9 posts tagged “wedding”

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.

 

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....

Show us a picture that's worth a thousand words.
Submitted by sami711.

A'ight Foo's.

I know you think I'm the laziest Bride in all tarnation for not mo'bloggin' my wedding, or posting pictures already...

And well, yes, you would be right.

And, all of our wedding photos are in Iain's mum's digital camera... I'll try to get some emailed to me soon so you can all stare at the magical fluff of polka dots that was my dress.

My other excuse is that, well, I haven't really felt like writing about it yet. It was lovely, and romantical, and yes, I did blubber and cry.

It was basically perfect...other than the gale force winds, my "special occasion" zits, the rain, my period, and the fact that the curling iron my mom sent me to do my hair had the wrong voltage so it was either chance it and possibly die, or have straight hair.

I had straight hair.

But, we are married. I'm "wifey" he's "hubaby" and so far we still have a sex life.

We didn't have our own soppy "You are the wind beneath my wings, and I will always love you" vows.

We walked down the aisle together to Etta James' "At Last"...

During our signing of our marriage certificate Glen Miller's "Star dust" played...And we walked out to "These Are The Days" by Sugarland.

Fuck yes, we took our "first steps as man and wife" to a country song...in England.

I'm not really sure how to do it justice and "give details"...It was really nice. It was a nice day. We had a really fun, drunk weekend in Brighton.

We had pizza on our wedding night, along with copious amounts of vodka...

Iain bought me some fucking kick ass ear muffs, and the ketchup bottle of my dreams...All in all, it was fabulous.

I just feel weird writing about our wedding. I don't have words to describe how special and memorable it was. I feel strangely private about it, almost. I haven't really talked about it...But that's kind of how I am. If I'm happy about something I like to hold it in for a while, and think, and mull it over, and treasure it and keep it private and safe.

I may never burst out with tons of details, or I may. Actually, I'm surprised at how much I've written so far, lol.

But what I can tell you how "married life" feels...

It feels THE SAME.

It's exciting to be able to call each other "husband" or say "Dude...We're married." and giggle at my new last name like we're kids faking being adults and playing house...

It feels the same as when you finally are "official" and can say "this is my totally awesome boyfriend!!" when introducing the guy you've been shagging for the past 2 months to your friends...

I don't feel like "OMFG! Finally". We didn't burst into the hotel throwing confetti with "Just Married" signs on our backs screaming "We're NEWLY-WEDS! We're in LOVE!".

I don't feel more committed. I don't feel more secure, or in love, or loved, or safer in our relationship.

At the same token I don't just think it's a piece of paper...I think it's a nice ceremony and represents a lovely idea that should be taken seriously, but not too seriously or weighed with heavy expectations that it will transform, better, or worsen your relationship.

I don't think being married makes me an "expert" or a person of superiority when it comes to the concept of marriage.

The day after we got married, Iain and I talked for a long time about the word "wife".

When I think of what being a wife means to me...I picture Iain and I through our years together, being down at the pub. Growing older and older, but still the same. Still drunk, still horny, but wiser and even closer. I think of the comical yet realistic image of me as a mother. I picture our first home.

However.

The word WIFE....

Through the media, in society, culturally, and traditionally the word WIFE has taken on a really shitty connotation.

For example....

"Do you mind if my girlfriend comes down to the pub with us?"

Sounds a lot different than....

"Do you mind if my wife comes down to the pub with us?"

From what I've experienced, none of the married men in my social circle bring their WIVES along places. You'll see girlfriends, or people that they're shagging, but not their wife?

Why is that?

"WIFE" brings up this image of the bitter ball in chain who doesn't want their husband going out with his friends a lone because she's insecure and jealous and needs to be included so he doesn't have to leave early, be on his mobile the entire time, or "get in trouble with THE WIFE" when get stumbles home...

Your girlfriend will nag, or come along and have fun...But your wife?

 WIFE?

How many times do you hear that word and words associated with it, drip with negativity, and disgust?

"Yeah, ya know, cuz THE WIFE"

"I better go, gonna hear it from THE WIFE"

"The old ball and chain"

"The Missus"

"It's probably his WIFE."

"Yeah, I don't think he can because of his WIFE."

Somewhere in the twisted roots of women being obsessed with marriage, men not wanting to get married, high divorce

rates, sexless marriages, Hera and Eve; the word 'wife' became tainted, and now doesn't seem to carry much honor or holiness in society, does it?

Of course the same can be said for marriage, but, for fuck sake I'm not getting paid to write a novel, here.

There are times when "husband" doesn't sound so great, as well...

"Oh I have to go or my husband will get mad..."

"Oh I can't, I'll have to ask my husband, first...."

But I don't think "husband" holds nearly such a negative connotation, socially and stereotypically, as the word "wife" does.

Quite frankly it pisses me off.

What's a "wife"?

Why the fuck are wives portrayed so badly?

Aside from the obvious Desperate Housewives bullshit, there are plenty of other "wife" stereotypes that are portrayed in the media, and pushed upon women in real life scenarios.

You have the "frumpy, dowdy wife" that wants her husband to stay home more, and be there for the kids, even though she doesn't really love him.

The "Mommy wife" who just cares about her children, the PTA, and wants a passionless, picture perfect marriage. This would be the same stereotypical wife that is too perfect and "motherly" to have sex with, and therefore the husband has no choice but to have an affair.

Then there's the "slutty wife" -or WILF- who cheats and fucks all of her hubby's friends...

Or the "gold digging wife".

The "corporate wife".

The "trophy wife".

The "pregnant all the time with 7 kids wife".

.The women of my generation idolize the Carrie Bradshaws and Bridget Joneses of the world....

Single girls who are FABULOUS at being single and hopeless at relationships. They're funny and look good...Why, they're just like us!

But society and the media fail to address the question of:

Can you be fabulous when you're no longer a girlfriend, but a WIFE?

Where is our healthy, intelligent, Carrie Bradshaw-esque, happily married wife?

...No where.

That doesn't make good television, tabloids, or stories. She's boring. What's exciting about that?

Nope. We need XTREME WIVES!

Jessica Simpson! (divorced and stoopid)

Britney Spears! (perpetually knocked up, married to a losah, and now divorced.)

Victoria Beckham! (WAG. 'Too Posh To Push'. Surgically enhanced, talentless, twig of a woman who doesn't appear to have a motherly bone in her fragile, frigid, frame.)

And do I really need to go into what's wrong with Desperate Housewives? (The TV show people, oy. I'm not going there again.)

No WONDER every one on my friends (except my one married friend) have such a fucking ugly idea of what marriage is. I'm not claiming to know, as I haven't been married a week, but FUCK there are no examples??!??

I used to think marriage was the stupidest concept in the world. And according to the impressions society gives us about being a "wife"...Why would we want to go and ruin our lives with all that?

There are some great examples of kick ass Moms out there...Like Heather and Kristen....

But wives that don't have children, but are happy, fulfilled, and in a healthy, loving relationship?

Uuuuhhhhmmmm....They must exist? Why can I not think of any?

I refuse to let the negative "wife" connotations ruin my ideas of what being a wife means.

I believe it takes more than one person to change a stereotype. However, I'm going to bust my ass to bring "wifey" back.

Yeah, I'll be the lone wife at the pub. The lone wife in my social group....

But for fuck sake, Iain and I are going to prove that wife CAN and IS a good word.

It is a word to be proud of... 

And as a former marriage/wife hater I'm realizing that you can change your own rules by not being intimidated by labels or doing something that can be brushed aside by others as "selling out" or "buying in" to something.

I am a wife. I am married. I have a husband.

I am not a stereotype. I am not defined by a label.

I don't cook because I don't enjoy it yet, and my husband likes to. I make choices based on my personal morals or beliefs, not through fear that the choice I'm making will not align with the traditional guidelines of a label I have branded myself with.

I am wife, hear me burp.

...But, yes. We're gonna get married.

Tomorrow, actually.

And LeendaDLL and Ruthypants, no worries. There was no cat in the bag...other than the one I have stuffed in a pillow case that we keep behind the potatoes.

Tomorrow at 11 o'clock our time, or 6 o'clock your time, or 3 o'clock everyone else's time, Iain will be stuck with a pregnant immigrant from California forever and ever...or at least until the return policy is still good. You know how those "email order brides" are.

I'd tell you where we're getting married, but I'd rather not have anyone show up with a hack saw...

Just know it's a cute little place where a few members of Iain's family will be able to make it down and be our witnesses.....

Iain's mom is our usher, and witness, and she doesn't know it yet, but will probably be doing a reading for us.
Oh, and speaking of "readings"...The approved list of stuff we could have a read during our 8.23 minute ceremony was quite interesting.

Can you please explain to me why British Citizens would want an "Extract from a Native American Ceremony" read at their wedding? Or perhaps a "Tribal Wish of the Iroquois Indians" read aloud?

They're pretty, but what do Native Americans mean to British people? Gah. Whatever.

Anyway, we picked "The Art Of Marriage" by Alfred Peterson to be read. Currently, as it stands, I'll be reading it. However, I'm a big fat fucking cry baby. I will blubber and sob if I have to read it.

Oh, and did I mention that my menstrual cycle started on Monday? OH YES!

I will be bleeding through my wedding. Nothing says "romantic honey moon sex" like menstrual fluid. Fuck sake.

My mom's like, "Didn't you know you could get a pill to delay your period?!?!!  and I'm like,

"Mother. I'm an immigrant. I've been unemployed since APRIL. Do you think they're going to hand me a pill to make my wedding, which they suspect is only taking place so I can become a citizen and ship my children and relatives over to the the UK  for the sole purpose of organizing acts of terrorism, more ENJOYABLE for me....Yea, no."

I actually just said, "Yeah, but I'm poor." to her, but you get the point.

So, all of you wedding whores (*cough* Kristen *cough*) want to know details, right?

Okay. But no "bouncing bosom embrace", no crying, and certainly no clapping, okay?

My flowers will be red. (Or at least I hope that's what they'll have left over at the florist by the time I get down there...)

The shoes will be my "Something New" from my Sister:

And, here is my fabulous wedding dress:

My "Something Old, Something Borrowed, and Something Blue" will be my Mom's garter that she wore when she married my dad. At first I thought it might curse our marriage, but then again it's not really about the marriage to my dad, it was my Mom's, ya know?

So, we will take loads of pictures, and videos, and will be bloggin' about it sometime soon.

Next time you hear from me, I'll be a Mrs. I'll be a wife. (How weird does that sound??)

I still can't even look at Iain and say "Husband" without giggling like a moron, so this will be interesting.

The anti-bride gets married.

This isn't a very "mushy goo goo love" post about us getting married, but I don't feel the need to do that.

I'm just happy, and I don't think it's actually set in yet.

I think I'm still kinda in shock.

Only one year ago today did I first land in Manchester Airport. At this time last year, I was in Liverpool, freaking out because I could SMOKE INSIDE, had my first Cider and Black and hung out with "friends" that I no longer know.

I would have had butterflies in my stomach, because tomorrow I would be meeting Iain face to face.

In less than 24 hours we would be running towards each other, tripping over our suitcases, and kissing hello.

(Yes, we kissed hello. It went: Run. Trip. Hug. Kiss. "Hi. I'm Cate." "Hi. I'm Iain". Stare. Kiss."Nice to meet you".)

And in a year, who knew that I would be sitting here in our flat, writing to all of you fine people about our wedding tomorrow.

Where this year will take us, I can only imagine.

But tomorrow is our 1 year anniversary, and our wedding day.

It doesn't feel like "the first day of the rest of our lives". It doesn't feel like "the most important day of my life"...

It just feels...normal.

Like, well, of course tomorrow is your wedding day....

It's exciting and surreal. Like it's our birthday tomorrow, or something...

Just with less cake, more champagne, no birthday song, and some kick ass shoes.

And I get to finally sign a legal document with my new name that I've been swirling on pieces of scrap paper for months and months........that Iain finds, and then laughs at me.

Have a drink for us!!! You'll be in my thoughts!!!

**Big,Sloppy Quarter Pounder With Cheese Breath, Kiss**

(Like I'm dieting for our wedding, BAH!)

Two Thousand and Six.

You kicked my ass. In a good way. You kicked it all the way to England, all over downtown LA, and then back to England again.

You gave me good sex, travel, and a bunch of different cocktails I'd never tasted before. (Hello WooWoo.)

I quit smoking with you, ate duck, Thai, and Curry for the first time.

(And it is because of this, 2006, that you have also helped me fit into a UK size 12, and showed me what I would look like with a full, plump ass. It was fun at first, but really, couldn't you have taken it with you when you left last night?)

You gave me a Kingdom, and the Eleventh of January.

I became a writer this year, a real one, because I finally let myself be one.

In 2006, my bank account was empty by July 3. I have made the least amount of money I've ever made since I've been able to work, and haven't been unemployed for so long since I was a student.

So, while I cannot lie and say I'd like to stay here forever, you'll go down as the best year yet.

By Christmas, I thought I had had enough lessons, and tests to call the year complete.

I have lost many people this year. None to death, but our friendships and relationships have died.

I have said goodbye, well, okay...I've said FUCK OFF to enough people this year, I'm sure I've set a "Getting Rid of Those in Your Life Who Are Worthless and Incredibly Stupid" record somewhere. Although, I've probably set it for the UK, and they'd strip me of my title because I'm a measly immigrant who is not worthy.

I've had to grow some big kahuna balls. Big, leathery ones that are built to endure long, Transatlantic flights, English Winters, and the disapproval of many English Women, Bay Area Yuppy Family Members, and Girls That Want To Throw Me A Hindu.

They've done me well, these balls. I've done a lot this year. And in return I get them regularly waxed, and buffed.

However, this past week I feel I need to get them bronzed or encrusted in Swarovski Crystals....

I've said goodbye to my dad.

He is alive, in California...probably at work, or maybe down at the gym. Or maybe spending time with his current girlfriend...I'm not sure.

I never really wanted to talk about my relationship with my dad, on here. Or anywhere. I always said if I did write a book, I would leave him out.

But, I don't see how I can just not mention it. It's like showing only a fraction of a "Before" picture and expecting the "After" to be appreciated and understood.

So, my dad.

My dad, is not a parent. He is a "parent", but title and definition, but a real farther and responsible adult, he is not.

My parents have been divorced for almost nine years.

In those nine years, I learned to see my parents as human.

As human beings who sometimes falter. Who make mistakes. Who love, Who get their heartbroken. Who fall.

And my dad, has fallen more times that he has chosen to get up.

He has chosen to be angry and resentful, more times than he has tried to be an hopeful.

And he has been an adult with no sense of parental responsibility, who has let his children suffer from his lack of effort towards being a father, a dad, and a protector and provider of his family...no matter what a "family" looks like.

When my parents got divorced, I always remember watching the movie Mrs.Doubtfire, where Robin Williams would do anything, and everything, just to be with his children.

I think it's at the end, where custody is taken away from him, that he looks at the judge and says, "But they're my kids...They're my air, without them...I can't breathe."

Sure, I didn't expect my Dad to cross-dress and pretend to be our nanny (like we ever had nannies growing up...) but just...

I always wanted to be Daddy's Little Girl.

We used to sing together. When I was 7, he played guitar while I sang Sunrise, Sunset at my Aunt and Uncle's Wedding.

I used to want to be a country singer, and he'd play the guitar while I butchered many Shania Twain and Patsy Cline songs, with my preteen voice.

I used to think I got my sense of humor from him, my voice...More than just my nose and my cheeks.

But he never let me be a Little Girl...

I was given the weight of the discontent he felt with himself, and his life, and with me, simply because I did not worship him.

I saw his mistakes. I saw his anger, his immaturity, his lack of responsibility. But worst of all, I saw his lack of interest in taking care of me.

All I ever wanted from him was effort...For him to try.

For me to be worthy of an unconditional love. For me to be enough, just the way I was, and for him to want to be a better father, and man to himself.

I wanted him to call me everyday, and to maybe want us two weekends in a row. Maybe he'd stop by one of my softball practices and surprise me.

The older I got, the more decisions I wanted to make for myself, the worse of a daughter I became in his eyes. I never did enough to prove that I loved him. I never called enough for him to believe that I was happy to be his daughter...Or that I missed him. 

I never showed enough appreciation for the "sacrifices he made" as a parent.

I was always guilty. Always wrong. Always lacking something.

I wanted to see him less and less, for every time I did see him I was on eggshells, trying to not piss him off, have him bring up my mom, or tell us how "down" he was feeling lately.

I don't want to go through every story of pain, or emotional abuse, the times he'd hang up on me, or leave me crying...

I don't want to write about the Christmases I had to legally spend with him, crying myself to sleep because I knew my mom was home on Christmas alone, and I just wanted to be with her.

I don't want to dwell in his anger. The fear I felt when he lost his temper. The constant guilt I was made to feel that he was alone.

I cannot describe my anger and disgust with the fact that he was unemployed for over a year, because he was too scared to look for another job.  The back pay in child support that he still owes.

I am disgusted at his lack or respect for his role as an adult. The lack of respect he has for himself.

The lack of respect he has his role as a father.

I have step father, who in the past 3 years in my life has shown me what it means to be a father. He may not be perfect, and didn't raise me. But he has provided me with love, and security when I needed it. He is always there, and has been there whenever I've needed him. He is there, when I do not need anything, but simply want to watch TV with him and have a beer. He has healed and taken care of my mother, and is a good husband. My sister and him do not get along perfectly, but he has given her support in ways I don't' think she can quite grasp yet, at her young, selfish age.  

That is more than my father has given me....because he has made the unconscious decision to revel in his own dispair, fear, and depression.

He doesn't have house for us to visit him in, as he blames his ex-girlfriend (who was like second mom to us) for breaking up with him and taking away money, that was never his.

He has not accepted responsibility for us, or more specifically the mistakes he has made with me.

My dad is a narcissit, and suffers from depressive disorders...

Once I finally learned (from my own therapist) what a narcisstic parent is, and that there is such a thing as emotional abuse, and that I'm a victim of my dad's emotional abuse..... I had to make a choice.

I've known for the past 2 years, that I would eventually have to break whatever ties I had with him.

The only way for the pain, disappointment, and hurt to go away, would be to kill  whatever hope I had that he would change.

Whatever glimmer of expectation that kept me going back to him, I had to suffocate and let die.

I could either go through my life, pretending, and expecting that one day, he will love me unconditionally. That he would be responsible, and apologize for the hurt...the tears, the disappointment, and the guilt he has caused me...And then be dropped over and over by him.

I needed to learn he would never catch me. He would never cushion my fall.

I barely saw him last year, which was my own decision. A decision he didn't fight.

I saw him 4 times before I left this past April. I called him when I got to England...a call that was never returned.

An eCard on my birthday. Promises of "care packages" he'd send me, once he had enough cash.

Nevermind the fact he could call us for free on Skype.

 Nevermind wanting to know our address and spending the $2 it would take to send me a real letter. 

I got silence from June to October.

A belated birthday card when I saw him for 2 hours in October, with $150 to make up for the silence, and a "So, are you marrying him beacuse you love him, or just to stay in the country" when I told him I was getting married.

Then, on December 27 I got an email...Asking what he's done for me to ignore him.

He claimed he lost my email address over the Summer.

"What have I done?" he said.

While I have known that this day would come, the day where I would lay it out for him, where I would give him a golden opportunity to walk away or apologize and get his act together and realize that he will lose his daughter if he doesn't accept responsibility and fucking WAKE UP.

I say and tell everyone that I was afraid to tell him why I was upset with him all these years because I didn't want to hurt him.

That I didn't want him to get more depressed, and possibly kill himself. That I was afraid the thought that he has been such an awful father would break him, and the thought that he hurt his daughter, his little girl so badly would cause him the greatest pain...And I didn't want to cause him pain.

But really,I knew that this wouldn't happen...

I knew that he could never accept responsiblity or aplogize, and take blame.

And how could I handle that? How could  you handle that?

The fear I felt, was the fear of hurting myself with my own expectations.

...So, I wrote him back, a day later. Basically explaining all of the disappointment, anger, hurt, and pain that he has caused and inflicted over the past 21 years, but especially the 9 that has half assed as a human being.

I did not hold back, as I had nothing to lose.

I'm telling you all of this now, because I really don't have anything to lose, do I? And this is all very sad. Very, very sad. Because, you are my Dad. My father who doesn't really know how to be a parent. And that hurts, it hurts me more than it could ever hurt you.
 
I forgive you. I forgive that you don't know how do do this.
 
But, I'm choosing not to live with that hurt anymore.

In return, I got back excuses. Excuses, and more excuses. He addressed every financial issues, and claims he DID pay every single month of child support (there are many,many  court papers that say otherwise) and that I will never understand the sacrifice he made for me, and that I cannot talk to him about what it means to be a father, until I am a parent.

...I am a CHILD.

I AM YOUR CHILD!

I can tell you everything about what it is like to have a father that will not allow his daughter to just simply be loved.

I do NOT NEED TO BE A PARENT to understand unconditional love.

I am a daughter. I am YOUR daughter. I am a sister.

I will soon be a wife.

One day I will be a mother.

And YOU will not be there for any of it.

I am walking myself down the aisle.

 My children will never know that pain. That anger, and the bitter disappoinemtn that I was forced to feel.

I will never have a daughter that isn't allowed to be Daddy's Little Girl.

I will never have a son, that knows the pain of disappointment when his Father is not at his baseball games. 

So do not tell me that I cannot speak of parenting to the man that claims to be my father.

 I have lost my father, because I have given him up.

I do not know if I love him. I do not know if I truely forgive him.

And that is my burden, now. My burden is dealing with his absence, which will be far less painful than dealing with his presence.

What I do know, is that I feel ligther.

The question of "Will he...?" has been answered. The answer is "Never".

And I am strong enough to face a future without the comfort of my expectations.

I have the edgy, sharp honesty of reality to hold onto..While it is less comforting, at least I know it is real.

....And so now, a new year.

I am getting married.

I have cut myself loose from the thorned vines that have held me to my abuse, and disappointing past.

And now we move forward.

Always forward, always up...

And always strong.

Never mind the past pain.

I know how to love unconditionally...

And have learned what it's like to be loved unconditionally.

And from now on, that is all that matters.

"So many years have gone by
Always strong, tried not to cry
Never felt like I needed any man
To comfort me in life
But I'm all made up today
A veil upon my face
But no father stands beside me
To give this bride away"
.

 

 **The first time I heard this song, I started bawling in the car like the lead actress in a Lifetime movie. It is beautiful. And speaks the things I am sometimes afraid to say.... 

I really had no intention of turning this blog into "CupCate talks Weddings.vox.com" but, well, here it is.

I'm engaged, I'm getting married, there's no skirtin' round it in this here blog...

I never thought that my least favorite part of this whole super special time in my life would be telling other people our big news.

"But why? WHY?" you ask. Don't I want to just shout it from the rooftops?

Don't I want to reach out to all my fellow estrogen producers and plan out themes, and color schemes, and ice sculptures and fondue?

Don't I want to document my precious  bridal journey in a YouTube video diary, where I whine about how the world is out to spoil my perfect, dream wedding?

"Diary, I just don't know if I want to do this anymore..." cries softly, wipes nose with shredded tissue, looks wearily into the camera...

"This is the most important day of my life. This is my special fairy princess day. MINE! Why can't everyone just do what I ask them? I don't understand why everyone is freakin' telling me I can't wear glass slippers?! I'm barely even eating, so no, MOM, they will not break. This is my wedding day. Just make it freakin' happen, okay??!"

Don't I want all of this, and more?

No, no..NO. I cannot even begin express the depths of sincerity in which I mean NO!

I would implode. I would explode. I would kill, hundreds, if not thousands of people who are 'just trying to help'.

My lack of enthusiasm for planning or even wanting a "normal" wedding does not stem from a fear of not wanting to get married.

This is not a Carrie Bradshaw "I break out into hives when I try on dresses and wear my ring around my neck because I really just don't want to get married" complex.

(Although I did get diarrhea after looking at British Bride)

We simply do not want or need a traditional wedding. I don't' want the white dress. I don't want the presents. The veil, the music, or the rock*.

That's just not me. That's not Iain. It's not us.

The hilarious thing, is that people automatically do the, "Oh honey, do whatever you want...THIS IS YOUR DAY."

THIS IS YOUR DAY.

Here is the one bit of wisdom I have learned during my short engagement:

"THIS IS YOUR DAY" is a pile of sparkly, ivory bullshit.

You can get married anyway you like, as long as it's the way everyone else likes it.

If everyone really thought it was, indeed, your special day to do whatever you wanted... they would respect your decisions.

Even if your choice was to run away and get married privately in the Himalayas with a yak as your witness.

I understand that maybe your disapproving attitude is caused by disappointment....

Disappointment that you will not be there to witness the joining of two souls.

( Also known as signing a piece of paper.)

Disappointment is allowed. It is okay for you to be slightly saddened that you will not be present on our "big day".

It's even ok to be jealous of the yack.

However.

I just want some fucking R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

Respect our decision to not want to get married in a church, or even with you there.

Respect that we're putting our financial future first, and are not choosing to take out a fucking loan or second mortgage on our house (Ok, we don't even have a house, but if we did...) for ONE DAY.

The initial reaction upon us announcing our engagement is how you would typically imagine.

The girls squeal, "Oh my gawwwd!", grab my finger to look at my ring, then hold me to their bosom in a celebratory embrace.

And while I'm not dead inside and I do appreciate them being happy for me...

It just makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little. 

Take this conversation:

Me: "Iain and I are getting married." prepares for 'bosom embrace'.

Super Excited Squealer: "OH MY GOD! I am soooo happppy for yoooooou!" claps hands, twirls in merry circles

Me:"Thank you, thanks. Me too." fake smiles, tries to control bile

SES:"WE MUST have a HINDU!" does jazz hands, grabs my hands and tries to twirl with me

Me: "What? Have a what?" resists twirls.

SES: "A HINDU!" more jazz hands

Me: "...A hindu?" gives this expression

SES "Yeah! You know! A HEN DO! A big girly night out!" pats top of my head, pinches cheeks.

Me: "OHHH....A hen do....Okay....Yeah, no. No, I don't want that." sits on hands to prevent self from punching SES in the face

SES: "What? No! You MUST have a hen do!!!!" gives pouty, patronizing face.

Me: "I don't want a hen do."

SES: "But you have to! It's your WEDDING!!!!" wipes away imaginary tear, puts hands on hips

Me: "Yeah, no, I really don't want a fucking hen do." stares into SES' beady little pupils to inflict fear

SES: "....OH. Well...-crickets-.....Erm....I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!" we then commence with the celebratory bosom embrace.

The real trouble, however, ensues when we actually explain the details of our UNRULY and COMPLETELY UNHEARD OF choices for our OUTRAGEOUS wedding.

Judgmental Patronizing Bitch/Bastard: "So when is the big day?"

Me: "January."

JPB: "Of 2008?"

Me "No, January 2007. In two months."

JPB: "Oh my, that certainly is quick." checks my stomach for a hints of an expanding uterus

Me: "Well, I'm on a fiancee visa, so we have 9 months to get married, but we wanted to do it in January. There's really no point in waiting..."

JPB: "Oh, you're on a fiancee visa? Goodness, Iain's not just marrying you to keep you in the country, is he??"

JPB then chuckles to make it appear as if this statement is an innocent joke and is not, infact, completely fucking rude

Me: "....Actually no."

JPB: "..Sure, right..You must be so busy planning everything."

Me: "No, not really. It's just very simple, very small."

JPB: "Oh, where is the ceremony taking place?"

Me: "In a registry office."

JPB: "....Oh. Well do you have a dress?"

Me: "No. Not yet."

JPB: "...Oh, my. Well do you know what you're looking for?"

Me: "Yeah, I'm thinking black and white...Maybe polka dots, maybe red."

JPB: "..Oh, so not a traditional bridal gown. Interesting....Well are your mother and father coming?"

Me: "No. But we're having a reception in March in California."

JPB: "Oh lovely, what will you be serving? What's your theme?"

Me: "We'll be serving Round Table Pizza, with an array of toppings, and a variety of crust thickness. To drink we'll be serving plenty of cheap cocktails complete with crazy straws and miniature umbrellas and plethora of beer. The theme for the night will be 'Wicked Keg Party'...."

JPB: "....Oh, my. Your parents must be so disappointed."

Iain's been cornered and asked on numerous occasions  if he's marrying me just to keep me in the country.

I've been heavily questioned as to why we want a civil ceremony, and not a church wedding. Why is my family not coming? And why, for pete's sake, don't I want a white wedding dress?

The thing is, is that if I were British, if we were having a year long engagement, spending shit loads of money having a wedding ceremony with all of our families present, a traditional reception, and if I had already made 2/3rds of our wedding plans in a secret wedding diary I've had since I was a wee li'l lass than NO ONE WOULD SAY SHIT.

But no.

I'm an immigrant, so therefore we must be getting married to Iain so I can get a visa and ship all of my family and children over from the poverty stricken war zone that is NORTHERN CALIFORNIA.

And YEAH. Getting a fiance visa was obviously just the the easy way out.

Especially the part where I'd be unemployed for 9-10 months. A dual income? Pshaw, who needs that??

And since we're getting married so soon, I MUST BE PREGNANT, or as one man asked me, "Are you sure you're not just getting talked into something? Are you sure this is what you really want? Really?"

And I really must be a disrespectful, selfish little brat to not have my family present on the "MOST IMPORTANT DAY OF MY FUCKING LIFE".

To be honest, it has not been an easy ride with my family.

Since last October, I have moved into their house, then 9 months later moved out of their house to go and live in another country that is 5,000 miles away..And then announced that I'm getting married, making it crystal clear to them that I am NEVER COMING BACK HOME TO STAY.

However, it's all working out.

 The people in my and Iain's wonderful family who truly matter, who love us and can see how much we love each other, understand. They know. They know us, and while they might not understand all of our decisions, they respect them, because they love us. We are their children, their grandchildren, niece and nephew.

We deserve happiness as much as the next person, even if our version of happiness differs from what their definition of happiness is.

I've gotten lots of advice on this..."Do what you want", "Don't care what other people think", and "Fuck 'em, you don't need people who aren't going to be happy for you"...

And all of those lovely pieces of advice are absolutely correct.

However, the more and more things change...The more I change. The bigger and more enriched my life becomes, I see people dropping off and away.

Friends and family that claimed they loved me, and that they would always be there....

My father...

I'm seeing people for who they truly are...and I can't help but be disappointed.

I get upset over people being so rude towards our marriage and wedding because these were people I cared about and have always been there for.

It's hard to let go of these people.

It's hard to let go and realize that they are not who I thought they would be in my life. That's what hurts, and I guess that's why I have such a strong reaction to other people's reactions and rude comments.

I should not take them personally.

And yet, here I am, writing about them on "CupCate Talks Family and Weddings.vox.com"...

But, this is all part of the change. Those who are meant to stay with me, will stay.

 They will latch on through the winters, and the change...The others will turn and drop off when it gets even the slightest bit cold...

And in their place, new, green relationships will grow...

At my reception I know I will look up, and around, and see those who truly care beside us...

Drinking out of our keg, filling up on pizza, and mixing me a Cosmopolitan.

And if that's not a Dream Fairy Tale Princess Wedding...then I don't know what the fuck is.

 

 

 

 

*'The Rock'- if you meet me in person, or see me on the streets with a hefty diamond ring on my finger...I haven't sold out yo! It's a lovely $20 ring we got at Target simply to wear at the interview at the Consulate, so we looked like a serious, engaged couple. It gained some serious sentimental value after we did, in fact, get our visa. So, I wear it now. Girls Ooooo and AAaaaa over it, and I just smile. They don't have enough balls to ask if it's real, and my balls are large enough not to set their minds at ease.

 

I hate girls.

Every single girl in the world, in Japanese, Cantonese, and mother fucking English has said this... Said this with passion and conviction.

But Ladies, today, I OWN this phrase.

And let me go on to be more specific: I hate most of the girls in my life.

I don't hate the girls in bars that look me and my fiance up and down. I don't hate the random girl that tried to trip me as she walked past me on the street. I don't even hate the rude girl at Starbucks who can't get my fucking drink right.

Today, I am hating the girls that are IN my life, without participating in it.

The girls that cried when I left California, and can't even write me a fucking email.

The girls that use me for advice, and come crawling to me when they don't know what to do.

The girls that kiss my ass when they want me to tell them what to do with their life, and then ignore me and my good fortune when the sun shines for them.

One of my "advice seeking" friends called me an asshole because I didn't tell her right away that I was engaged.

Then there are the female relatives in my life that view me as nothing less than a fuck-up.

My Uncle's Wife can't seem to handle the fact that I quit college. In fact, she can't seem to handle anything I do, simply because it scares the shit out of her that someone could be successful WITHOUT having to go down the "correct path" that she went down. It's like,  your condescending attitude and blatant disapproval of my choices doesn't make  you a loving, concerned family member. It makes you a judgmental, yuppie, bitch.

It seems to me that women can only be happy for other woman if their joy somehow includes them.

There are some women who couldn't even be happy for me because they were too concerned that they weren't "invited".

 
We're fucking ELOPING pretty much, and having a big ass party later in the year. It's what I want. THAT is my "dream" wedding. Can you swallow your own issues for 2 seconds to even say, "I'm happy for you"?

My friends and family would be sending me all their blessings, and congratulatory praise, if "my special day" were involving them. They would be happy if my wedding, were the wedding THEY wanted me to have.

And then there are the friends that decided just to call me an asshole, or to simply not respond.

The unfortunate thing, is that I could understand if I were a shitty friend who cut them out of my life when I moved, and then only wrote them to let them know that I was engaged because I wanted attention.

But these are people that I have put a lot of time and energy into our friendship, especially since I moved, and I get jack shit in return.

I don't want a fucking bachelorette party. I'm not looking for gifts, or money, or even attention. I don't want

any of the traditional bullshit because I think it exactly that...BULLSHIT.

I would just like a genuine response. "I'm so happy for you." or "You two are going to be so happy together..."

Since when did the wedding details, and guest list become more important then the  actual MARRIAGE?

....Aside from all of my false friendships, and inconsiderate reactions...

I just wanted to say a big thank you to Lizinator.

Although we're not like BFF, and quite often go about our own lives, and randomly check in with one another...I genuinely appreciate your efforts at keeping in touch with me, and for expressing your genuine happiness for me.

And for calling me BRAVE.

 I appreciate that more than words can say.