Not the good kind, either.
Here's some more of the strange weirdness I wrote when I was fifteen. Tonight it will be short.
----------------
[Here we pick up in mid-paragraph. She just petted the dog's head.]
That day, Anya's parents were away shopping in the next town with her baby sister, so there was nothing to do. [Is anyone surprised at the potential child abandonment going on here?] Then, Anya remembered the woods. she had been wanting to explore them ever since she had seen them a couple of weeks ago. [For reals, what is with this family?] Those woods appeared to be the only good aspect of the move. [There is something wrong with these people.] And since there was nothing else to do [kudos to young me for totally thinking of the audience and reminding them of things over and over], Anya put on her shoes. [How exciting.] At least there's the woods, she thought. [THESE PEOPLE NEED A HOBBY.] Probably the only good thing about moving to this town. [*sigh*]
Anya walked out of the house and toward the woods [JUST IN CASE YOU FORGOT], with Tiki [he's her dog] following. She found a trail and followed it. [Maybe she'll find the bodies?] Anya loved to explore places just as her mother had. [Oh dangit, another one.] Perhaps even more so, and she had gotten lost more than once. [Mom was apparently the brains of the operation.] And every time that Anya had gotten lost had been slightly frightening. [No crap, Sherlock.] But still Anya loved to explore.
She strolled slowly [repetition just to drive the point across], looking around the woods [not even gonna bother here], and suddenly [DUNDUNDUN, or ELLIPSES!!!], though Anya had thought the path continued, she was in a clearing. A gray, dead looking clearing, filled with rocks, shriveled fruit on the branches of a gnarled, ancient tree, and some gray vines. [I actually like the way the tree sounds.] But, in a few seconds, the place brightened astoundingly [ASTOUNDINGLY GUYS], and everything in the clearing turned a slightly blue color. [The heck is "slightly blue"?] The wrinkled fruits plumped up and turned a deep, royal blue. [LSD is a heck of a drug.]
"Wow," Anya said in awe. This place had smelled old and stale; now it smelled good, but not a heavy, flowery smell. [Totes glad it didn't smell like old lady perfume.] Something fresh hung in the air, something like lemon, but earthier. [So Lemon Pine-sol, I guess.] Anya picked one of the fruits off the tree and inspected it. "It looks alright," she muttered to herself. [I knew the psychosis was a family thing.] So she took a small bite. [Because that's always a great idea.] The taste was wonderful; sweet, spicy, sour, cool, and oddly warm all at the same time. [Apparently it tasted like General Tso's Chicken.]
"Well, Tiki, we've found somewhere to go when we get tired of that house," Anya remarked to her dog. [Gee, Anya, bitter much?] So that day, she and Tiki stayed there in the clearing. they were playing with each other, jumping around, [what the heck kind of game is that?], when Anya tripped over a rock, turning it over, and fell. She sat up, laughing to herself, thinking how stupid that had been. [Good, because in real life, all of that that happening at one time would pretty much just, like, explode a human ankle.] But suddenly [DUNDUNDUN] there was a loud creaking noise, like some ancient, rusted door had just been opened once again. Anya got up and turned around. In front of her was a door. [Because we didn't see that coming.] Or a large hole in the shape of one, anyway. [So a door.] Beyond stretched a long, dark tunnel. Even though it gave her spine chills, Anya was curious. So she whistled for Tiki [and I don't know why, because he was literally right freaking there], and the two of them stepped inside.
----
Okay, that's all I can take for now.
Showing posts with label annoying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label annoying. Show all posts
Monday, September 10, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Keeping Up with Me (And a Preview!)
Okay, this 30 posts thing is harder than I thought it would be. I did write a chapter yesterday, and now I'm frustrated as to where it should go, because I don't like it much. It's literally hard to visualize, which usually means nothing good. Once a scene become tedious and boring to write, or a character stops speaking for long periods of time, when they started off well, I know that's just about the end for that scene or character. I recently dropped a character and I feel a little relieved.
I also feel a little spooked.
It's not a superstition thing. This character was just too easy to replace. Dropping her tightened the story up. Thankfully, none of my other characters have been able to shut up for the time being, so I'm happy. I now know where this chapter is going.
But writing this novel was so much easier when the whole thing was terrible.
Speaking of which, I think I'll post another excerpt tomorrow.
I need a good laugh.
I also feel a little spooked.
It's not a superstition thing. This character was just too easy to replace. Dropping her tightened the story up. Thankfully, none of my other characters have been able to shut up for the time being, so I'm happy. I now know where this chapter is going.
But writing this novel was so much easier when the whole thing was terrible.
Speaking of which, I think I'll post another excerpt tomorrow.
I need a good laugh.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Oh My Word, Here I Go...
*ahem*
When I was fifteen, I started writing a book.
It was bad.
Here is an excerpt, with commentary included. It serves as a warning to younger me, since twentysomething me is currently DeLorean-less.
-----
Years ago, on a farm just outside of a town called Coleville, in West Virginia [not a real place. I stole the name from combining a movie with the wrong way my last name is spelled all the time and I had not at the time ever been to WV.] there lived a girl named Susan Miltons [I'm really bad at surnames]. The Miltons family was a relatively small family, with one boy, Johnny, and two girls, Susan and Linda [I swear I stole the names from an American Girl book.]. their father was a very hardworking man who was absolutely delighted to provide well for his family. And the family surely was well provided for. [What is this crap, young me? Really?]
Susan was a young girl with an adventurous spirit. She felt that she must have one, because Linda and Johnny were more content to do homework and see their friends. [Susan was apparently a loser with no friends. Or a serial killer. Criminal Minds would probably be all over that.] Susan loved to explore the thick, beautiful woods on the Miltonses [???] property. The trip was sometimes [only sometimes?] inconvenient, because Susan had to go around the field [corn, if you were wondering], but once she was finished with that obstacle [apparently Susan was fat, too], Susan explored to her content. [I guess young me wasn't into pronouns.]
To Susan, there was always some new place to find. Sometimes it had been an unfamiliar clearing. [How exciting.] Other times i had been a new path that wound through the woods, leading to some mysterious end that Susan never quite found. [Maybe that's where the bodies were hidden?] One unfortunate time, Susan had found the trail to the railroad tracks, and the train was just speeding through. [Dag.] But there was one consistent thing about Susan's explorations. She always took her loyal dog, Teddy, with her. And one day, Susan found another new clearing. But this clearing was very extraordinary, and more astonishing than anything Susan had ever seen.
It was a beautiful day one October, when Susan was twelve. [I think I legitimately thought people would get confused if I used "she" once, instead of the name.] The air was cold, the sky was the deepest blue, and it was Saturday, which allowed the whole day for fun. [No duhrr.] So she [freaking finally] went exploring, and Teddy followed loyally, as he did every time, his tongue hanging out, his fur blowing in the breeze. The leaves were changing, and falling, and not a cloud was in the sky. So the young girl and her dog strolled to the woods.
This day, Susan chose a new, smaller path than the others she had seen before. [My grammar sucked too, if you haven't noticed.] The path was clear, nearly perfect, not covered by thorns like most of the trails in these woods. Up ahead was a bend in the path, and when Susan and Teddy went around it, they found, instead of another path, a clearing. But this clearing was different than others. [Those sentences are just gross.] Everything in it was a different shade of brilliant blue. The rocks were blue, as was the piney cover on the blue tinted soil. [Sorry, I forgot about the acid trip part of the story.]
"Oh," breathed Susan. "Teddy, it's so amazing." [Poor Teddy...I'm so sorry for what you had to put up with.] Teddy looked happy; no, ecstatic, as if he had found some hidden happiness in that clearing. [SUBTLE FORESHADOWING DUNDUNDUN.] A small fruit hung from one of the trees, and Susan looked at it, but decided against eating it. But she made a decision about the clearing itself. This was her special place. I'll come back every day, she thought. Or at least I'll try. So, after playing there for a long while with Teddy, Susan headed home.
****************
[It gets better.]
Susan did indeed try to go back every day. Even when she explored other places, she found time to go to her special clearing. [Was anyone concerned at all about this child spending hours in the woods unsupervised?] It was a place of peace, somewhere to play and to dream. No other place was like it. But even so, special as it was to her, there was something even better about it that Susan herself would never discover [SUBTLETY.] So these happy years crawled by lazily, and Susan and Teddy became closer in a strange way as they visited the clearing. [I'm sorry, but just no.]
The day came when Susan turned sixteen. [This is apparently known to happen occasionally.] As this birthday had approached, she had stopped going as often. Other things, like friends, [finally], school [also finally] and cinema [Cinema? Really?] replaced the clearing as important to her. And then, Susan stopped going at all, and forgot all about this beautiful clearing. [Morality tale: avoid puberty at all costs, because you may be in danger of getting a life.] Teddy never did, though, and he went back every day, because, not only was he used to the routine, the dog [because I know you totally just forgot what species Teddy was] knew that something was more special about this blue place. [did no one care that the dog wandered off too?] But the clearing, as Susan stopped going, turned from a bright blue to a dull, dead, faded gray. [Being a teenager will also kill the local flora. Apparently.]
Susan graduated from high school two years later, went to college, and got married to a man named Charlie McKail. They moved far away from Coleville, to a larger town named Wilson, hours away from Coleville. [In North Carolina.] Susan and Charlie had a daughter, whom they named Anya Leona McKail. The family lived a nice life in Wilson. [Good to know.] Anya went to a good school [also good to know, because schools in NC err on the side of suckage] and Susan and Charlie had very good jobs. And all this time, the clearing grew grayer still. [I imagine it eventually just turned clear.] And Teddy, the loyal dog, died, as no one in our world lives forever. [Crap, that's depressing.] The years passed, with the clearing lying, forgotten, in the thick woods around Coleville.
[Here's a tiny excerpt from a bit down the page. Anya's parents are discussing moving to Coleville because Susan's parents decide to give her a house or some junk like that.]
"Mama, we can't move," Anya objected. "I have friends here. Do you know how long it took me to make friends? [In Susan's footsteps, I suppose.] What in the world's wrong with Wilson?"
-----
A lot Anya. There's a lot wrong with Wilson.
When I was fifteen, I started writing a book.
It was bad.
Here is an excerpt, with commentary included. It serves as a warning to younger me, since twentysomething me is currently DeLorean-less.
-----
Years ago, on a farm just outside of a town called Coleville, in West Virginia [not a real place. I stole the name from combining a movie with the wrong way my last name is spelled all the time and I had not at the time ever been to WV.] there lived a girl named Susan Miltons [I'm really bad at surnames]. The Miltons family was a relatively small family, with one boy, Johnny, and two girls, Susan and Linda [I swear I stole the names from an American Girl book.]. their father was a very hardworking man who was absolutely delighted to provide well for his family. And the family surely was well provided for. [What is this crap, young me? Really?]
Susan was a young girl with an adventurous spirit. She felt that she must have one, because Linda and Johnny were more content to do homework and see their friends. [Susan was apparently a loser with no friends. Or a serial killer. Criminal Minds would probably be all over that.] Susan loved to explore the thick, beautiful woods on the Miltonses [???] property. The trip was sometimes [only sometimes?] inconvenient, because Susan had to go around the field [corn, if you were wondering], but once she was finished with that obstacle [apparently Susan was fat, too], Susan explored to her content. [I guess young me wasn't into pronouns.]
To Susan, there was always some new place to find. Sometimes it had been an unfamiliar clearing. [How exciting.] Other times i had been a new path that wound through the woods, leading to some mysterious end that Susan never quite found. [Maybe that's where the bodies were hidden?] One unfortunate time, Susan had found the trail to the railroad tracks, and the train was just speeding through. [Dag.] But there was one consistent thing about Susan's explorations. She always took her loyal dog, Teddy, with her. And one day, Susan found another new clearing. But this clearing was very extraordinary, and more astonishing than anything Susan had ever seen.
It was a beautiful day one October, when Susan was twelve. [I think I legitimately thought people would get confused if I used "she" once, instead of the name.] The air was cold, the sky was the deepest blue, and it was Saturday, which allowed the whole day for fun. [No duhrr.] So she [freaking finally] went exploring, and Teddy followed loyally, as he did every time, his tongue hanging out, his fur blowing in the breeze. The leaves were changing, and falling, and not a cloud was in the sky. So the young girl and her dog strolled to the woods.
This day, Susan chose a new, smaller path than the others she had seen before. [My grammar sucked too, if you haven't noticed.] The path was clear, nearly perfect, not covered by thorns like most of the trails in these woods. Up ahead was a bend in the path, and when Susan and Teddy went around it, they found, instead of another path, a clearing. But this clearing was different than others. [Those sentences are just gross.] Everything in it was a different shade of brilliant blue. The rocks were blue, as was the piney cover on the blue tinted soil. [Sorry, I forgot about the acid trip part of the story.]
"Oh," breathed Susan. "Teddy, it's so amazing." [Poor Teddy...I'm so sorry for what you had to put up with.] Teddy looked happy; no, ecstatic, as if he had found some hidden happiness in that clearing. [SUBTLE FORESHADOWING DUNDUNDUN.] A small fruit hung from one of the trees, and Susan looked at it, but decided against eating it. But she made a decision about the clearing itself. This was her special place. I'll come back every day, she thought. Or at least I'll try. So, after playing there for a long while with Teddy, Susan headed home.
****************
[It gets better.]
Susan did indeed try to go back every day. Even when she explored other places, she found time to go to her special clearing. [Was anyone concerned at all about this child spending hours in the woods unsupervised?] It was a place of peace, somewhere to play and to dream. No other place was like it. But even so, special as it was to her, there was something even better about it that Susan herself would never discover [SUBTLETY.] So these happy years crawled by lazily, and Susan and Teddy became closer in a strange way as they visited the clearing. [I'm sorry, but just no.]
The day came when Susan turned sixteen. [This is apparently known to happen occasionally.] As this birthday had approached, she had stopped going as often. Other things, like friends, [finally], school [also finally] and cinema [Cinema? Really?] replaced the clearing as important to her. And then, Susan stopped going at all, and forgot all about this beautiful clearing. [Morality tale: avoid puberty at all costs, because you may be in danger of getting a life.] Teddy never did, though, and he went back every day, because, not only was he used to the routine, the dog [because I know you totally just forgot what species Teddy was] knew that something was more special about this blue place. [did no one care that the dog wandered off too?] But the clearing, as Susan stopped going, turned from a bright blue to a dull, dead, faded gray. [Being a teenager will also kill the local flora. Apparently.]
Susan graduated from high school two years later, went to college, and got married to a man named Charlie McKail. They moved far away from Coleville, to a larger town named Wilson, hours away from Coleville. [In North Carolina.] Susan and Charlie had a daughter, whom they named Anya Leona McKail. The family lived a nice life in Wilson. [Good to know.] Anya went to a good school [also good to know, because schools in NC err on the side of suckage] and Susan and Charlie had very good jobs. And all this time, the clearing grew grayer still. [I imagine it eventually just turned clear.] And Teddy, the loyal dog, died, as no one in our world lives forever. [Crap, that's depressing.] The years passed, with the clearing lying, forgotten, in the thick woods around Coleville.
[Here's a tiny excerpt from a bit down the page. Anya's parents are discussing moving to Coleville because Susan's parents decide to give her a house or some junk like that.]
"Mama, we can't move," Anya objected. "I have friends here. Do you know how long it took me to make friends? [In Susan's footsteps, I suppose.] What in the world's wrong with Wilson?"
-----
A lot Anya. There's a lot wrong with Wilson.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
For Reals?
A few weeks ago, and I really don't know how long it was, a link to an article showed up in my Facebook feed. The article was a story on how a Washington state (I think?) school principal had gone into some rather, well, unnecessary and far too mature details during a sex ed class for fifth graders. The person who posted the link, who was a friend of mine, commented that it was a great reason to home school your kids. My comment was that the situation was disheartening and didn't bode well for those of us who didn't want to deal with stupid people and who probably would not be able to afford private education or home school. (NC schools are really bad. Suckishly bad. Like kids can't read bad.) Much later, after I'd forgotten about the article, some older lady replied to my comment that oh yes, I could afford home schooling and blah blah blah. I then decided to divulge the whole truth, because I'm an idiot, and just say that I had chosen, for many reasons, not to home school my future children, and that my reasons were personal. The woman who had originally posted the article said, "I can't think of any good reasons not to home-school." I kindly said my reasons were personal, and someone I don't even know backed me up (probably sensing the "righteous" rage building in the original poster), saying that as fellow Christians, we should all support each other in the faith, regardless of what method of schooling we choose. My friend decided that the conversation "sucked" (presumably because we were not in 100% agreement with her views) deleted most of it, and then, I learned later, proceeded to block me. I did do some vaguebooking, granted, only to say, basically, that my children, my choice, and I was a frequenter of the Do Right BJU Facebook page. This person was actually a good friend of mine in college, a fellow Christian, and someone who held roughly the same political beliefs.
I typed this whole occurrence so you could see how stupid some humans can be.
Now you've often read the phrase "that really pissed/pisses me off" if you've ever read one of my rants, though not always in so many words. This situation didn't do that. I mean, I was a little mad, but mostly it made me very, very sad. I have now lost a friend basically because I don't 100% agree with everything she says. I didn't see it coming, but another part of me isn't shocked. This individual is a staunch fundamental Baptist, which wouldn't normally be of any interest, except she was an exceptionally angry fundy with a lot of pride and a lot of dislike for others and seemingly, very little empathy, especially if there was disagreement at all.
Cutting off a friend so immaturely, especially if they share your faith, supposes many things. Perhaps she assumes that only home schoolers go to heaven, and that my decision to send my kids to public school (or private, if I can afford it) is somehow a mortal sin, so don't worry about it. I am pro-life, just like her family. Perhaps supporting Do Right BJU (which formed to support victims of abuse in fundamentalist churches) is just the first step on the path to much worse things. I don't know or understand the mental process behind why a good friend decided to cut me out of her life. Let us suppose for a moment that our beliefs hadn't been similar.
Is rudeness, pride, anger, and just plain meanness really the way to convince someone that you're right?
The saddest thing is, I was going to invite this friend, her husband, and their two kids to my wedding. Her oldest is only a few months younger than my cousin's little girl, and they might have had fun. Plus, any chance to see old friends is awesome, as being Twentysomethings has us all busy paying the bills and such, and I don't often get to just hang out.
Oh well. They probably would have been disgusted by the drum set at my church anyway.
I typed this whole occurrence so you could see how stupid some humans can be.
Now you've often read the phrase "that really pissed/pisses me off" if you've ever read one of my rants, though not always in so many words. This situation didn't do that. I mean, I was a little mad, but mostly it made me very, very sad. I have now lost a friend basically because I don't 100% agree with everything she says. I didn't see it coming, but another part of me isn't shocked. This individual is a staunch fundamental Baptist, which wouldn't normally be of any interest, except she was an exceptionally angry fundy with a lot of pride and a lot of dislike for others and seemingly, very little empathy, especially if there was disagreement at all.
Cutting off a friend so immaturely, especially if they share your faith, supposes many things. Perhaps she assumes that only home schoolers go to heaven, and that my decision to send my kids to public school (or private, if I can afford it) is somehow a mortal sin, so don't worry about it. I am pro-life, just like her family. Perhaps supporting Do Right BJU (which formed to support victims of abuse in fundamentalist churches) is just the first step on the path to much worse things. I don't know or understand the mental process behind why a good friend decided to cut me out of her life. Let us suppose for a moment that our beliefs hadn't been similar.
Is rudeness, pride, anger, and just plain meanness really the way to convince someone that you're right?
The saddest thing is, I was going to invite this friend, her husband, and their two kids to my wedding. Her oldest is only a few months younger than my cousin's little girl, and they might have had fun. Plus, any chance to see old friends is awesome, as being Twentysomethings has us all busy paying the bills and such, and I don't often get to just hang out.
Oh well. They probably would have been disgusted by the drum set at my church anyway.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Ruining Marriage Since 19??
The other night, I was pondering over something a roommate had said to me during my junior year in college. (Yes, it was over four years ago. I'm apparently that chick on the sadly canceled show Unforgettable.) While at dinner with some other young women, the subject turned to families, and I mentioned that my grandparents had been married in a church office in Emporia, VA, with my Granny's aunts serving as witnesses. My Pa was in his early twenties, and Granny was a very mature seventeen. At the time, they weren't Christians, no matter how you define the term. Their conversion would come later. My point is, they had the world's simplest wedding. That was fifty-seven years ago.
I related this story, and my roommate said something to the effect of "Oh yeah, if they weren't Christians, then a church wedding wasn't important to them."
Uh, no, they were poor and didn't have the funds for an "old money" wedding. My other grandparents, who did go to church, had a similarly simple wedding in the church office, with the preacher.
And last night it hit me. Fundamentalism and the rest of the world, together, have ruined marriage, but I'm not quite sure who the real culprit is.
At places like Bob Jones University (the most exposure to fundamentalism I've had) marriage is a goal. It's a finish line. It's practically the reason many women there go to college. Not all, but a heck of a lot. They talk about finding their prince, or their steak (because a hot dog isn't good quality meat, or whatever. I don't know. I think it's a gross analogy.) They talk about how they can wear white on their wedding day and be pure for their husbands and stuff. It's a finish line young men and women reach and collectively go, "Yes! Now we can have sex and it's not bad now!" They seem to overlook the commitment angle. That one day their spouse will do something that really just pisses them off. Not that there will be fights, but I wouldn't be surprised if BJU students, after marriage, are shocked by arguments, because literally all kids do there is gaze at each other (and occasionally one will feed the other, though I've only seen this once in person.) There is no substance. Saving themselves for marriage has become a tool. The wedding night is the goal.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the rest of the world. I do enjoy watching Bridezillas sometimes. I think it's mostly fake, but sure entertaining in a mindless sort of way (also a good way to get ideas for decor and things. They are nice weddings, even if the people creating them are freaking insane.) It struck me that weddings have simply become an event. A really good excuse to throw a party. And not that there's anything wrong with parties. But $40,000 (and up) for five hours on a Saturday night? We've come to an age where women go "my dress budget is $7,000" without batting an eyelash and tell you that the way a wedding cake looks totally rules over how it tastes. Like it's okay that the cake sucks, as long as the sugar orchids are gorgeous. Even more absurd? Fake cakes. To save money. And serving sheet cake.
Like a foam cake that you pretend to cut while serving a sheet cake to your guests.
What the heck did you spend the money on that you couldn't even have a real cake?
Oh my bad, the 350 guests for which you need a fully stocked bar. Never mind that you really only know about fifty of them.
I'll stop being all frugal-judgey now because I really think it's the fundamentalist/goal oriented weddings that come with healthy doses of narcissism at no extra charge.
"Look, they saved themselves until marriage..." "The bride wore white..." (which is actually a book title, by the way), and all the pride that goes with it. I guess I'm a little prideful myself, I confess. My fiance and I have a relationship with actual conversations about stuff. We're not sex-crazed animals, which all those books and conferences and guides seem to assume all Christian engaged couples are. At BJU, there used to be a class about marriage and family that was required for all students before graduation. Mostly, it was about sex. The other half was funny anecdotes from life (which were enjoyable, actually.) There was a session about finances, but it wasn't marriage specific, and it was of course geared towards those planning a wedding for the week after they graduated. My own roommate (the same one who apparently didn't know that big weddings were for wealthy people), when I once mentioned that my boyfriend (who I wasn't yet engaged to) felt like he was more than that already, had to clarify "like you're really good friends, right?" Well, no, because we had been good friends before getting together anyway. Yeah, I was definitely interested in him, but he was still my friend first. I do not take that lightly.
I don't know who was the first to ruin the marriage, to throw it to the wayside in favor of the wedding. My suspicions lie with the ones who chose to pervert it and change it from a celebration looking forward to a life together to that moment where you can finally take off your purity ring and tell the world you saved yourself and "it's so worth it" because that's all you really cared about. A goal. Congratulations, you made it. Welcome to fifty years of a living nightmare if virginity was the only thing you ever bothered to think about regarding marriage.
Honestly, the party weddings have it more on point. Those people, even if they're over the top, legitimately seem to be celebrating a life together. If all you're excited about is that you found a husband or wife and can now have a raucous wedding night and have met your goal and saved yourself, well, you've officially missed the point. Good job.
I related this story, and my roommate said something to the effect of "Oh yeah, if they weren't Christians, then a church wedding wasn't important to them."
Uh, no, they were poor and didn't have the funds for an "old money" wedding. My other grandparents, who did go to church, had a similarly simple wedding in the church office, with the preacher.
And last night it hit me. Fundamentalism and the rest of the world, together, have ruined marriage, but I'm not quite sure who the real culprit is.
At places like Bob Jones University (the most exposure to fundamentalism I've had) marriage is a goal. It's a finish line. It's practically the reason many women there go to college. Not all, but a heck of a lot. They talk about finding their prince, or their steak (because a hot dog isn't good quality meat, or whatever. I don't know. I think it's a gross analogy.) They talk about how they can wear white on their wedding day and be pure for their husbands and stuff. It's a finish line young men and women reach and collectively go, "Yes! Now we can have sex and it's not bad now!" They seem to overlook the commitment angle. That one day their spouse will do something that really just pisses them off. Not that there will be fights, but I wouldn't be surprised if BJU students, after marriage, are shocked by arguments, because literally all kids do there is gaze at each other (and occasionally one will feed the other, though I've only seen this once in person.) There is no substance. Saving themselves for marriage has become a tool. The wedding night is the goal.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the rest of the world. I do enjoy watching Bridezillas sometimes. I think it's mostly fake, but sure entertaining in a mindless sort of way (also a good way to get ideas for decor and things. They are nice weddings, even if the people creating them are freaking insane.) It struck me that weddings have simply become an event. A really good excuse to throw a party. And not that there's anything wrong with parties. But $40,000 (and up) for five hours on a Saturday night? We've come to an age where women go "my dress budget is $7,000" without batting an eyelash and tell you that the way a wedding cake looks totally rules over how it tastes. Like it's okay that the cake sucks, as long as the sugar orchids are gorgeous. Even more absurd? Fake cakes. To save money. And serving sheet cake.
Like a foam cake that you pretend to cut while serving a sheet cake to your guests.
What the heck did you spend the money on that you couldn't even have a real cake?
Oh my bad, the 350 guests for which you need a fully stocked bar. Never mind that you really only know about fifty of them.
I'll stop being all frugal-judgey now because I really think it's the fundamentalist/goal oriented weddings that come with healthy doses of narcissism at no extra charge.
"Look, they saved themselves until marriage..." "The bride wore white..." (which is actually a book title, by the way), and all the pride that goes with it. I guess I'm a little prideful myself, I confess. My fiance and I have a relationship with actual conversations about stuff. We're not sex-crazed animals, which all those books and conferences and guides seem to assume all Christian engaged couples are. At BJU, there used to be a class about marriage and family that was required for all students before graduation. Mostly, it was about sex. The other half was funny anecdotes from life (which were enjoyable, actually.) There was a session about finances, but it wasn't marriage specific, and it was of course geared towards those planning a wedding for the week after they graduated. My own roommate (the same one who apparently didn't know that big weddings were for wealthy people), when I once mentioned that my boyfriend (who I wasn't yet engaged to) felt like he was more than that already, had to clarify "like you're really good friends, right?" Well, no, because we had been good friends before getting together anyway. Yeah, I was definitely interested in him, but he was still my friend first. I do not take that lightly.
I don't know who was the first to ruin the marriage, to throw it to the wayside in favor of the wedding. My suspicions lie with the ones who chose to pervert it and change it from a celebration looking forward to a life together to that moment where you can finally take off your purity ring and tell the world you saved yourself and "it's so worth it" because that's all you really cared about. A goal. Congratulations, you made it. Welcome to fifty years of a living nightmare if virginity was the only thing you ever bothered to think about regarding marriage.
Honestly, the party weddings have it more on point. Those people, even if they're over the top, legitimately seem to be celebrating a life together. If all you're excited about is that you found a husband or wife and can now have a raucous wedding night and have met your goal and saved yourself, well, you've officially missed the point. Good job.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Sorta Traditional
My fiance won't be seeing my wedding gown until my personal bouncers (or ushers or whatever) open the sanctuary doors at our wedding.
Superstition!
Nope.
Every wedding magazine and every site like OffbeatBride.com and TheKnot.com and others like them are mostly focused on how nontraditional weddings are becoming. Yeah, there are some on there that do follow the conventional wedding template, with a ceremony and a fancy reception with a pretty cake and all the attendants dressed alike, but people are more laid-back about those these days, and it's sorta nice. I like looking at the funky weddings. They do give me ideas for how I'd like me and the future hubs' wedding to be. (We do draw our biggest inspirations from Doctor Who, however.)
It just seems to me like these days, if the wedding isn't held in some field or a hideous asbestos/mold-ridden "loft" in downtown somewhere, it's just not stylish or relevant. And suddenly, a normal sized wedding (or what I would think of as one) is considered "intimate" at 100 guests. Which is weird to me, because I don't think I know 100 people well enough to want to invite them to my wedding. Shoot, there's people I do know that won't be getting an invitation. This isn't because of crowding, by the way. Mostly it's from behavior I've seen in other people's wedding photos.
My venue of choice for the ceremony is my church. The reception, I hope, will be held at my hometown's first high school. It's been converted to apartments for the elderly. The stunning architecture in the energy inefficient, tree-kicking auditorum has been there since the 1920s. My dad went to school there. Now they've leveled off the floor, but the smalltown auditorium where Elvis once played (really!) is my choice. And it's pretty. And it's not outside or hazardous to one's health.
I'm making the invitations for myself and there's no recycled paper or twine or burlap involved. No folks, in my house, we actually like color. I'm having "cheap" food, but lots of it. And I mean real food, like sandwiches and chicken and mac'n cheese and all that good stuff. I'm even considering a tower of yeast rolls as centerpieces, but I haven't decided yet. I just love bread. (I think that's why I liked the character of Peeta in The Hunger Games so much...the bread thing.) But I am sorta serious about the yeast rolls, if it works out.
I just ordered my dress this weekend, and it's everything I was looking for and it's beautiful.
And my fiance will not see it until the wedding day. He won't even see a picture of it on someone else. I don't even dare describe it, because I want to surprise him, maybe with the fact that I clean up good, if I do say so myself.
Though I did send him a particularly lovely photo of me holding a too-small dress up to myself and making a wonderful face at the camera.
I'm pretty traditional. I think that's an understatement. But only sort of, enough that I think the guys in the party should wear black Converse for the wedding, because tuxedo shoes are apparently horrible. I won't be writing my own vows because even though I'm a writer, self-written vows all sound the same. "You are my rock/everything. You've been there/stood by me/picked my nose for me when I was sick, and you're awesome/I love you." Oh my word pull my teeth now. I had briefly considered the vows from The Corpse Bride (it's one of my favorites) but really, the traditional ones are fine. I'm not marrying words, and I'll probably have a case of the giggles anyway. I laugh at stuff. I'm sure my cousin's kids will make me laugh. Someone may fart. I don't know! It's all uncontrollable.
I do love a good surprise.
And I still plan on having a lightsaber battle photo shoot with the chicks and dudes in the bridal party. Like for reals.
Superstition!
Nope.
Every wedding magazine and every site like OffbeatBride.com and TheKnot.com and others like them are mostly focused on how nontraditional weddings are becoming. Yeah, there are some on there that do follow the conventional wedding template, with a ceremony and a fancy reception with a pretty cake and all the attendants dressed alike, but people are more laid-back about those these days, and it's sorta nice. I like looking at the funky weddings. They do give me ideas for how I'd like me and the future hubs' wedding to be. (We do draw our biggest inspirations from Doctor Who, however.)
It just seems to me like these days, if the wedding isn't held in some field or a hideous asbestos/mold-ridden "loft" in downtown somewhere, it's just not stylish or relevant. And suddenly, a normal sized wedding (or what I would think of as one) is considered "intimate" at 100 guests. Which is weird to me, because I don't think I know 100 people well enough to want to invite them to my wedding. Shoot, there's people I do know that won't be getting an invitation. This isn't because of crowding, by the way. Mostly it's from behavior I've seen in other people's wedding photos.
My venue of choice for the ceremony is my church. The reception, I hope, will be held at my hometown's first high school. It's been converted to apartments for the elderly. The stunning architecture in the energy inefficient, tree-kicking auditorum has been there since the 1920s. My dad went to school there. Now they've leveled off the floor, but the smalltown auditorium where Elvis once played (really!) is my choice. And it's pretty. And it's not outside or hazardous to one's health.
I'm making the invitations for myself and there's no recycled paper or twine or burlap involved. No folks, in my house, we actually like color. I'm having "cheap" food, but lots of it. And I mean real food, like sandwiches and chicken and mac'n cheese and all that good stuff. I'm even considering a tower of yeast rolls as centerpieces, but I haven't decided yet. I just love bread. (I think that's why I liked the character of Peeta in The Hunger Games so much...the bread thing.) But I am sorta serious about the yeast rolls, if it works out.
I just ordered my dress this weekend, and it's everything I was looking for and it's beautiful.
And my fiance will not see it until the wedding day. He won't even see a picture of it on someone else. I don't even dare describe it, because I want to surprise him, maybe with the fact that I clean up good, if I do say so myself.
Though I did send him a particularly lovely photo of me holding a too-small dress up to myself and making a wonderful face at the camera.
I'm pretty traditional. I think that's an understatement. But only sort of, enough that I think the guys in the party should wear black Converse for the wedding, because tuxedo shoes are apparently horrible. I won't be writing my own vows because even though I'm a writer, self-written vows all sound the same. "You are my rock/everything. You've been there/stood by me/picked my nose for me when I was sick, and you're awesome/I love you." Oh my word pull my teeth now. I had briefly considered the vows from The Corpse Bride (it's one of my favorites) but really, the traditional ones are fine. I'm not marrying words, and I'll probably have a case of the giggles anyway. I laugh at stuff. I'm sure my cousin's kids will make me laugh. Someone may fart. I don't know! It's all uncontrollable.
I do love a good surprise.
And I still plan on having a lightsaber battle photo shoot with the chicks and dudes in the bridal party. Like for reals.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Why Bob Jones University Is Bascially a Zoo
So I've posted a couple of times about my alma mater, Bob Jones University. The name may trigger your brain because they recently made headlines for kicking out a Christopher Peterman because he watched Glee. I think the real reason he was kicked out is worse, because it just shows the pettiness that the University dips into. But this is not about the school's weird policies itself.
I'm here to just totally pick on the student body.
Mostly those above the Mason-Dixon line.
So to all of my dear Yankee friends, do bear with me. All's fair in war and humor.
I've been out of school for two years now, but experiences at BJU are so burned into my brain that I can't help but use them. On top of the gross cafeteria food, really really bad roommate situations, and my skillful dodging of rules*, I took in a lot of observations about people in general and noticed this one thing that stood out glaringly.
BJU students, especially if of the Northern persuasion, tend to act as if they're in a zoo.
Note I said tend. Not all do.
For example, I once used "orange" in a sentence when talking to someone I knew from Michigan. Before I was finished uttering my sentence, she set about repeating (several times, I might add) the way I pronounce the word. I can't really replicate it here, because I'm no linguist, but it is Southern, like myself. See, I chalked it up to being sheltered in a teensy Christian school (like many of my fellow students there), but an odd thing occurred.
It kept happening.
And not just to me.
"I don't understand why it's so hot..." Sweetie, it's August. Summer's hot in South Carolina.
"Your accent is so funny." Gee, thanks, yours too. Coen brothers heard of you lately?
"Why do you drive so slow?" Honey, that's a cop car, it's the end of the month, and the state needs some fast cash. You do the math.
"Haha, he's so gee-yetto." Oh dear. Who snatched you out of Minnesota?
And most interestingly, all of this was said with a tone of wonder, like children watching a lion sit around and do nothing all day.
I blame the BJU textbooks. The grammar one I used at my Christian school actually said that pronouncing "fire tower" as "far tar" (which I have never once heard, ever) was bad grammar. Uhm. No. That's not grammar.
Also, the textbooks made the battle of Gettysburg look sorta glorious. I'm no expert, but I know enough to know that Gettysburg sorta sucked for both sides.
Hmm...maybe it is the books after all.
I'm here to just totally pick on the student body.
Mostly those above the Mason-Dixon line.
So to all of my dear Yankee friends, do bear with me. All's fair in war and humor.
I've been out of school for two years now, but experiences at BJU are so burned into my brain that I can't help but use them. On top of the gross cafeteria food, really really bad roommate situations, and my skillful dodging of rules*, I took in a lot of observations about people in general and noticed this one thing that stood out glaringly.
BJU students, especially if of the Northern persuasion, tend to act as if they're in a zoo.
Note I said tend. Not all do.
For example, I once used "orange" in a sentence when talking to someone I knew from Michigan. Before I was finished uttering my sentence, she set about repeating (several times, I might add) the way I pronounce the word. I can't really replicate it here, because I'm no linguist, but it is Southern, like myself. See, I chalked it up to being sheltered in a teensy Christian school (like many of my fellow students there), but an odd thing occurred.
It kept happening.
And not just to me.
"I don't understand why it's so hot..." Sweetie, it's August. Summer's hot in South Carolina.
"Your accent is so funny." Gee, thanks, yours too. Coen brothers heard of you lately?
"Why do you drive so slow?" Honey, that's a cop car, it's the end of the month, and the state needs some fast cash. You do the math.
"Haha, he's so gee-yetto." Oh dear. Who snatched you out of Minnesota?
And most interestingly, all of this was said with a tone of wonder, like children watching a lion sit around and do nothing all day.
I blame the BJU textbooks. The grammar one I used at my Christian school actually said that pronouncing "fire tower" as "far tar" (which I have never once heard, ever) was bad grammar. Uhm. No. That's not grammar.
Also, the textbooks made the battle of Gettysburg look sorta glorious. I'm no expert, but I know enough to know that Gettysburg sorta sucked for both sides.
Hmm...maybe it is the books after all.
Monday, August 29, 2011
So This Whole Hurricane Thing...
All last week, I watched as the news networks and the Weather Channel all about had a collective fit because a hurricane was "headed straight towards New York." They warned the people of the Northeastern United States and feared the absolute worst for poor little old NYC.
Forget the fact that Hurricane Irene was gonna smack directly into a small, nearly unimportant area known as Eastern North Carolina.
And smack it did. I think the New Bern area took the worst of it, but Atlantic Beach, Nags Head, Wrightsville Beach, and a few other places definitely felt Irene.
And still, the entire day on Saturday, they still kept talking about New York. Even as the storm weakened and lost its status as an actual hurricane.
Even though North Carolina absorbed the brunt of it.
But you know, all this took be back a couple of years. Y'all know I went to Bob Jones University if you've read a couple of other posts. Inevitably, at some point during four-and-a-half years of college, it will snow/ice/freeze. Greenville is a close neighbor to Western North Carolina. Asheville North Carolina is an hour up the road. Greenville, however, is not in the mountains. It doesn't snow a whole lot, unless the winter is particularly freakish.
Big shock to y'all up in the Far Reaches, but we don't have a lot of snowplows down here. My town has maybe one or two. They're just not needed very much.Because ice is a smooth surface that greatly reduces friction and is a dangerous (sometimes deadly) surface to drive on, roads aren't exactly navigable. When it ices or snows, school closes for like a day, the town quiets, and people relax. (This rule generally applies throughout the entire Southern region.) Citizens play in the snow, or stay inside and read. They enjoy life. In a few hours, the ice/snow melts and life goes back to normal.
So all that time at college, I heard a lot of something that might have been good-natured ribbing, but sounded a lot like sour-faced griping. "Nobody knows how to drive down here." "I can't believe no one can drive on ice here." "We keep going to school in the snow, I can't believe it here." That's right folks, people actually complained about cancelled classes. (I can only imagine what their parents taught them about Santa Claus....) So, pretty much, for all of college (there's a whole lot of people from Michigan, Illinois, Ohio, and Pennsylvania that wind up at Bob Jones University, just saying...)* statements that should be considered merely factual observations often degrade into personal insults. Insinuations that only Neanderthals and similar primitive people not yet exposed to modern technology are unable to somehow overcome the laws of physics and drive with magical friction force-fields upon their tires abound. "Well, where I live, we know how to drive on ice." Good for you, buddy. Dream big.
See, this all came back to me when I observed that the Northeast was being all but coddled because *sniff* a hurricane's coming. I believe the words "disastrous" and "catastrophic" were thrown around some. Now, as I know hurricanes, catastrophic as a description doesn't usually apply unless you aren't prepared.
So let's put this into a fair perspective. If it never ices/snows in an area, there is little chance that one could learn to drive in those conditions. Southern winters are fairly mild, and unless it's a really cold year, we average about 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Occasionally it will get down into the 20s.** I can remember one year when it was 9 degrees F the week before Christmas. Even with temperatures that drop below 32 F, you have to have perfect conditions and an already cold ground in order to keep the white stuff sticking around. We're not prepared because we really never have to be, and one snow day for schools won't kill our economy.
I'm not a geography expert, but I do have a good idea of what the East Coast looks like. The most obvious feature?
Hang on, 'cause I'ma blow y'alls minds...
It's coastal.
Yeah, all those panicky areas stick out in the ocean. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Maryland, Jersey, New York, Boston, and Bangor. Hurricanes should not be a surprise. Yeah, they're rare, but y'all have a heck of a higher chance of getting a hurricane than we do a whole winter's worth of snow.
I think yeah, y'all deserve a little bit of ridicule. Good times.
*And I cannot begin to describe to you how much I don't really care about the Ohio vs. Michigan thing. I pull for the University of North Carolina. Your mention of the rivalry is likely to earn you a blank face.
**Yep, and that was the time the theater's heater was broken. It was like 20 degrees F outside with a very lovely wind that just made it so fun and bone-chilling. I wore a coat for the whole movie (New Moon, by the way) and huddled together with my boyfriend for warmth. I was also wearing knee socks under my jeans. It was disappointing mostly because I had on a really cute outfit that my otherwise wonderful pea coat hid.
Forget the fact that Hurricane Irene was gonna smack directly into a small, nearly unimportant area known as Eastern North Carolina.
And smack it did. I think the New Bern area took the worst of it, but Atlantic Beach, Nags Head, Wrightsville Beach, and a few other places definitely felt Irene.
And still, the entire day on Saturday, they still kept talking about New York. Even as the storm weakened and lost its status as an actual hurricane.
Even though North Carolina absorbed the brunt of it.
But you know, all this took be back a couple of years. Y'all know I went to Bob Jones University if you've read a couple of other posts. Inevitably, at some point during four-and-a-half years of college, it will snow/ice/freeze. Greenville is a close neighbor to Western North Carolina. Asheville North Carolina is an hour up the road. Greenville, however, is not in the mountains. It doesn't snow a whole lot, unless the winter is particularly freakish.
Big shock to y'all up in the Far Reaches, but we don't have a lot of snowplows down here. My town has maybe one or two. They're just not needed very much.Because ice is a smooth surface that greatly reduces friction and is a dangerous (sometimes deadly) surface to drive on, roads aren't exactly navigable. When it ices or snows, school closes for like a day, the town quiets, and people relax. (This rule generally applies throughout the entire Southern region.) Citizens play in the snow, or stay inside and read. They enjoy life. In a few hours, the ice/snow melts and life goes back to normal.
So all that time at college, I heard a lot of something that might have been good-natured ribbing, but sounded a lot like sour-faced griping. "Nobody knows how to drive down here." "I can't believe no one can drive on ice here." "We keep going to school in the snow, I can't believe it here." That's right folks, people actually complained about cancelled classes. (I can only imagine what their parents taught them about Santa Claus....) So, pretty much, for all of college (there's a whole lot of people from Michigan, Illinois, Ohio, and Pennsylvania that wind up at Bob Jones University, just saying...)* statements that should be considered merely factual observations often degrade into personal insults. Insinuations that only Neanderthals and similar primitive people not yet exposed to modern technology are unable to somehow overcome the laws of physics and drive with magical friction force-fields upon their tires abound. "Well, where I live, we know how to drive on ice." Good for you, buddy. Dream big.
See, this all came back to me when I observed that the Northeast was being all but coddled because *sniff* a hurricane's coming. I believe the words "disastrous" and "catastrophic" were thrown around some. Now, as I know hurricanes, catastrophic as a description doesn't usually apply unless you aren't prepared.
So let's put this into a fair perspective. If it never ices/snows in an area, there is little chance that one could learn to drive in those conditions. Southern winters are fairly mild, and unless it's a really cold year, we average about 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Occasionally it will get down into the 20s.** I can remember one year when it was 9 degrees F the week before Christmas. Even with temperatures that drop below 32 F, you have to have perfect conditions and an already cold ground in order to keep the white stuff sticking around. We're not prepared because we really never have to be, and one snow day for schools won't kill our economy.
I'm not a geography expert, but I do have a good idea of what the East Coast looks like. The most obvious feature?
Hang on, 'cause I'ma blow y'alls minds...
It's coastal.
Yeah, all those panicky areas stick out in the ocean. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Maryland, Jersey, New York, Boston, and Bangor. Hurricanes should not be a surprise. Yeah, they're rare, but y'all have a heck of a higher chance of getting a hurricane than we do a whole winter's worth of snow.
I think yeah, y'all deserve a little bit of ridicule. Good times.
*And I cannot begin to describe to you how much I don't really care about the Ohio vs. Michigan thing. I pull for the University of North Carolina. Your mention of the rivalry is likely to earn you a blank face.
**Yep, and that was the time the theater's heater was broken. It was like 20 degrees F outside with a very lovely wind that just made it so fun and bone-chilling. I wore a coat for the whole movie (New Moon, by the way) and huddled together with my boyfriend for warmth. I was also wearing knee socks under my jeans. It was disappointing mostly because I had on a really cute outfit that my otherwise wonderful pea coat hid.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Fried Slice: Do I Really Need to Know?
So wedding stuff makes me grumpy. Just a bit.
Don't get me wrong. My own wedding is something I'm excited for. I'm going to get an awesome dress and a great cake and eat good food and marry the man I love. Sweet.
Hmm. Maybe I'm not talking about wedding stuff. Maybe I'm talking about marriage stuff. It's more important. The heart has to be ready, and that really has nothing at all to do with contracts or gum paste flowers or the lighting effects on the dance floor. That fact is pretty obvious, right? So let me back up and explain myself.
My fiance and I have been together for over five years. A good portion of that has consisted of a long-distance relationship. I live in North Carolina, he lives in Missouri. We have long visits. My dog loves him (and that's amazing.) Together, we've made a relationship that has had a lot of love and a few fights. We know we have quirks, because we've seen them up close. We also know that everything's gonna get really real at about 2:00 A.M. sometime in the future when one of us gets a wake-up call via the "icy foot zap." So yeah, I know relationships take work. Five years, remember?
Obviously, being a (reluctant) Twentysomething, I've had a few friends get engaged and married over the years. Yeah, I've only been engaged since January, but that sorta just made it official. I've always sort of known. My man's still in school and I'm paying for the wedding myself. Yeah, it's gonna be a minute. When I see my all friends getting speedily engaged and hitched like little matrimony moon rockets, I cringe a little.
'Cause I know and fear what's coming next.
The SAGELY SAGE ADVICE.
Okay, to be fair, only one person has actually offered THE ADVICE and that was quite some time ago. This individual had known the intended spouse for a few years, they dated for a short while (like very very very very very short) got engaged in the spring of 2010, and were married by the end of summer 2010. A few months later, after I posted my engagement announcement on Facebook, this person ADVISED me that marriage was hard work, but worth it.
Durr.
For me, that was the equivalent of someone informing me in a condescending tone that the invasion of Normandy occurred on June 6th, 1944. But imagine that the teacher or whoever was sharing this advice because I'd shared with them my intention to write my dissertation in pursuit of a doctorate, the subject of said project being the strategies and movements of the U.S. Airborne units during Operation Neptune and an exploration into the assault on Brecourt Manor. At this point, I think it would be pretty clear that I know what I'm talking about and have known for quite some time. Imagine the person with the condescending attitude having just watched the first scene of Saving Private Ryan like five minutes before and that being the first time they'd ever heard of the invasion of Normandy, let alone Operation Neptune or Operation Overlord.
That's sorta what it felt like.
And while that individual has been the only one to offer SAGELY SAGE ADVICE, I still have this reflex of...something, every time. There is joy for my friends, because finding the one person who is literally your other half is awesome. What I don't welcome is the advice that has the possibility of coming.
If you've just seen a clip of a film that features a few bloody minutes on one beach in Normandy, and that's all you know, as much as it has touched you and changed you, you cannot give me a full-on lecture about leg bags and the problems therewith. You can't tell me merely about the existence of Operation Market-Garden. I already know, and I've known a lot longer than you.
I don't hate advice, and I don't hate learning. Most people are like that. Because of the time I've invested in a long-distance relationship, just as if I'd dedicated my life to studying the details in World War II, I know stuff that others don't yet. I know what it's like to be hurt. I know what it's like to argue. Heck, I know how to fight dirty. But I also know how to love, how to forgive, and how to savor moments, even when the theater's heater is broken and it's 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside and somewhere in the 50-60 range inside.
This doesn't make me any better than the ADVICE offerer I mentioned earlier. But I do have the distinct advantage of time and patience and sadness and fights and near-breakups and forgiveness and love and joy and laughter.
In a word, life.
A better teacher by far than all the ADVICE I could ever get.
Don't get me wrong. My own wedding is something I'm excited for. I'm going to get an awesome dress and a great cake and eat good food and marry the man I love. Sweet.
Hmm. Maybe I'm not talking about wedding stuff. Maybe I'm talking about marriage stuff. It's more important. The heart has to be ready, and that really has nothing at all to do with contracts or gum paste flowers or the lighting effects on the dance floor. That fact is pretty obvious, right? So let me back up and explain myself.
My fiance and I have been together for over five years. A good portion of that has consisted of a long-distance relationship. I live in North Carolina, he lives in Missouri. We have long visits. My dog loves him (and that's amazing.) Together, we've made a relationship that has had a lot of love and a few fights. We know we have quirks, because we've seen them up close. We also know that everything's gonna get really real at about 2:00 A.M. sometime in the future when one of us gets a wake-up call via the "icy foot zap." So yeah, I know relationships take work. Five years, remember?
Obviously, being a (reluctant) Twentysomething, I've had a few friends get engaged and married over the years. Yeah, I've only been engaged since January, but that sorta just made it official. I've always sort of known. My man's still in school and I'm paying for the wedding myself. Yeah, it's gonna be a minute. When I see my all friends getting speedily engaged and hitched like little matrimony moon rockets, I cringe a little.
'Cause I know and fear what's coming next.
The SAGELY SAGE ADVICE.
Okay, to be fair, only one person has actually offered THE ADVICE and that was quite some time ago. This individual had known the intended spouse for a few years, they dated for a short while (like very very very very very short) got engaged in the spring of 2010, and were married by the end of summer 2010. A few months later, after I posted my engagement announcement on Facebook, this person ADVISED me that marriage was hard work, but worth it.
Durr.
For me, that was the equivalent of someone informing me in a condescending tone that the invasion of Normandy occurred on June 6th, 1944. But imagine that the teacher or whoever was sharing this advice because I'd shared with them my intention to write my dissertation in pursuit of a doctorate, the subject of said project being the strategies and movements of the U.S. Airborne units during Operation Neptune and an exploration into the assault on Brecourt Manor. At this point, I think it would be pretty clear that I know what I'm talking about and have known for quite some time. Imagine the person with the condescending attitude having just watched the first scene of Saving Private Ryan like five minutes before and that being the first time they'd ever heard of the invasion of Normandy, let alone Operation Neptune or Operation Overlord.
That's sorta what it felt like.
And while that individual has been the only one to offer SAGELY SAGE ADVICE, I still have this reflex of...something, every time. There is joy for my friends, because finding the one person who is literally your other half is awesome. What I don't welcome is the advice that has the possibility of coming.
If you've just seen a clip of a film that features a few bloody minutes on one beach in Normandy, and that's all you know, as much as it has touched you and changed you, you cannot give me a full-on lecture about leg bags and the problems therewith. You can't tell me merely about the existence of Operation Market-Garden. I already know, and I've known a lot longer than you.
I don't hate advice, and I don't hate learning. Most people are like that. Because of the time I've invested in a long-distance relationship, just as if I'd dedicated my life to studying the details in World War II, I know stuff that others don't yet. I know what it's like to be hurt. I know what it's like to argue. Heck, I know how to fight dirty. But I also know how to love, how to forgive, and how to savor moments, even when the theater's heater is broken and it's 20 degrees Fahrenheit outside and somewhere in the 50-60 range inside.
This doesn't make me any better than the ADVICE offerer I mentioned earlier. But I do have the distinct advantage of time and patience and sadness and fights and near-breakups and forgiveness and love and joy and laughter.
In a word, life.
A better teacher by far than all the ADVICE I could ever get.
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