipes in bathroom?")
We've tried to focus on the future, and that this stint of surviving off of one income is only temporary.
However, as level headed and accepting as we've tried to be of our situation, it's caught up with me the past two weeks. Probably, because I knew the end was near.
'The end' meaning that our second round of 'Will she or won't she get deported?' would be happening in the form of our appointment to get my Spouse visa.
This appointment was scheduled for this past Friday, and considering what a hot fucking mess our last appointment in LA was, we weren't exactly all warm and fuzzy with the idea of going in front of yet another UK government official and having him decide the fate of our lives.
However, this time, I didn't get us lost, or break out in hives, NOR did I have diarrhea! (high five!)
In fact, we were so prepared, and on time, and organized that I feel like I could now teach a "How To Stay In The UK As A Foreign Bride" class.
The whole process only took 2.5 hours, and unlike last time when they practically demanded a blood sample and pound of flesh...the only documents they asked for were my application, our passports, and our fucking marriage certificate.
That's it.
The immigration officer -who I love dearly and plan on sending a naked Christmas card to- was efficient, quick, and didn't treat me like the Ukrainian Bride Con-Artist.
Amazing.
And now, here I am, a legal UK resident who can stay for 2 years (after which I can apply for settlement) and...
I! Can! WORK!!!!
Me! I can work now! I can work and make moneys and buy things and pay bills just like a real grown up!
And I can even stay up as late as I want!
We just sat there staring at my visa.
"Dude. You're a resident, now."
"Dude. I know. I can like...work."
"You can buy things!"
"Holy fuck...I can buy my own tampons...."
Of course we're excited that I can stay here legally for the next tour years...but I CAN BUY MY OWN TAMPONS, NOW!!
The ultimate glory of all this is that I actually have my new gig all set up!
As of late, I've been doing some oober freelance writing/blogging (I think the legal term would be 'Volunteer Writing') for the lovely folks at Shiny Media, who found me a few months ago on Vox, and were like, "Hey, do you want to write for us?" to which I was like, "Dude! Totally!.......As long as I don't have to make you Frappuccinos!!!!...Wait, I can't actually work yet. How about I work for free for a couple months! Cool?" and then we laughed, high-fived, and did a super secret handshake.
How super neat is that?
They have saved me from said head shaving and the "umbrella on car" action I described earlier, and I like contributing to their blogs <<<<<<THIS MUCH>>>>>>>>>.
So now, I'm trying to wrap my mind around having a grown-up writing
job, being a freelance writer, and now doing things like going to
swanky awards ceremonies in Soho, drinking free wine, and being asked to
accept a Shiny Award on behalf of Vox.
(No really, you guys will get your award. Sure it looks nice on my coffee table, but I swear! You'll get it!)
I even have BUSINESS CARDS.
Okay, I may have had business cards before, but these say "Freelance Writer"....not "Assistant Manager/Coffee Master/Espresso Wench".
The only problem is, is that basically, my brain and psyche like to do this really cool thing where I like to tell myself that I'm a horrible, undeserving, useless, worthless human being when anything good happens to me.
Hmmm, maybe this would be because ever since I was little I was given the impression from my "supportive friends" that if I did anything deemed praise worthy -such as getting all 'A's, being the lead in the school play, or never getting detention- that I didn't deserve it, must have cheated, and was an unworthy, greedy, miserable bitch.
...And that NO I wasn't going to be invited to Shannon's birthday sleepover.
Now as an adult, I have this whole "I don't deserve this" complex and can often be heard moaning, "SHANNON! INVIIIIIIIITE MEEEE?!?!?!!" in the night...
However, it's ironically getting better as my successes become greater, despite the counter affect of my "supportive friends" getting greener and faithful "out for blood" haters (kisses to y'all, by the way) become more psychotic.
The beginning of this new week, marks something wonderful. It's the end of the "emotionally trying but positively influential" prologue, and the beginning of the REAL chapter one.
Our second month of marriage, my first month of pay, and the end of dented cans of chicken broth.
And now we can finally buy the cats new shoes!
** I kid, I kid. Marriage was in our plans because I was a knocked up.
I somehow convinced him it was his, so then he decided to marry me.
Sucker.***
***Seriously, though. We met on MySpace. I wasn't really knocked up.
But, for some reason, he really did want to marry me. Go figure.
Audio: Share a song that reminds you of a current or past relationship.
Now, with you, I live every single waking moment, of every single day...
"Be Mine!"
"Be My Valentine!"
"Kiss Me!"
"I Got You Babe!"
Just as the thought of a white, pouffy, wedding made me want to throw myself into a pit of 100,000 burning copies of Martha Stewart: Martha's Wedding Ideas...I'm guessing you can take a wild stab at my feelings toward Valentine's Day.
I was all set to write a "All of My Hilariously Disappointing Valentine's Day Experiences" post, straight Bridget Jones style, yo...
But then I came across this tit of an article, entitled: "Why I Hate Valentine's Day: 6 ways the holiday wreaks havoc".
Before reading, I was like, "Oh awesome, this should be interesting!"...
And by about half way through, I had already broken out into hives, and was desperately searching the flat for a paper bag to breathe in.
According to this article, the "6 Reasons" that Valentine's Day is so horrible are:
1) Valentine’s Day makes people afraid to start dating someone
2) Valentine’s Day can wreak havoc for those who date around
3) Valentine’s Day can bring a couple to make-or-break status
4) Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long
5) Valentine’s Day ratchets up the pressure to have a perfect night
6) Valentine’s Day forces you to play Kreskin on the gift front
Some of these are just obvious, and very "OMG. Waaah. I'm single. My life is miserable." But JEEZUS, some of the things that were written in this article made me want to hunt down the writer and interviewees, beat them over the head with a copy of He's Just Not That In To You, and raid their homes for whatever "You Must Be In A Couple To Be Worthy Of Living & How To Make Your Crappy Relationship Work At Any Cost!" book that they're clutching to their bosom every night whilst they cry them self to sleep.
The article is just filled with the contradictions and the gaping holes that are in women's "logic" of what Valentine's Day and romance should be, and is just further proof that when it comes to VDay, MEN CAN'T FUCKING WIN.
One of the women interviewed, Heather, said:
“I hate seeing girls carrying home flowers that their boyfriends sent them, because I know that’s never me, even when I have a boyfriend—that’s just not how I am in a relationship. All of the expressions have just become formulaic—why bother if you know what’s coming?"
The writer (whom I'm so stoked to rip on I'm practically foaming with
anticipation) went on to talk about Heather's idea of Valentine' Day
and said,
"She says she’d rather her boyfriend did something nice for her unprompted than something “romantic,” just because it’s a day when he’s “supposed” to. So much focus on one little day can actually make people start to second-guess the hearts and candy they do get—is he really that into you, or did he just pick up the generic be-a-good-boyfriend package on his way home? "
Well, what I take away from this, is that maybe women don't want the typical romantic Valentine's Day bullshit gifts, but still want effort and romance. Maybe their boyfriend can tell that, and think that he'll get her something thoughtful that she'll actually use! Ya know, not just flowers that will die, chocolate that will get eaten (probably by himself), or a necklace that will get worn once every 7 months...
The author of this column wrote about friend's boyfriend who "had a knack for giving her exactly what she needed" like, for example "a toaster, a rolling pin, a hot-glue gun". That seems thoughtful isn't it? Maybe those are things she always says she wants, but will never go buy. However, apparently these gifts had "so little romantic quotient" that her friend quite frequently ended up spending VDay night "in the bathroom sobbing". Her friend's reasoning?
“I mean really, how could I not take those gifts as a sure sign that he thought of me as a pal he happens to sleep with rather than the sexy woman who rocks his world?”
For fuck sake! Seriously? Would you rather lingerie? Oh no, I imagine that would make him out to be only interested in sex, in your body, or that he wished you looked more like the girls in FHM.
What does a boyfriend/husband get the lady of his life to make her feel like she's "the sexy woman who rocks his world" without having her in the bathroom crying over a gift.
While a toaster or a hot glue gun isn't typically romantic, I can see the thought behind it. It shows that he was listening to her when she said she wanted on. That he remembered. That he wanted to her to have something she could really use! I could understand if he bought her a useful gift that she didn't actually need, but fuck! What do you women want?!!?
I loved how the writer also used women's own blind fantasies of Valentine's Day as "proof" that this holiday is bad because it "causes" couples to "make-or-break" their status. Her proof? Sophie, a lawyer in Putnam County, New York's sad little Valentine's tale.
"'I did the whole bed and breakfast suite in the country thing—very storybook,'she says. When her honey got there, he took one look at the overwhelmingly romantic (some might say stifling) set-up and decided that he really wasn’t ready to move in with her, as they had been discussing. Everything was seeming too couple-y, too fast for him. 'Lovely timing, right by the fireplace,' she recalls."
That poor girl! Just look at what that evil St.Valentine caused her boyfriend to do! Never mind that she clearly wouldn't be able to identify a red flag if it beat her over the fucking head, or that she obviously hadn't clearly gauged her boyfriend's readiness to move in correctly, OR that they obviously had communication problems...It's that Stupid Cupid's fault. This holiday is pure evil.
Just as most weddings and engagements that are fuelled purely by the Bride/Fiancée's psychotic plans and expectations
efforts; a Valentine's Day that is planned and organized only by the
female half of the relationship is, clearly, not a good sign. Take more
of the "proof" that Valentine's Day is evil, this time from another
interviewee, Suzanne, a copy editor from Boston:
Can we all pause for a moment to reflect on the aroma of bullshit that is seeping from this quote? Who the fuck spends all day to "treat" their boyfriend by making fucking HEART-SHAPED LOBSTER RAVIOLI and MOTHER FUCKING CHOCOLATE SOUFFLÉ if they're "not into" all the Valentine's Day bullshit? Are you serious? And then to go on to say that you "didn't expect anything" is fucking bullshit! She clearly didn't get flowers to TEST her boyfriend to see if he "knew or cared" about her "at all"!"One year, I decided to treat my guy, and I made a really fancy dinner—red, heart-shaped lobster ravioli, champagne, chocolate soufflé,” she says. For all her hard work, the one thing she skipped buying was flowers, assuming that her guy would at least pick those up out of instinct. “Nothing, nada,” she says. “Here I thought I really didn’t expect anything, because I’m not into that as a holiday, but I was still wondering if this guy even knew me or cared about me at all."
I can just picture her earlier that day, on the phone with him while she delicately cuts ravioli shells into little hearts telling him,
"No, really sweets, I don't want anything for Valentine's Day. I hate that stuff. Seriously, don't you worry! You know me, babe...Me? Oh, I'm not doing anything. I'm just reading a magazine!" ...Really babe, I'm not preparing Chocolate Soufflé or anything! And I'm definitely not secretly hoping you'll propose tonight or nothin'!
Perhaps the worst of all this, was when the author uses the excuse of "Valentine’s Day can cause a relationship to linger... too long" as one of her 6 reasons VDay sucks a big fat one.
Her proof? She once stayed with a guy who "didn’t even have a TV, for starters" but was "nice enough" and "that all my friends
thought he was way hot" because she DID NOT WANT TO BE SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY.
She said she knew their relationship was over earlier that winter, but
"obviously I wasn’t going to break things off during the holidays" and
then stayed with him until after Valentine's day.
"It would have been easier to call the relationship DOA earlier rather than stretch it out unhappily in the hopes of being coupled-up on Cupid’s special day. In my case, it seems, St. Valentine's was the patron saint of emotional inertia."
However, things start to make more sense after reading the small print at the bottom of the column. The writer of the article?
Laura Gilbert.
Laura Gilbert who was once the Senior Editor for Maxim magazine. I have no idea why she left the magazine, however, all I really found was a collection of articles she wrote for Maxim while being the Senior Editor.
Articles like: "
Take Her Home…Guaranteed!" where Gilbert gives advice to Maxim Men about how to trick a woman into having a one night stand,
Her "we" meaning just women in general. Obviously, her insight into the female psyche is uncanny."Whether or not we’ll admit it, a night of anonymous debauchery is often exactly what we want!"
Or perhaps you'll enjoy her "Sexy Coeds Confess" article where she let's Maxim readers in on how "university hotties really get down".
She's like, the nerdy looking "GV behind the curtain" who's the Queen of Female Chauvinist Pigs . Okay, maybe not the Queen...but definitely a Duchess.
So, what's my own personal take on Valentine's Day?
I used to be a Valentine's Day whore.
Prior to being with ye old idiot (aka Spencer) I had only been on one Valentine-esque date with the elf-like lead singer of my second favorite punk band at my high school.
He gave me a mixed tape, and a card, and I was like, soooo totally excited when I got home. I actually had a Valentine!
Cut to 20 minutes later when my phone rings, and it's The Punk Elf, letting me know that he got back together with his ex girlfriend, and advised me to not listen to the tape he gave me...as he had recorded San Dimas High School Footbal Rules for me, and had -so romantically- replaced the name Whitney with my name.
Awesome.
Somehow, over the years, I would manage to morph into a "bitter, single girl" every February 14th, even while I had a boyfriend. I would spend so much time fantasizing about the gifts I could receive, or what my boyfriend might have planned, that by the time the damn day actually came, anything other than a pair of glass slippers and a horse-drawn carriage would caused me to end up sobbing in the bathroom.
There is nothing wrong with wanting to be wooed, swept off your feet, or be so drunk on romance that it's a struggle to not puke on your lover.
I just think that too many women are so starved for any form of romance or happiness in love, that they use this holiday as a "sign". Like, if he can't get his shit together and be romantic enough on VALENTINE'S DAY, then he really doesn't love me.
In some cases, he won't because -you're right- he doesn't really love you.
But there's also the fact that he may really love you, and you just have your head shoved so far up Lifetime and Hallmark's ass, that you wouldn't appreciate his gifts, no matter how heartfelt or thoughtful they were.
I'm not saying that you need to settle in order to be happy...
But, at least for me, I've found that once you have the "Omg this is so great I think I'm seriously going to throw up on your shoes" love...you won't be secretly longing for gifts and heart-shaped lobster raviolis.
Iain and I are staying in. We're cooking curry, using the £14 that's left on a HMV gift card from Christmas to buy a new DVD, gettin' drunk, and maybe we'll go all the way, but we'll just leave that to drunken chance, no?
The thought of roses, or flowers, chocolate, and a candlelight table for 2 doesn't gross me out.
It's the thought of doing that stuff while every other couple in the world is, and for the same reason every one else is, just seems a bit weird.
Plus, anything that is elaborately planned out and arranged simply because of a random date on a calendar isn't nearly as romantic as going to celebrate something simply because you want to...not because it's expected.
Romance is what you make it.
The other side of this is that, when asked, "What are you doing for Valentine's Day!?!!?" you're either supposed to sob and chug wine because MY GAWD you're SINGLE ON VALENTINE'S DAY, or squeal in delight if you have a boyfriend because your man has something super duper special and neat-o planned.
BUT, if you're one of those couples who could give a heart-shaped, organic chocolate-dipped fuck about Valentine's Day...No one believes you!
Valentine's Day isn't supposed to be evil, but over the years, I think our own romance-starved relationships have fueled the wide-spread epidemic of unrealistic expectations of what Valentine's Dya is supposed to be about.
I'm not going to let it drive me nuts or wear black and I'll even try to resist the urge to pelt every couple I see that's pretending to like one another and trying not bicker for a full 24 hours with those "Fuck You" candy hearts...
It's just a damn day.
Sure everyone is being more disgusting, and fake than usual...and it can,
understandably, rub your own unpleasant romantic situation in your
face..
.
But why not just take some personal responsibility for your life, and stop
placing blame on half naked,arrow slinging cherubs, or on clueless
boyfriends who can't read your mind and magically know that that YES YOU WOULD like him to buy you some flowers.
PLEASE do not end up crying in the bathroom tomorrow over an electric shaver your boyfriend bought you, or pointlessly slaving away over heart-shaped lobster raviolis hoping it will beguile your boyfriend into being a grateful lover, when really, romantically shaped pasta cannot, and will not ever change a miserable twat into the loving, appreciative man of your dreams.
Just say NO! to heart-shaped ravioli, this Valentine's Day....
...And just say YES! to alcohol and the possibility of going all the way.
Show us a picture that's worth a thousand words.
Submitted by sami711.
Although I'm not quite sure I understand what a 'kissing chair' is.
I'm quite happy with just a couch, or a recliner. The bed, also, works quite well for the kissing.
But, here we are, just moments after gettin' hitched.
And here I am explaining and rambling when it's supposed to be 'worth a thousand words'...
