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Posts Tagged ‘omgimgettingmarried’

Unfinished Epiphany

In Admin Notes, Getting Married, Main on March 15, 2010 at 11:52 am

Editor’s Note:
This piece of blogging was started on an epiphany MG had in late January this year.  She started to write the thing, got distracted, left the blog for a month, and forgot what the epiphany was when she came back to finish the blog off. It’s left here as a monument to her scatterbrain mind, and for what enjoyment you, dear reader, may glean out of it.

Long before I got married last year*, life felt like it went into fast forward. Everything went by so fast- the planning, the painful weight-loss, the sending out of hundreds of save-the-dates and invites- that the sheer craziness of the frenetic pace didn’t sink in at all. The night of the wedding itself, even after all the religious rituals were completed, even as my mother shed copious amounts of maternal tears as if the world had suddenly rent asunder, all I could think of was mundane things: a) “I’m happy to be married to him at last,”  b) “Oh god, I’m glad I lost weight for this” and c) noticing a large digital clock somewhere on my way out of the wedding grounds, “it’s 3.23am already? That gives me about 6 hours of sleep before I have to get up for tomorrow morning’s festivities. Great! That’s more sleep than I’ve had all week!”**

It didn’t occur to me, in my everything-is-going-by-so-fast-don’t-think-just-do mode, to really think about what had just happened. I had gotten married. The enormity of it failed to hit me.  If I had looked any deeper that night, I would’ve probably thought no further than the upcoming honeymoon, the fact that my year-long diet was finally over, and that eventually, all my stuff needed to move to New York, to an apartment we had yet to find.

*Has it really become last year already?!
**Alas, it was not to be. Plenty of family traditions followed…I didn’t get to bed until 6.30 am that morning. Followed shortly by a wake up call at 9.30 from my dad. Hrrk.

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The Importance of Being Earnest

In Getting Married, Main, Why MG Isn't Updating on April 16, 2009 at 12:54 am

Confusion. Frustration. Anger. Annoyance. Insecurity. Misunderstanding after misunderstanding. General misery.

Primal Scream

Rock ‘n Rolla Part II

In Getting Married, Main on March 29, 2009 at 1:57 am

Were you wondering why I could talk about getting married without actually getting proposed to yet? Without, even, and some of you may have to sit down here, a ring that loudly declared His intentions?

Mayhaps you thought I was crazy? Or the Bride of Zilla? Or even, perhaps, deranged and the Bride of Zilla?

No? You’re just curious? Very well, you’ve come to the right place for an explanation.

In our, very Indian, very traditional, traditions, the actual engagement ceremony happens the morning of the wedding day.  This tradition, as explained by my mother, is actually rooted in a very efficient, and somewhat ruthless, line of thinking. You see, dear reader, the wedding day engagement ceremony is a rather practical way of saying “uh uh homeboy, you don’t get nothing unless you show up for the wedding!” This works pretty well for the groom as well, because there’s no question of giving a girl a ring that she’ll keep even if she decides to flail her arms, fling around her other expensive jewelery, and declare, somewhat screechily at best, (because God knows what bride-to-be isn’t screechy by the time she’s doing the arm-flailing) that “the Wedding is OFF!”

(Note that Indian tradition doesn’t allow for being ditched at the altar.  Probably because by the time the bride arrives in her forty pound dress, she’s too exhausted to run. As for the groom, he’s probably too scared of the thousands of bridal guests milling around looking suspiciously menacing. By the time he gets his act together, he’s already tied, literally, to the bride’s dress and taking seven holy circumnambulations around a fire.)

But even this tradition gets a circumvention. You see, as East met West, and dirty western ideas infiltrated the great Indian hive mind, Indians, such as myself, started, (and if you weren’t sitting down before, you may just want to do it now), dating.

Excuse me while I prepare to fend off total annihilation for using the word d*****.
…bated breath

.

.

… heartbeats…

.

.

.

…crickets chirping…

.

It is now five minutes later, and I haven’t been struck by lightning, destroyed by a well-wielded trident, nor has the otherwise endless cycle of karma sucked me in, having finally tempted the fates too much. I guess I can continue.

You see, dating, especially, in my family is looked upon as a dirty word. Dating is considered improper at best, and reputation damaging and virginity-destroying at worst.  (Remember, we’re Indian here, and a lot of times, girls shouldn’t have a bad reputation, lest they be considered damaged goods, and no good for sale in the meat markets.  A lot of this is unspoken, of course, and you’d only ever hear in low whispers about “she had a boyfriend” with suitable gasps of horror, and sad understanding nods all around, if you were to listen in to the gossip. Not that this applies to all Indians, by the way. A lot of them are far more liberal than my parents were/are. But that’s neither here nor there, so back to the topic at hand.)

In any case, lots of Indians date. But for us, to help our poor traditional parents cope with this loss of control in the marital fates of their beloved progeny, we unearthed the ancient art of dissembling, and voila, we unleashed… the Arranged Love-Marriage.

This strange creature, this hybrid of old and new, east and west, rises from the ashes of the old arranged marriage system. It gives parents some semblance of fitting into the matrix when their two unruly children have decided that secretly skulking around the topic isn’t enough, and that it’s time to announce that they do, after all, have a girl boy special friend, and that it may be time to meet them.

Of course, most parents in this situation realize that they would not be meeting a Special Friend if it was not serious, and being of South Asian mentalities, they say, well, this better be heading down a matrimonial aisle, capiche? Else it might lead to damaged reputations. (See Damaged Goods, above.) Happily, if former is the case, His parents meet Her parents, and astronomical charts and birth dates and times are pulled out from every corner of the ancestral homes. A wedding date is fixed, and voila, the couple is, officially, getting married.

All of this, of course, doesn’t really leave room for the big proposal that should have still been pulled off before the parents were officially told.  Alas, He was still in grad school, and not having a ring to pull it off with, He decided to put it off for the time being. After all, telling the parents was as good as proposing, wasn’t it?

And really, I’m not bitter nor cynical. Sure, I didn’t have the big surprise proposal. It matters not. I was spared all that hand wringing and apprehension that a lot brides-to-be seem to recall. “Will he? Won’t he?” seems almost to be a rite of passage into bridal bliss, sometimes, and honestly, I think I’m glad to have been spared that.

But that’s why, dearest reader, I am not deranged, nor am I dreaming up things that don’t exist.  Once He told his parents about us, it was always a question of how fast, and not “if”. He and I always knew we were going to end up married.  We knew it six months into our relationship. And now, almost six years later? Oh…my…god, we’re getting married.

New Year New MG

In Getting Married, Main on January 15, 2009 at 9:49 pm

Vacatione, pronounced “vacation-ay”, was, as you can imagine, warm, and sunny, and a perfect holiday. I didn’t do much. I ate, I slept, I dreamed of being married to Him. In the most non-sexual way of course. That is, until my period ended and then it was all very sexual. Of course.

In between my feminine wet-dreams, I also made a few New Year’s Resolutions.

Resolutione Uno:

To not be Bridezilla. As you will discover in a few posts from now, this one may be much harder to keep than it seems now, in the post-vacation resolute glow I’m in now. My greatest fear (aside from the standard losing a limb, suddenly discovering I’m allergic to cheese, the death of a loved one, discovering a huge zit on D-Day), however, is that I turn into this bridesmaid-ordering-around, nothing-is-perfect weight-throwing-around, glass-throwing wedding crazed crazy girl that destroys my wedding for everyone, including myself. My jaw set, my chin out, I resolutely declare to be anything but.

Dos:

To lose that weight. Ah yes, you nod your head sagaciously, what’s a blog about New Year’s resolutions, a marriage blog at that, without something as superficial as one’s looks?

But it’s important, people! This is the one time in my entire life, the one time, where I’m to be treated like a celebrity. Photographs every five seconds, dress fittings every ten. I cannot look fat! It is all very well to spout nonsense about looking like one’s normal beautiful self, as one is, but quite another thing to want to look the best one has ever looked. I want people to ooh and aah because I look fabulous.

And that fabulous, folks, was about 35 pounds ago. Yes, I’ve been working on it; this is not a fresh endeavor, so perhaps I should’ve modified the resolution to say “to continue losing weight in a healthy and sustainable way”. But that wouldn’t have sounded as good, yes?

I already, quite virtuously, ignored the monster-sized double chocolate chunk cookie at Quizno’s today. Even though I had even picked it up and was ::this:: close to adding it to my bill. I put it back, stared at it mournfully, felt virtuous for twenty minutes, picked up a cousin monster at Jimmy Johns.

No dinner for bad girls tonight.

Tres et Finalement:

To really, really, enjoy these last few heady months before my life changes forever. I go from unmarried girl to getting married girl to married girl in a matter of months, and life is never going to be like this ever again. I owe it to myself to step out of the bewildering planning, waiting, hoping moods I’ve been in, and really live during these next hundred or so days, committing everything to heart and memory.

It’s never going to be like this again.

And Isn’t It Ironic? Don’tcha Think?

In Getting Married, Main, Random Fantasy Land, Relationship on December 17, 2008 at 10:49 pm

There is something highly ironic about getting an international phone call about the color of the ring I want.

White gold or yellow. Over a $1/minute phone line.  Couldn’t an email have sufficed?

While we’re in a fight

While I have a high pressure, high intensity deliverable due in a half an hour. While I’m in one of the worst moods I’ve been in since June.

Again…ma-r-iage is a celebration>?!

And I still, after a minute of monosyllabic replies, said, “white”.While wondering to myself in a Sex and the City-esque manner; “if he really loved me, he’d already know I don’t want yellow gold!”

And then I promptly kicked myself, hard, as my feminist/logician leanings kicked in. “Why on earth would you expect him to know what color ring you want. He’s not telepathic. Don’t be one of those girls, Bride of Zilla!”

The now-chastened princess-fairy-queen still managed to get in a small-voiced whine. “But we’ve been dating five years. You would think he would know by now!

The now softening F/L said gently, “clearly, he doesn’t, are you really going to make a Big Deal about this? Is it worth it? Especially after all you two have been through?”

Well. It was hard to argue with that. And so, I went about my way, trying to get my work done, while trying not to be hurt, while trying not to bitchy and self-righteous about it.

And then he called. Again. And it was very hard to be the silent stoic type when he was going on about saying what he did because he was angry.

And so I let loose. With the worst possible thing I could think of.

I compared him to the Ex.

And that’s when he said good night. You see, selfish as I am, I wanted him to feel as bad as I did for his particular low blow. A little part of me was even exultant. Now he would realize how much he had hurt my feelings.

But then I promptly wanted to strangle myself. It was one of the lowest blows I could’ve come up with.  The Ex is a sensitive subject in our relationship, like most people.   So I said it. And now what? Quid pro quo? I felt, cliche of all cliches, worse than I did before.

He called back an hour later. And said “let’s forget about it”. And so we did, and tried to ease our way back into a semi-normal conversation, and ended on a happier note. “Would you prefer a bigger ring, or a ring with more color? Although I couldn’t really tell the coloring difference until they were under a microscope, honestly.”

*Chuckle*

Rock n’ Rolla Part I

In Getting Married, Main, Random Fantasy Land, Relationship on December 16, 2008 at 6:21 pm

So, I have yet to actually get a formal, knee bended, deep tender look into the eyes proposal of marriage, where once I whisper my frustrated horny love-filled “yes“,   he slips on the twenty-thousand carat sparkling platinum Harry Winston non-princess-cut* solitaire that fits oh so very perfectly on to my perfectly manicured finger, as I breathe out my dew like breath in tiny gasps, as my perfectly glossy pink lips form an ‘o’ of surprise, pleasure, and orgasm delight, while my gorgeous lotioned hand droops under the weight of said ring. “Oh” I will purr. “It’s so very heavy,” as I suck face kiss him passionately. “My new husband-to-be,” I will think to myself. “My other half.  My God. My Milky Way. My Universe. My Moment. My Dove. My… New…Everything.” And the violins swell, the Vienna Boys Choir hits a high note, and the pink clouds in front of the setting sun high on this warm plateau in this impossibly beautiful mountain top, under a vivid starry sky-to-be, turn even pinker with our combined joy as we begin our holy journey to becoming a whole and sacred Union. A Marriage. A Two Become One. A…what.the.fuck?!

There are many, many things wrong about this scenario.

Firstly, because He is in grad school and can’t, theoretically at least, afford a ring yet,there shall be no proposal, because there shall be no ring. At least until He receives his signing bonus. And then at least, there is a slight hope of a piece of diamond to give a home to on my caring, loving hand. But that, it seems, is a ways off right now. And Harry Winston? Twenty-thousand carats?  When hell freezes over.

In the movies, the heroine spends all her time up to the proposal guessing, and waiting, and wringing her hands in despair until the hapless hero gets his act together and finally, finally!, Proposes. And there is excitement and kissing and cries of “He Went to JARED!”. But that’s not the case here! There will be no surprise in this affair. We already know we’re getting married! Being proposed to now is like tube-icing on a pre-baked-from-the-grocery-store-cake. The cake is frosted already, folks! Icing is just extra, useless, calories now!

And what is with the girl being a wringer-of-hands and Scarlet O’ Hara incarnate? I’m no Genteel Lady. I know what I want and He’s got it. Dangling between his legs. That’s what she said. And we both went into this relationship with a long-term view. No starry-eyed-maiden I, I have never been the kind that treats marriage as a sacred anything. Except, perhaps, the sacred duty of making him do the damn laundry, for once.

Numberly, He and I have made a career out of being the goofy, loud-mouthed,  hormone-crazed couple. How does one go from Public Grope-Fest central to passionate, romantic, and something out of a early nineteenth-century novel set in Elizabethan England? Simple answer? You don’t! Else you’d both burst out laughing, and sacrilege of all sacrileges, ruin the moment. He, of course, takes it to a whole other level. “Baby, rings in glasses of champagne are so idiotic”. (I know!). “I’m just going to give you the ring in front of two hundred other people at a party or something.” (Gak!)

And I bite my nails! There will be no manicured lotioned hands . Knowing Him, he’ll roll over in bed one morning while I have peeling cuticles and dried saliva on the corners of my mouth, and ask me, whether I want my ring, finally. Honey-dew breaths?! More like, omg, get your mouth out of my face, dude.

Ok, so perhaps he wouldn’t be as bad as all that. In fact, He imagines himself as quite the romantic. I know there will be soft voices and tender looks, bended knees, and kisses for the books. But that.will.be.so.very.cliched. And me? I don’t do cliched! While I would pretend to be as awe-struck by the import of the moment, underneath it all, a very small part of me would be like, oh God, this is way too cliched. Yuck. What will I blog about now?!

In summary, being proposed to, I suppose, is one of the most overhyped, overrated, overcommercialized things out there. But underneath it all, the material-girl I-am-a-princess-fairy-queen/the-Wedding-Industry-Got-To-Me part of me does want a proposal, a ring, and a happy ending, (who doesn’t?), and He has been known to blow my mind occasionally, so perhaps my misgivings are, well, misguided. And the proposal will be Us.  And we will live hornily-ever-after. Perhaps. But I’m warning you. If it turns into that set of mush up above, well, God help me, you’ll never hear about it here!

The End.

But, but, but, you sputter. You’re missing the point here! How are you getting married without a proposal? How do you even know that He wants to get married??! You even started this blog with a name like Married Girl, and yet, you aren’t getting married? Or at least don’t have a formal declaration of ma-r-iage! Are you crazy?

Rock n’ Rolla Part II (Coming Soon): How it is that I’m getting married, without aforementioned proposal.
* Don’t even get me started on the American jewelery industry and the perfect princess cut ring. That may have to be an encore piece all by itself to this mini-series.

PS: Tiffany’s is for poor people. Yuck!

Nuts & Bolts. Mostly Nuts.

In Getting Married, Main, Relationship on December 11, 2008 at 7:15 pm

Registries?

Wedding Web sites ?

Are you kidding me?

What is all this nonsense surrounding weddings anyway?  Save the dates? Send an announcement to the newspaper for both your engagement and actual marriage?

And why is that I’m doing it all, while He gets away with doing nothing by providing the following cliched aw-inducing-now-irritating statement:

“Baby, I don’t care about any of these things, I just want you.”

Oh, very easy.

I call bullshit.

Oh, and doing it right now, after he said “you know what, I am getting married to a fat girl” last night after a very frustrated lash out by yours truly on the subject of hating the gym, seems so stupid. What are we celebrating? The union of these two souls?

I’m hurt enough that I’m questioning this wedding. Some union.

New York, New York

In Getting Married, Main, Relationship on December 10, 2008 at 4:50 pm

So, He decided to accept the job offer in New York. While He will be making serious G’s, and I will still be working before/after the wedding, He has serious student loans. So, for the first year, He will be using his Gs to pay off that loan, and I will be supporting the two of us for rent/cash/food/life.

This makes me very unhappy, not because of the supporting Him factor, because that I don’t mind (honestly!), but because I have to do this supportation in New York.  Where my money is going to mean nothing.  Which means a standard of living hit.

That makes me unhappy.

Remind me again why I’m getting married…

In Getting Married, Main, Relationship on December 9, 2008 at 3:15 pm

He uses far too much moisturizer, more toilet paper in a week than I use in a month and then refuses to change the roll when it’s on its last shreds, refuses to help me fold my laundry, even though helping me get through it would get me in bed faster, and less irritable because of the resulting lack of sleep.  He won’t even volunteer to do the dishes, even though there’s a fair half share of his dirty dishes there, and then has the nerve to act like I should plan better, even though I’ve been with him all weekend?

Suddenly, married life is looking very, very grim.

I’m Not Married Yet…

In Getting Married, Main on September 18, 2008 at 2:52 pm

…but this is going to be interesting.

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