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How to feel guilty for not wanting someone to find you and wear your skin as a coat

I’m just about to post some wedding photos but I’m going to password protect; not wanting complete strangers to look… except… my regular readers are strangers… kind of… I mean I read your blogs so I feel like I know you…
I don’t know. It’s complicated. I’ll basically let anyone have the password, even you lurkers who never comment, if you aren’t an ex-boyfriend or stalker you’re good to go… so just leave me a comment or DM me at @mmacc


Got Married.

To explain why you want to marry someone is a difficult task.

All of my girlfriends move in with their boyfriends, usually within a year of dating, economically it makes sense. Living with someone, sharing your life with them is similar to being married. I have friends who argue against the archaic decision to get married – why give up your freedom, your name, and a piece of yourself just for a piece of paper? (Equality isn’t an argument in Canada, any two consenting adults can get married, doesn’t matter what sex they are). One can’t get married to change any aspect of their relationship – that piece of paper won’t make him do the dishes more often or like your family more.

So why would two people chose to get married?

When you get married you are stating to the world you are perfectly happy with the status quo. You are willing to commit to someone for your entire life, as is. In this age of commitment phobia and being told you can always change your mind to decide on something so permanent says something about your relationship: I’m not kidding. I love him. I don’t need a way out because I believe I won’t need one.

As I stood in front of CJ, our family, our friends and recited my vows:

I take you to be my husband;
to laugh with you in joy,
to grieve with you in sorrow,
to grow with you in love,
to be faithful to you alone,
as long as we both shall live.

I was completely at ease with the lifelong commitment. I want to grow old with him and I wanted everyone to know.

Since the wedding, nothing has changed in our relationship. We’re experiencing change in our lives, but we bicker just the same, we love just the same, we have the same amount of (fantastic and frequent) sex. The jokes have changed a bit – threatening divorce for a silly offence seems to please us (“What do you mean you forgot to order the spicy sauce? I’m going to divorce you over this!” or “What? Light beer? No, I’m filing the papers for this tomorrow”) and calling each other husband and wife is taking some getting used to ( “meet my boyfri… errr… husband”) but it’s the same for us.

What’s different is how you see us. And that’s the point.

(Our wedding was beautiful, unfortunately our photographer is still editing so pictures will have to wait until a date in the near future)


“It’s not like this day is just about you”

My mother never had a wedding.
My father proposed to her on Christmas Eve and they got married on New Year’s Eve. There was no engagement ring, wedding dress, wedding guests, etc. They went a party after and announced their marriage.

 My sister sort-of had a wedding.
She chose to go to the Dominican Republic with a modest 22 people. When she came home, they had a reception for her – thrown together in less than a month at a fancy downtown restaurant – it was simple, quick and elegant.

For these reasons you’d think my mother would be all for my rather non-traditional approach to things.

She’s not.

“It’s not like this day is just about you”

That is what she said to me when I first started planning my wedding. In the months that have followed she has tried to prove this point again and again. Case in point: Tonight we are going wedding dress shopping.

No, I have my wedding dress picked out already. I’m suppose to order it this weekend so it arrives at the perfect time in order to get the alterations done (apparently there is some secret science involving the Aztec calendar as far as ordering wedding dresses is concerned). My mother has seen me in this wedding dress and agreed that is was indeed beautiful. When I reminded her we needed to order this weekend she said:

“Not until I see you in other dresses. I want to see some options”

Options? I’ve been in options! I’ve been near tears surrounded in options. I have no interest in putting on another white frilly option that makes me look fat. At this point of the conversation I looked to my father with the best pleading eyes I had, he simply shrugged. So I argued with the woman – made the point that when a girl finds her wedding dress she knows it’s the one and shouldn’t shop around anymore. It was useless. I still have to go wedding dress shopping again.

Why, you ask? Well that is simple – my mother just wants to be part of the process of me picking out my wedding dress. She wants to feel as though it was her final decision to get my dress. Twisted? Completely.

I don’t know how to describe my mother fairly. I don’t even know if I want to try. I just know that I am the least like her of her children. I get frustrated at her opinions and she doesn’t understand mine. Things that are important to her don’t matter to me. With regards to this wedding – her family and friends will be there and she feels that it will be a direct reflection of her. It’s not but this is why she has been demanding to be an intricate part of every decision made and she gets very upset when she’s not.

Unfortunately, I’m not a big enough person to just give in and let her get away with it. So I booked tonight’s wedding dress appointment at the most expensive boutique. It’s going to cost her to find me a new dress.


Irrational Conversation with a Rational 5 year old.

I’m planning to my bachelorette party for Las Vegas. I’m not sure who’s going to be able to go with me (it’s quite expensive to fly across the country) but I do know that my sister is coming with me. She, unbelievably excited at the thought of a long weekend away from her three children under the age of 5 (5yo, 3yo, 4mo), is already planning the details of the May trip. I was over at her house for lunch yesterday and we were talking about the trip when we were interrupted by her 5 year old daughter.

5yo: Mama, what do you mean Vegas? Where’s that?

Sis: Las Vegas. It’s in the United States and to get there we have to fly to the other side of the country and to the south. It’s far away from here. (more talking between us about various hotels)

5yo: So, how long are you going for?

 Sis: A long weekend.

5yo: How many sleeps?

 Sis: (holds up three fingers)

5yo: (getting excited) Cool! When are we going?

Sis: No sweetie, just mommy and Martina are going, you girls are going to stay at home.

5yo: (clearly disappointed) And who exactly is going to take care of us?

Sis: Who do you think?

5yo: Dad?

Sis: Yes, dad.

3yo: I like playing with Daddy!

5yo: Not daaaaad. You can’t leave me! Why do you need to go?*

*I should take a moment to explain my brother-in-law is perhaps the world’s greatest father and all three of his girls think he is the sun and the moon. They normally choose to play with him over any activity including ice cream.

Sis: (brief explanation of what a bachelorette party is) and Mommy really wants to go have fun with Martina because she is my sister. And you know how much fun you have with your sisters?

5yo: (head shake yes)

Sis: Then you can understand why I want to go have fun.

5yo: If it’s so much fun you should take us.

3yo: Ya! You should take us!

Sis: No, Mommy needs a vacation and besides you have to be at least 21 years old to go.

5yo: (Finger pointing at me) You aren’t 21! That’s really old! You can’t go so Mom can’t go!

Me: No, silly I’m 24 I can go.

5yo: Well mom, you just can’t go.

Sis: Why not?

5yo: Because who’s going to take care of us?

Sis: Dad.

5yo: He can’t do it. He doesn’t know how to.

Sis: Remember how Mommy and Martina went away last year and Dad took care of you? It’s the same this time except we’re not going away for as long.

5yo: But there is thrrreeeee of ussss now. Dad doesn’t know how to take care of the baby!

4mo: (coos because she somehow knows she was just mentioned in the conversation)

Sis: He does know how to take care of a baby – do you think I’m the only one who can take care of you around here?

Now, my sister is a stay at home mom and the primary care giver but again, my brother-in-law is very capable of taking care of the girls.

5yo: And besides you don’t need to go away to have fun. You have plenty of fun here.

Sis: When was the last time I had fun?

5yo: When we went to Alex’s birthday party last week, that was super fun.

Sis: Sweetie that was fun for you. And yes I have so much fun playing with you and your sisters but sometimes Mommy needs to do big girl stuff with other big girls.

5yo: You tell me I’m a big girl all the time!

Sis: You are; I mean adults.

5yo: Adult things are not fun to do.

Sis: Well not for you, but they are for adults.

5yo: *a skeptical look crosses her face*

3yo: Can we have a present if you go?

Sis: Yes. I’ll bring you each back something very special.

3yo: (starts blabbing about the various dolls she wants)

5yo: Martina, CJ can go with you. You don’t need to take my Mommy away.

Me: Only girls are allowed to go.

5yo: Look, Mom, I’ve thought about it and you just can’t go.

Sis: Ok, sweetie, we’ll talk about it later.

5yo: (stomping off) But I said you couldn’t go! Gaw!

3yo: (bursting into tears) But I want a present!

4mo: (bursts into tears because of all the commotion)

Sis: (to me) This is why I need a vacation.


It’s a Nice Day for a White Wedding

White.

Why of all colours was white chosen for wedding dresses?

Ok, I actually know this answer – (thanks Google) – during the Victorian era only those who were very wealthy could afford to buy a new dress for their wedding day. If they got a dress that could never be worn again (do you know how hard it is to clean white?) they were seen as particularly well off. Clearly, laundering has changed and now anyone can afford some type of white dress.

A white dress was then warped into a symbol for purity and virginity. Ahem. Those brides who make it down the aisle still virgins are rare. So rare in fact, that most of them would be wearing black to symbolize how impure they are. However, I’ve been informed that black is a completely unacceptable colour for a wedding dress. Not that I didn’t put in the good fight for it. I tried really hard to work out someway in which it would be acceptable to those involved that a black cocktail dress would be the best option for me.

After being lectured by my mother, told by my future husband it symbolizes a funeral, and generally given that “You are crazy” look by all of my close friends I was forced decided to give in and get a white dress.

White/Ivory/Cream – all the same on a tall, pale, curvy girl. It’s just not a flattering colour. As it is, I’m the whitest white one can be. Put me in a giant white dress and I become completely washed out. Then we have the problem with the length. I’m already a giant at 5’10 – a long white dress makes me look taller. Normally, I would also get the added effect of looking leaner, but nooooo – white makes sure that every bump, curve and problem area is accentuated. Then I have the problem that almost every wedding dress is meant to enhance the chest… and well… with a chest like mine I really don’t need it to be enhanced, it does fine on its own.

Wedding dress shopping is its own separate hell which I will detail later. I will say that at one point I was in near tears surrounded by a pile of wedding dresses that made me look tall, fat and pale. It was not a fun, magical experience for me. At no point did I feel like a princess, all special and gooey inside because I got to wear a white dress. But, then again, I’m not one to have those feelings anyways so perhaps I was never going to feel like that.

My point of this post is that this notion of a white wedding dress is outdated. I didn’t really want one but found that when I explored other avenues it wasn’t accepted (In North America) to wear anything but. There were three exceptions to this rule: Elopement, second weddings and being the “groom” at a lesbian wedding but since I’m part of none of those it wasn’t ok. This of course crosses into a bigger issue about weddings and how brides are supposed to act – which will be the subject of my next post.

 Oh, by the way I’ve chosen my wedding dress and lemme tell you – I do look fantastic in it. I was able to find something that corrected all my issues – well I won’t be able to breathe the day of my wedding but really that seems to be an overrated vital function anyways.


Wedding Nonsense

I am the centre of the universe.

While I’ve always suspected that my awesomeness made the world turn, I now have absolute proof. I’m planning a wedding and the world revolves around me and my decisions. Type of dress, flavor of cake, amount of food, colours, schemes, themes, venues, etc. all comes down to one very simple question:

“Well, what does the bride want?”

I can see how easy it would be for someone to get so caught up in this that your relatives start calling you bridezilla behind your back. Especially when given an awesome venue (hello, rich relatives with their pretty country estate) and unlimited funds (thanks Daddy!) the world seems to open up and bow to your every command.

In theory, I like it. I like it a lot.

You see, I’m the type that could easily and happily take charge of many situations. When I ask you “Well what do you think?” or “Where do you want to go?” I’m only doing it because society has taught me that “We think this” and “We are doing that” is impolite. I always know where I want to eat. I always know where I want to go. I am a girl who knows.

That all being said, as much as I enjoy calling all the shots I’m also getting really sick of having to deal with the details. Thinking back, I’m not entirely sure I understood what a wedding was when I agreed to get married.

The day after I was engaged – officially engaged with a ring and whatnot because we had known for years we’d some day get married; and then I knew for a few months before he proposed that the engagement ring fund was at an adequate level for my extravagant tastes (Canadian extravagant is like American moderate – just so ya’ know) – I purchased a wedding planning book. This book details every.possible.detail. one might need for their wedding. It was during the first reading of this book I realized I wasn’t exactly bride material. As much as I like being the centre of attention and making decisions I hate all of these ridiculous traditions brides are supposed to sign up for. What’s worse is that EVERYONE knows the formula for a wedding and has been asking me repetitively about such things.

So in honor of this, I have decided to start a series (along with my regular incoherent rambling) detailing what bothers me about weddings.

Tag: Wedding Nonsense

I promise to post my first rant tomorrow.