Archive for September, 2008
I’m a Mrs. Finally. No more planning, no more ribbon, no more lunch trips to Hobby Lobby or Hancock Fabrics. No more RSVP crap. No more drama. Hallefuckinlueiah.
I’m still not in the right place to write about everything, but I do feel the need to write about the one horrible thing that happened on our big day. Although I had no clue all day, I found out from my new husband after we were settled in our hotel for the night that the reason my grandparents on my biodad’s side didn’t come was because my grandmother died early that morning. The date on her death certificate and headstone will forever be the same as our wedding date. It was hard enough knowing that the five month anniversary of Grandma V’s death was approaching, and I cried that day that she wasn’t there. But I was angry at Grandma D for not being there. I thought she and Grandpa were still upset about biodad’s name not being on the invitation. So I spent the entire day wondering why the hell they didn’t care enough to be there for me. Now I have so much guilt that it’s hard to get out of bed most days.
On the one hand, I’m mad at myself and feel extremely selfish. On the other hand, I’m angry and upset that, after all the months of work to have a wedding I never wanted, our anniversary will forever be associated with such an unhappy event. Had we eloped, we would have done it much sooner and I would have been here for the funeral. And that feeds the guilt and makes me feel like a horrible person. At the same time, I feel terrible for my new husband, who is incredibly and touchingly overjoyed by being married. He told me that he wishes I could feel his happiness because he has never felt closer to me than he does right now. I love that he feels that way, but I hate that my grief is deadening the joy of our newfound married status.
I’m overwhelmed with these feelings. But there are two stories I’d like to share because they are the two things that bring me solace:
- When I was in 10th grade, Mr. Jake Jacquin was my English teacher and he gave an extra credit assignment that has turned into the greatest gift my family could ask for at this moment. I can’t remember the exact assignment parameters, but the resulting product was a videotaped interview between me and Grandma and Grandpa D. In this interview, I asked them to tell me all about their lives growing up, how they met, how they lived, where they moved to and what is different about life now as compared to back then. Right after I was told she died, I immediately remembered this assignment and wondered where the tape had gone. We left for our honeymoon before I could do any searching. On Monday, biodad was searching for video clips of Grandma to use at the visitation and was having a hard time finding anything useable. He said a prayer and within a few minutes, found an unmarked minicassette. Upon watching it, he discovered my assignment. Everyone had forgotten about it – biodad couldn’t remember filming it and Grandpa doesn’t remember participating. Nonetheless, it was shown at her visitation and brought great comfort to our family. And in a way, it allowed me to be there when I was hundreds of miles away. I wish I could find Mr. Jacquin to thank him for making such a profound assignment, but he retired after that year and moved to southwest Missouri. No one seems to know how to find him.
- When Grandma died, my aunt remembered a conversation she’d had with her a few months before. Grandma had told her that, although her organs could not be donated due to her advanced diabetes and hypertension, she would like to be a tissue donor when her time came. Luckily, my aunt mentioned this and my grandpa consented to the donation. As a result, we have found out, fifty people have benefitted. FIFTY PEOPLE were helped by this one tragic loss. No matter your religious beliefs, the bottom line is that you can’t take your organs with you when you go. I can’t even begin to explain how it feels to know that at least some good has come from something so dark. If you are a donor, and please seriously consider becoming one, make sure that your license says it AND that your family and friends know. When the time comes, someone has to give final consent. If they don’t know your wishes, you run the risk of them refusing. Death is terribly sad; knowing that a death has helped someone who might otherwise have died as well brings a bit of comfort and sense to an otherwise overwhelmingly dark time. If you are reading this, I ask for one favor. Tonight, tell your spouse, parents, siblings or someone very close to you that you want to be a donor. Even if you’ve told them before, remind them. You never know when you or someone you love may need the gift of life. Think of what a donor would mean to you in that situation…wouldn’t you like to someday give that gift as well? I would. I am an organ donor. And I know of 50 people who are glad my grandmother was as well.
In loving memory of Melba. I’m sorry I took you for granted. I hope you know how much I love you.
No, I know how I lost my virginity. It’s my soul that I’m currently missing…
I don’t know exactly when it went missing, but I had to have been born with one, so I’m guessing I lost it within the last 20 years. The first six seemed pretty soulful. But now that it’s gone, I want it back. At least for a while. I can always just sell it later on ebay…
Seriously…I know I’m a little (lot?) crazy, but the wedding planning has proven that I have no soul. I’m getting hitched in 5 days…FIVE DAYS, and I’m not even the least little bit excited. Stressed? Oh hell yes. I love my fiance, but he has been 92.73% USELESS this entire time. He hasn’t been at his new job for a year yet, so he doesn’t get paid time off…meaning that he can’t take any more time off than the week for the honeymoon…meaning that ALL the final details fall on my shoulders. Like all the initial details and big ideas did…except the one that landed us in this mess, which was the big idea to have a wedding in the first place.
What did the reverend say to the melon? You cantelope.
I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how many times that joke runs through my head every single day. Some days I wake up saying “can’t elope, can’t elope” over and over again in my head. As horrible as this sounds, I actually harbor resentment towards my future husband for insisting on having the wedding and dumping all the work on me. That’s the worst thing that possibly could have happened, but here we are.
Normal girls with souls ADORE weddings. They smile and squeal and glow when the subject is broached. I, on the other hand, wince and ask that we never speak of it again. I have asked my entire office to pretend like nothing is happening and to stop asking me if I’m nervous, excited, ready, stressed, etc. I’m pretty much just pissed about the whole thing. Would someone with a soul really feel that way? I think not.
Here’s why I’m not cut out for this shit: I’m a perfectionist and I work in the graphic design industry (on the writing side, but I still do press checks). That means that I am trained to see flaws in everything. As a pessimistic perfectionist by nature, this training is to the detriment of anyone who attempts to help me with anything. I feel like a failure if every little detail is not just so…and I hate being so picky. I am incredibly grateful for the help I received from my friends and family through all of this, and incredibly sorry that I have been such a baby about it all.
My family keeps telling me to stop stressing and enjoy this final week. This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life, and yet, not even the thought of finally being married can bring a smile to my face. The thought of punching a few of the groomsmen does, but that’s another story. I feel like I don’t even know who I’m marrying. This last week or so has been fraught with arguing, and I’ve been so busy that we haven’t had much time together. Mr. T spent the whole of yesterday praying to the porcelain gods, so he was anything but helpful.
I’m tired, I’m broke, I’m so busy I can’t get my head to stop spinning and I’ve been puking after almost every meal. And I’ve got the squishy poo…I upgraded from full-on hershey squirts yesterday, but my plumbing still leaves a lot to be desired. If it’s not coming up, it’s shooting down, and I’m tired of cramps and headaches. The worst part…my heart is breaking that Grandma isn’t here. If she could just flip me the bird one more time, I’d be so happy. But no…I’m spending my last few days of preparations picking out which picture of her I want on my bouquet and next to the memorial candle. It’s not fair. If I’m this emotional five days out, how am I going to survive the actual day?
I want to be happily in love, excited about my wedding and not mourning the loss of my favorite person. Is there a drug for that? If so, could you drop some by my house? Maybe I should eat some catnip, that always seems to perk Kitty right up…
Please come back to me. Just for a couple of weeks. It’s okay if you wait until tomorrow night to return – I understand that my undercarriage resembles some sort of mutant wildebeast, but that will be resolved tomorrow at seven. And when you come back, please bring Xanax. Trust me, you’ll be glad you did.
If karma’s a bitch, apparently so am I. Ah, fuck it. I just hope I make it to my wedding day in one piece with a few less scratches, open wounds and bug bites. Not that I’m not usually a little accident prone, but lately things have gotten out of hand.
Last Tuesday, after playing volleyball and acquiring several new bug bites, I came home and went outside to give my pooch some much-needed attention. I know he’s been love-deprived lately, but things are just so busy! He’s apparently a little bitter because he sucker punched me in my face. He’s got some claws for sure, but he also had insanely strong doggy fingers, so I’m really glad he didn’t rip my eye out of its socket. As I ran inside to inspect the damage, he decided to step on my foot for good measure. Ouch! He did scratch the surface of my eyeball and my face, but that has all healed nicely.
Fast forward to my insanely fun bachelorette partaaaay on Saturday. After a delish dinner at Trailhead Brewery, the gang loaded into a giant school bus (we requested the short bus, but they wouldn’t oblige) and headed to the Grey Fox Pub for some drinks and drag. The first queen comes out into the audience to collect dollar bills. I hold up five from my friends and she leans over for me to put it in the top of her dress. I stuck it in, she grabbed my head, shoved it into her manly bosom and shimmied. Her dress was covered in sequins and now I have five scratches on my upper left cheek. Collateral damage from a drag show? Awesome. It’s already healing, so I’m not too concerned.
Then we decided to take a day long float yesterday. My dumb ass didn’t want to wear tennis shoes in the river and we couldn’t find water shoes, so I hopped in the river to cool off wearing my flip flops. That obviously didn’t work out well – I lost a flip flop and stepped on something sharp, which embedded itself into the bottom of my right foot. I can seem to get it out, it hurts like a motha and I have to walk with a slight limp to compensate for the inflamed area. I’m pretty sure it will heal, but WTF?
I’m just curious what I did to bring about this odd and funny sequence of events. Like I said, regardless if I gimp down the aisle with a face full of drag wounds, I will ultimately be married to my Mr. T. That’s all that really matters, so what the hell? Bring it on, Karma Chameleon. I’ve got the sprinkler loaded and waiting. It’s hammer time.