When I got married, one of my oldest friends wrote on her card, “I am so glad you married someone so cool!” When she got married a year later, luckily I felt the same way. I know we’ll be friends for a long time, because I think she married someone that brings out the best in her, and she’s making happy life choices as a result.
I wish all of my friends fell into this category. Keep reading »
Looking back on my wedding planning, I realize how many of my decisions were to make other people happy. My day was special and I felt like the star of the show, but I had to make sure that I stayed in budget so my dad wouldn’t have an aneurysm, that the menu wouldn’t trigger any allergic reactions from my guests, and that the band’s play list would make for a party to remember. But when it came to the honeymoon, there was nobody to think of except me and my new husband, and the closer we got to the wedding, the more I couldn’t wait to get out of town. Endless time for sex, zero calls about headcounts, and did I mention tons of sex? I totally began to understand why people elope. Keep reading »
When I met the cute blue-eyed surfer who lived in my apartment building—we’ll call him Max—we clicked immediately. I’m a workaholic by nature, but I set aside my writing while he and I stayed up until dawn in fits of side-splitting giggles, thumbing through photo albums, playing music and talking—about everything. Politics, religion, sex—nothing was off limits. He even told me about his ex-girlfriend. She was eight years his senior and ready for marriage and a family. At 25, he wasn’t.
Keep reading »
Bad Band. Jew Joker. Sandwich. The Brute. AwwMike. Babycheese. My laundry list of discarded loves reads like a storyboard of comic book villains, each nickname a clue as to their respective fatal flaws. Anyone who knows me well knows I have a history of dating men who are wildly inappropriate for me. It’s been a quirk I myself was willing to accept, further proof of my fun-loving, devil-may-care spirit (this despite the days and weeks of sobbing and agonizing over wholly ridiculous relationships when they inevitably ended). Keep reading »
I was always pretty resistant to marriage, but—because I looked up to my mother so much, because we were so close, and because I felt that she presented to me such a healthy version of both motherhood and long-term love—I ached for a traditional family. Now I’m almost 30, I recently celebrated my three-year wedding anniversary, and my husband and I are trying to have children.
This worries me. Keep reading »
Lisa Linehan, 35, is getting married on February 15, 2011.
Most of the wedding’s details are already set — she’s picked out the venue, chosen a DJ, and narrowed her gown possibilities to four lucky finalists. There’s just one thing missing: the husband-to-be.
Lisa, a singer-songwriter, has neither a fiance nor a long-term boyfriend. She intends to find her soul mate through what she’s calling “Project Husband,” a venture sponsored by Dallas’s local CW affiliate. She’s even written a song about it — “I Want to Get Married.” Read more … Keep reading »
Here is a list of people who really, really, really want to see me engaged:
- Me. (Obviously.)
- My boyfriend, who is saving money for an engagement ring. (Although you probably know more about that than I do.)
- My mother. (Who, every time she sees him,
badgers offers to help him pick the aforementioned ring out.)
- A Roman Catholic priest whom I was seated next to at my girl friend’s wedding this weekend.
Now. Guess which person made me burst into tears on Saturday night, snatch my purse, and storm off in a blind rage? Keep reading »
In a new post, “The Older Child,” blogger Heather Armstrong, better known as Dooce, seems to suggest that her eldest daughter no longer wants her mother to blog about her, at least not without her permission. Which begs the question: Should so-called “mommy bloggers” be able to blog about their kids without their kids’ permission? Keep reading »
Three years ago, I went to a friend’s wedding in California. My boyfriend at the time (eventually my ex-fiance) got so drunk that he passed out on the side of the road as we made the trek from the reception to the after-party. I had to take M. back to our hotel and ended up missing all of the late-night festivities. When we broke up a year later, one of the more strangely profound resentments I felt was that he’d ruined that evening for me; I should have been celebrating, not taking care of him. Keep reading »