marriedgirl

Posts Tagged ‘Wedding Industry’

Allow Me to Have A Moment of Listing in Third Person

In Getting Married, Main, Random Fantasy Land, Relationship on January 29, 2009 at 10:53 am

MG had a bunch of things to write about this week, except that they were all sort of mini blogs in the making, and concerned about the bunch of trash that already floats about in cyber-space, she decided instead to make a List of her mini blog items so that y’all could enjoy it all in one easy-to-read centralized location. Quick wins, all around.

(Can you tell MG works with a bunch of corp-jargon-speaking dunderheads?)

1) MG was having a SHIT week last week. SHIT I tell you! Work sucked, and she’s not sure if she mentioned this, but work really sucked last week. So much so that the Kleenex Ad where the red-head types in “Touch I Touch Q Touch U Touch I Touch T” was something out of her own life last week.

2) MG, being the sneaky controlling crazy Lady Friend that she is, has had His Gmail password for a few years now. While she rarely checks His email, she happened to do so last week. And she, er, stumbled upon photos of none other than…*dun dun dun*…The Rock. On someone else’s ugly-ass hairy finger. And she means hairy.

Once MG stifled the red hairy monster growling “MINE” in baritones of fury, and stopped seeing the world in filters of red, she quickly realized that Him and her had had a deal- she could read his email, as long as he had already read it first.  But what on earth was a normal girl like her to do? It said “Diamond Ring” in the subject line! How could anyone resist reading that particular email!?

The only option left, sadly, was to be super-sneaky and hit the “mark as unread” button and pray that He didn’t realize that she’d snooped.

You know that old saying? The one where they say “eavesdroppers hear nothing good about themselves”? Let me paraphrase that; “email snoopers read nothing good about themselves.” Now that MG had seen the ring in pictures, she wasn’t sure if she liked it. It was not a typical engagement ring style and the rock itself seemed to have a flat shape that she couldn’t get her Harry Winston loving head around.

Stop gasping already, it gets better.

But having a night to sleep over it, MG stalked through the email again, and realized, stupidly, that she’d only really looked at the first picture.  As she looked through the other pictures she realized, slowly, that she kinda, actually, sorta liked it. But she wasn’t sure. And so she closed the email and tried to erase the guilty images in her head, and tried to forget that she’d sent him an email, long long ago, of the sort of design she’d like. And she did tell Him to surprise her. It would probably look awesome on her finger. Manicured and lotioned or not.

3) At the airport last week, MG gave up on trying not to be a silly bride-to-be, stifled her guilt at selling out, and bought a copy…of Brides. Yes. Brides. That cream-puff publication filled with pages and pages and pages of gowns and make up and jewelery.  The entire wedding industry in one glossy 700 (seven! hundred!) page package. She girded her loins, gave her chest a much needed upward push, and prepared herself to become none other than the Bride of Zilla herself, and opened the damn thing.

Surely, she reasoned, that reading so much about frills and fripperies and something old and something blue, would turn her into a controlling freak of nature.  “YOUR IDEA BOOK” screamed the cover. “CELEB MARRIAGES” screamed another. (“Oh yeah, RIGHT!” she chuckled to herself. “What normal person would take that story seriously?!”).

Alas, about 5 pages in, MG wearied of the ivory white dressed apple cheeked maidens, and fell asleep (remember, she had had a SHIT week at work), and forgot the thing in the airplane. What a waste of $6.

4) MG was talking to one of her unofficial bridesmaids last night, a lady that just joined grad school, when she got the earth-shattering news. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to make the wedding.”

When MG replied with…utter silence, the UoBM went on hurriedly. “I will make this up to you. I will be there, for your anniversaries. For the birth of your children.”

MG, struck dumb by spasms of upset, replied in her best impression of fifteen-year-old-high-school-girl dramatic fashion. “I can’t pretend that I’m not upset. But I realize that you can’t help it.”

And then came on here to write an anguished blog about friends and being the Bride of Zilla. And the moment she took a deep breath between feverish typing, she realized there might be another way.

“You could…maybe..miss a week of class?”

And MG was delighted to learn that the UoBM had actually not thought about that at all and would be willing to try that out.

Compromise, MG decided, is something that needs to be the first reaction, not emotional angst. It is a wedding, for chrissakes, not a…shoot, there seems to be no comparable analogy…oh! A Life/Death situation.

And MG realized also, that just because the UoBM wouldn’t be attending the wedding, maybe, didn’t make her any less of a friend, or that she wouldn’t be a part of the wedding either, because ten IMs later, UoBM said…”so, we’ve been talking about your bachelorette party. Where do you want to go?”

And that reduced MG to happy excitement again. Silly, she knew, that such a little thing could be such a big deal to her, but it made her feel like someone cared…cared enough to plan something for her. In Mexico.

5). MEXICO! That is all.

Perspective

In Getting Married, Main on January 23, 2009 at 2:01 pm

Wow, this has truly been a Crap Week.

So much so, that I bought a copy of Brides last night, and ate a whole four-finger Kit-Kat bar in one sitting. It’s funny how everything wedding-planning seems so trite, cliched and useless when your job feels like misery, and you can’t see any sort of future with your current place of employment. Perspective is definitely something that popped in this week.

What a useless day, and what a waste of week in my now ephemeral single days!

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!

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