Little Bride and the happy Groom

Today is a wedding day.

Not *my* wedding day of course. My doppleganger is getting married. It's funny that I think about it that way, because I only met my doppleganger because she decided that she liked my friend Pat enough to date him. And my friend Pat is one of the first people I met when I moved to Texas a million (or 8) years ago.

Pat was sort of my boss, just like Dan was sort of my boss, at this haunted house in Allen, TX where I learned that I just can't be inside a haunted house without screaming--even if I'm the one supposed to be doing the scaring. So I worked in a part of the...house, except it was outside, so it was more like a park with several haunted attractions. Anyway, I worked in a part where we loaded people up into big open trailer things on the back of pick-up trucks & drove them around the woods for a bit while they shot paintballs at monsters. It was actually pretty fun, except for the time I got shot by accident.

Anyway, Pat & Dan were good buddies and they eventually stopped thinking of me as my brother's little sister and I got to be my own person, and they introduced me to their friends, and ta-da! I made friends in Texas. Pat & Dan are my staples, my go-to guys. They can get anything done... or blown up.

Many years later, Pat met Lisha. Well, actually, I don't know when they first met, as they have a mutual friend, but many years later, Pat brought Lisha to a Christmas party that I attended and I met Lisha. Ok, another 6' redhead with a weird L name? Awesome! And she is. Just like when Dan got married all those years ago, somehow his wife became just as good and close a friend to me as he is. Same with Pat & Lisha. I met Pat, and got a Lisha. Pretty good deal if you ask me.

Pat is... he's not one to gush and squee and run around like a chicken sans head. He's a planner, even if the plan is just, "Show up, do stuff, go eat." His wedding is like that too. It's organized, but there's plenty of room for things to go sideways and everyone will still be just fine. He's got the important part nailed down--at the end of all of this, he'll be married.

So today, Lisha is a little bride. A 6' tall redhead with hair down to her hiney, in a beautiful & classy gown--who embroidered her own handfasting cloth. There will be a reading about dinosaurs, and one where multiple references to prostitution had to be edited out for the sake of one 87 yr. old grandmother. Her 19 month old godson will be led by his parents down the aisle as a ringbearer, and the flower girl is 5, blonde, and too cute for words.

That's the wedding part.

The real good stuff comes after. The marriage part. I love the way Pat & Lisha love one another--there's lots of laughter and fun and waffles. I can't wait to see where married life takes them, but hopefully no farther than Plano. I like having them nearby!

Melissa Muhlenkamp of Squawk Box Design took this fabulous picture--it suits them perfectly!

5 years

Five years ago, I was doing this:

I won't say it was the best day of my life, because there have been many more amazing days since, but it was the start of something. We dated for 9 months then had a ridiculously long (16 month) engagement, so we were... ready! Or at least eager. We hard a hard first year, and the second year was better and the third year was good with a patch of really awful that thankfully didn't last too long, then four and five have been pretty much wonderful. We argue. We fail to communicate effectively. We disagree and have unmet expectations. We sometimes feel like we have nothing in common. But that's not true. We have quite a bit in common, not least of all that we both believe that what keeps us together is the grace of God--the ability to forgive and to love selflessly. Not perfectly, and not all the time, but consistently. We find new ways to laugh all the time, and I think that's really our primary love language: laughter. I'm looking forward to many more years learning and growing together.

That's my schmooby bit for today. I'm happier than I have words for and very grateful that I get to share my life with such a wonderful man.

TACOS!

If you've ever heard of the 5 Love Languages then you should know that my primary love language isn't actually listed. My primary love language is Tacos.

By which I actually mean the consumption of anything vaguely Tex-Mex with people I love.

For example, if I look at you and say, "Tacos?" what I really mean is, "I like you. I am experiencing one of the 7 levels of hunger*. I would like to spend time with you while consuming Tex-Mex type food which may or may not actually include tacos." I might instead exclaim "Tacos!" out of the blue. This is a battle cry meaning "I've had just about as much of this as I can take. Let us flee from these shenanigans to a magical land of avocados and pico de gallo where we shall banish the troubles of this place with copious quantities of cheese and corn." It's not universal in usage, but you get the point.

I not only love the fact that it takes a lot of the guesswork out of dining out with friends. Can't decide where to go? No problem! Just head for tacos. Obviously here in Texas that does create almost as many choices as it eliminates, but then you can decide based on proximity and quality.

"Tacos" can effectively encompass all the 5 love languages that Gary guy lists in one evening.

Quality Time--spend time eating tacos with me
Words of Affirmation--talk about life with me and reassure me that I'm not screwing everything up beyond recognition.
Acts of Service--make me tacos, or enchiladas, or empenadas, or tortilla soup, or nachos
Receiving Gifts--pick up the tab
Physical Touch--sit near me, hold my hand, but not the hand I need to eat tacos with

In the past two days, I've had tacos twice, though I ate enchiladas both times. It's not really about the food, though I do love tex-mex. I'm forever grateful to my friend Dan for teaching me the rule of tacos. No more endless dickering about where to go. Good times were only a phone call away. Whenever my bean-to-blood ratio was low, I could call him up, and we'd drive to that taco place off the highway, a chain restaurant like thousands of others across the country, but that one was ours. We chatted about life and growing up and moving across the country and love and fears and World of Warcraft and becoming rock stars. We'd play ninja games for the check and somewhere the rule developed that if you were able to pick up the tab 3 times in a row, the other person had to buy you jewelery... it's an awesome game! Now we go to a different taco joint, just a little farther north, and we bring our spouses and friends and we talk about different stuff, but it's still therapeutic.

If you happen to be one of the strange folk whom I don't understand in that they cannot, will not, or just plain don't enjoy tacos or other Mexican-ish food... well, find your own version of tacos. Maybe it's schnitzel, or spaghetti, or sushi...or fried chicken! Whatever it is, enjoy the beauty of taco therapy, whatever you call it.



*a post for another time

Girl School

The Man Card. 
Truth be told, I'm not sure what rights and privileges are associated with the thing, but I do know that expressing a lack of knowledge in certain areas will cause other men to revoke the holder's man card... To avoid this happening, go read up on The Art of Manliness.  I admit that even I enjoy reading some of the stuff there.  While I could care less than half a whit about how to tie knots in my fishing cord or shave like my great-grandfather, I do appreciate information on how to make a stellar cocktail, talk to bartenders and properly introduce guests to one another.

But I'm a girl, so enough about the Man Card.  There is a common concept amongst my friends about "Girl School."  That mysterious day in school when the boys were separated from the girls and they taught us all the feminine mysteries.  It was, in reality, quite disappointingly just an out-of-date film about bodily functions. 

In most references, we find ourselves lamenting that we missed a certain day in Girl School.  I, for one, missed the day where they taught the importance of matching your purse to your shoes.  I am a one-purse-at-a-time girl.  The current specimen is black, with lots of pockets, and enough room for the average paperback novel.  Stylish?  Not really.  I also missed the days on Haute Coture and Designer fashion.  I can't tell a Prada from a Coach from a Louis Vuitton, and I had to Google how to spell that last one.  I recently spent more than 2.5 seconds considering which shoes to wear with a certain outfit.  Not in a sophisticated "which style would look best and accentuate this ensemble to the fullest potential" kind of way.  In the "oh, do I wear black or brown?" kind of way.  I was shocked!  Color Coordination was one of my major areas of study in Girls School.  I only really dabbled in Application of Accessories, but I've taken several CE courses with qualified instructors* over the years.  Yet there I was, confused by the tan pants.  The only thing to do, once I realized I was wearing black accents and thus needed black shoes, was to go straight to the bathroom to reaffirm my girly-girl qualifications.  I was aces at make-up application and have worked hard to remain up to speed with trends and techniques.  I opened my ridiculous collection of colors and brushes, consulted my mental catalogue and pulled out a muted smokey eye suitable for day office wear with an understated, but flattering, red glossy lip.  I felt firmly feminine again.

There are lots of things that I missed in Girl School.  Sewing, Mending, and most forms of crafts involving needles, including knitting and crochet.  I scrapped by with a passing grade in Kitchen Witching, but have taken a few extra courses over the years that bring me up to snuff.  I couldn't pass Make Stuff Grow at all--not the Visual or Edible versions.  Arts and Crafts was a challenge--not because I lack the imagination or skill, but mostly because I lack the patience. I did pretty well at Freestyle Dance while failing quite miserably at most structured dances, due to an overabundance of enthusiasm paired with a devastating lack of coordination and discipline.  I did alright in Music, so long as the instrument is me, and not something else.  I'm currently working on my certification in Eyebrow Adjustments.  Storytelling, Make Believe, Dress Up, Shoulder to Cry On (and the follow up "Make Them Laugh Through the Tears), How to make a Hair Do out of the Contents of Your Purse--those I'm pretty good at.

I have, however, managed to surround myself with ladies who are good at all the things I am not.  Amazing cooks, bakers, hostesses, dancers, knitter, gardeners, seamstresses, milliners, skirt tuckers, eye-lash batters, save-the-world-with-a-bobby-pin-ers, and more.  If any of them happen to lack skills in Eye Make-Up Application, or Removable Jigga-Flern 101, I'm here to help.

Of course, The Art and Power of Being a Lady is so much more than fashion and accessories.  To sum up, a quote from that lovely book: "Being a lady is an attitude.  It's about being content with ourselves and confident in our abilities.  It's about feeling good and about looking good, too. But mainly it's about doing good."

So all the primping and preening and prepping goes into creating at atmostphere of confidence and joy.  We feel good, because we look good, and so we want to do more good for those around us.  We help our friends look and feel their best on their worst days.  We cook and craft gifts for holidays and Tuesdays and because we heard a song on the radio that reminded us of someone we love.  We lend hands and care for pets and plants when friends are out of town.  We entertain babies.  We loan out our husbands for heavy lifting and making of stuff with wood and glue and saws and nails.   Our hands are eager to help, however and wherever needed. 

That's the real magic of Girl School.  Whatever day you missed, whatever skill you lack, just look to your girlfriends.  They've probably got it in spades.


*An invaluable piece of advice, passed on to me by a good friend, comes from Coco Chanel (or so urban legend says).  When you're done, dressed, and ready to go--take one thing off.  That way, you'll never be too much, over done, or trying too hard.

Bowling For Soup sums up life

So, in a rather me-like burst of navel gazing the past few weeks, I remembered some things.

I was 4 when I realized I was fat. My belly was too big to wear a two-piece bathing suit anymore. I remember my two piece fondly. It was a pretty turquoise blue, with a heart sort of stitched on the top, or bottom, or maybe it spelled out I <3 you... something like that, but I loved that suit. No one used the F word. It was handled just like outgrowing any other piece of clothing, but I knew. I knew that I was chubby. It wasn't really a soul-crushing thing, just a fact of life. I was bigger than all my friends. Not everyone gets to wear all the clothes. Maybe that's the real lesson I learned that day. As a point of interest (to probably no one but my mom & I) I remember many of my favorite outfits from that year. A pink & purple OshKosh B'Gosh corduroy jumper (in the American sense of overall-type dress thing, not sweater) and the grey wool skirt & vest with red rick-rack trim that I wore when I graduated Kindergarten.


What? Even at 4, I was still me.

Once upon a dream...

Alright, it should come as no surprise to anyone that my favorite of the Disney Princess movies is Sleeping Beauty.  If you're surprised, go watch it again, and try to keep your shocked face in your pocket.

See, there are so very many things to love about that movie. 

First, it starts with a complete family.  Two parents and a new baby.  Yep, that's right!  Two parents!  A mom AND a dad... that's pretty unusual in Disney movies.  Prince Philip has two parents as well, so we're off to a good start.  Even though the Queens sort of mostly disappear and leave all the talking to the two dads... (We'll skip over the child betrothal part, because that's a historical thing, right?  Right.) I guess the extra ink for a second parent just isn't in the budget.  Wendy Darling & Princess Aurora are the only two that I can think of.  (Feel free to correct me in the comments, I'm leaving my allotted research time for this one completely dedicated to finding pictures of awesomeness.)

Second, there are fairies.  Flora, Fauna and Meriweather.  Yes, Flora is my favorite.  She's bossy, she's prissy, and she's pink.  Fauna is sweet natured and innocent like and a bit daffy.  Meriweather is sassy and a little rebellious, and blue.  They all sparkle, and fly.  I'll save my adoration for the last fairy until later.  Save the best for last, and all that.

I've never been asked by anyone if I wanted to marry them... just ask my husband

So, tomorrow, it will be four years since we said "I do" and danced & ate cake with lots of our friends and I got to wear a beautiful dress and generally had a good time.  So... I thought this the perfect opportunity to tell you how I killed romance.  Killed it dead.  And maybe danced on its corpse.

You see, to put things into a little better perspective before I get into the good stuff, here are the facts, as they stood early morning, May 1, 2005:

• Jeremy & I were dating (this is very important)
• We had talked about getting married some day (this also, pretty important)
• My parents, who at the time lived in California, were visiting Dallas for the weekend to see my brother, his wife, and me perform at Scarborough
• Jeremy & I carpool down to the festival with my former roommate Paula
• I didn't want a proposal that was a) in public or 2) at Faire.

Saturday, sometime after Faire or maybe before... in my head this brief conversation happens in a parking lot, and perhaps while loading or unloading Jeremy's car:


He: So, when can I get some time to spend with just you?
Me: After my parents go back home.
He: Really?  Can I have some time maybe Monday evening?
Me: Nope, spending time with my folks.  After all, they're only here for a few days.  You get to see me all the time, I don't get to see them.
He: uh...ok...


So, on Sunday, my folks are out visiting, and everything is great.  I'm having a wonderful day.  I show them my favorite shops, and this cute new one that was making the most adorable hand-carved wooden utensils.  Jeremy gave me flowers and we danced.  It was a great day!  Then on the drive home, Jeremy, Paula & I did our normal end-of-the-day questions.  Originally the questions were to help keep Jeremy awake while driving home, so Paula & I did most of the talking.  This day however, seemed different.