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A Real Day Off

Every day after work I get back on the computer and continue to work. Every weekend I work. Trying to fill every moment with reaching my goals. Once in awhile my partner and I have a day off together and I'm forced to just relax.


Pasta for Thanksgiving

Third and final part of the elopement. Pasta for Thanksgiving: Or Why I'm so Weird About Traditions. Just because we wave off our elopement as no big deal, doesn't mean we're completely emotionless about it, or each other.


E day

Part 2: If the wedding is supposed to be all about the couple, then that's how we made it. No pressure, no fuss, and the least amount of stress possible. Just how we wanted it.


Weekly Update: Week 3

Lately, things have seemed to pile up on my plate, or more literally, my Trello board. Sometimes it feels like I'm slacking on everything and none of my projects will ever get done.


Hopeless Romantic...less

I've been a hopeless romantic for about as long as I can remember. My Pinterest wedding board is perfectly planned out to include everything from the venue to hair style. The day has been detailed over and over again in my head, usually without a particular husband in mind. As well as how one would go about proposing to me. And potentially overly dramatical expressions of love from crushes. Maybe even different formats of how these crushes could devote their love for me. Just in case. One must be prepared with a potential love story for every possible occasion so that you'll be prepared with how to react.

And yet, I live a happy life mostly free of these hopeless fantasies. My partnership just sort of developed into the love that it is. Without the dramatic explosions and devotions. It was easy and just sort of grew. And now that I really know what real gestures of love are, I find myself caring less about the dramatic ones and more about the seemingly insignificant ones. So the idea of this grandeurs wedding, where everyone looks at how beautiful I am or at how in love we are, has slipped away.

Although it's also partly due to the fact that my ability to plan things has completely abandoned me. Only a few years ago, I was the one to plan the events. I was the head of clubs or service projects and signed me and my friends up for charity events. In years past, I forwarded an email along to two friends and next thing you know we're watching elderly folks compete in swimming competitions. Or even spending our hard earned Saturday morning hung over, digging holes in the ground for needy dogs to have fences. But it was a go go go lifestyle, and now I just want to sit and do something by myself. Which works out well because I would get stressed about others not participating in my planning correctly.One such instance I was planning a surprise party. But not just any surprise party. I decided to make one of my dedications as a maid of honor a surprise party. Being that this was not only a big event but a potluck- thanks to my poor college budget, I needed to know people would actually show up. I couldn't turn up with friends in tow to an empty room and a platter of crackers. The month leading up to the event I sent out the e-vite, expecting a decent response and a wonderful event. I got nothing. No one responded. Now I was dedicated though. This was an event with a date and location. To the slackers that were really coming, but didn't say so, I would have to still do something. But as far as I knew no one was coming. In a panic, I emailed the group, not only begging them to respond but explaining my need. "This party is going to be a pathetic shit show, please respond." Then a more urgent, "If I need to cancel I will, respond or it's all over." Eventually, it got to the point a few people RSVPed. One wonderful gentleman though took the time to respond that he didn't know the couple, and would like for me to leave him the fuck alone. I also politely responded. "Thanks fucker for being so kind to an obviously stressed out young woman. Though, you brilliant jackass, you could have easily said no to email number one and never heard from me again."  Somehow more people showed up to the actual event than RSVPed. I gained about 10 gray hairs from this event alone, but no new friends.

This all meaning, that I would have made one horrible bridezilla. Things should be done a certain way. Like you should respond to my god damn evites when I email 5 times. Weddings 'should' be done a certain way. You don't want guests waiting too long while you take pictures. You don't want the food to suck, or make people cut with plastic little knives. So for the sake of the actual partnership, there will be no wedding.

And in the end, who was the wedding really for? The guests, or the people actually getting married. It was a single woman's dream of being the center of attention and impressing all these people with her wonderful life. Now the attention has been focused, rightly so, on the purpose of the marriage, and not painstaking planning over colors of napkins and down payments.

Fittingly so, that moment of 'this could be the one' was also highly unromantic. Not only was my partner staying with me in a twin bed. But we shared this tiny room with two cats. This included a kitty litter box and food bowl. The first would be scratched all to hell the whole night as my cats tried, in vain, to cover their feces with the actual plastic of the litter box. And the second would catch the tiny remains of the food as it fell from the elderly cat's mouth as she munched on the kibble. To a person to claimed to not like cats because of their "whole cat like essence", this was a bit much. But either the sex, or the pure wonder of my company, had him spending the night each night, squished up against the wall to make room for me, and of course, a cat.

This particular morning, the elderly cat decided she needed to clean herself on my carpet. Being old and blind, she simply drug her ass across it as a dog would. But this morning, it was a sizable chunk. I was standing near my dresser as my partner stood up. Not thinking anything of it, I looked away. But he froze. With one deep breath, in he informed me he had stepped in shit. Every fiber of my body froze and waited for the imminent freak out. What normal, animal-less, human wouldn't be freaked out by cat shit. Already my mind was racing with how to apologize, how to quell his anger, or how to get the poor cats out of the way. Just as I opened my mouth to instruct him to sit and let me clean off the foot for him, he began to waddle to the bathroom, dirty toe stuck in the air as not to further blemish my floor. There was no scream, no anger, not even an upset word. He simply washed it off and moved about his day. And I thought "damn, this could be it."

Back then I still had my active Pinterest board, loaded up with goodies, and a new plan of how he could propose. It involved a boat, tons of people, and a beautiful video. But now, it's different. Now I don't want all that shit. We don't need that extra stress. It's not about anyone but us, and these damn cats. And that's pretty romantic after all.