Category Archives: the love

My family tree

family-treeBefore we go much further in our relationship, it’s time that I do a little explaining.  To fully understand and appreciate the neuroses that make up me, you must first understand my parents.  With Mother’s and Father’s Days quickly approaching, I thought now would be an excellent time to explain my family and do a little tribute to the Brydes*.

* Clearly an alias as my identity must remain hush-hush.  Don’t ask questions.  Just nod your head.

Momma Bryde grew up as the surprise and delight of a child from a marriage to an older mom and a much older dad.  Her family had money, and while my mom had worked for everything she has, she certainly isn’t above spoiling herself or her only daughter, moi.  Hmm..maybe “spoiling” isn’t the right term to use.  Let’s just say that I’m a very grounded person, but my momma’s got my back.  She’s got excellent taste and tact and puts it to good use.  When I was at summer camp she used to send me Chanel nail polish.  ???  K’ma.  Thanks!  Love ya!  When I’m sick, she’ll show up with a copy of Vogue and a can of chicken soup.  Every Christmas I get the newest it-thang of which no one has heard of and of which everyone will want the following summer.  The woman does her homework.  When I need the perfect pair of shoes or sunglasses or accessory or bag, into her closet I go.   It’s never failed me.   She’s extremely kind, smart, funny, and straight-forward.  She doesn’t put up with shit from anyone, and I love her!

My father grew up in a crowded, dysfunctional family with no money and little guidance.  My dad’s mom was not the most attentive parent and married a series of men who ranged from equally inattentive to abusive.  My father is really a success story in that he could have followed in the same path of which was modeled for him by his family, but instead he rose above his situation and tucked all those bad experiences away for examples of what NOT to do when he became a parent.  I didn’t learn about his unfortunate childhood until I was an adult, and when I did, everything about my childhood made sense.  My father refused to miss any of our events ever, and I often was mildly embarassed when he was the loudest and most involved parent, but now I have examples of what TO DO when I become a parent some day.  I won’t miss a thing.  (I’m tearing up over here.  🙂 )  

I also have a kid brother…who’s not really a kid anymore.  My brother was in denial for the longest time that he’s an exact replica of my father.  By denial, I mean that they were mortal enemies until my brother was an adult.  My brother went through definite rough patches…hung with the wrong crowd…did the wrong things…got the wrong grades…etc.  After high school, he joined the airforce which turned out to be the best thing EVER for him.  All of a sudden things changed for him.  He obviously found a reason for change as he was stationed in Germany, met the girl of his dreams, married her, and has since become a great man and a good husband to my lovely sister-in-law.  He makes responsible decisions, takes care of his house, works hard, and genuinely cares about the people in his life (coughcoughjustlikemyfathercough) whaaa??  🙂  

So that’s my family.  Fairly ordinary American family.  What’s your family like?

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Unsolicited support from my favorite person in the whole world…

ringMy stress level is a little off kilter right now. 

Yesterday I was looking at my engagement ring, as I so often do, and I spotted something in the middle of the diamond.  It looked like a crack.  I freaked.  I gave it a good cleaning and looked again…my eye was still seeing a crack.  Crisis.

What do you do if your engagement ring is suddenly not perfect??  It’s the ring that was there at the moment when my FI got down on one knee and asked me to be with him forever.  The ring is so much more than a ring.  Within its facets and brilliant shine, it carries a thousand memories.  So what do you do when you think you may have damaged your ring? 

We have the ultimate protection plan on this baby.  I could lose it, smash it, or smother it in peanut butter, and our jeweler will clean it, fix it, or replace it.  But I would be so sad if I ever had to replace any part of it…oh I know that eventually the gold will need to be redipped and what not.  But the diamond is there forever.  I could never upgrade it.  I love it.  It represents everything to me.

So in a panic, I called my FI who reassured me that the diamond could not crack and that it was probably just in need of a good cleaning.  I told him that I was going straight to the dealer after work and hung up.  I said “bye” but I was annoyed at his dismissal of my panic.  Could this have been a result of my period starting yesterday?  Perhaps.  🙂

I went through the whole day worrying about my ring and even got a science teacher to allow me to look at my ring under one of his scopes.  I couldn’t see much.  My worries and neuroses grew all day long until I was just a big bundle of nerves. 

I was trying to hurry out the door to head to the jewelers and was so vastly annoyed to hear over the intercom that someone was in the office to see me.  I rolled my eyes and storm-walked down to the office.  Do you know what “storm walking” is?  It’s when you’re pissed, you’re late, you’re period is flowing, and you’re ready to punch any student who asks you another question while you’re trying to be somewhere on the opposite side of the school.  I storm-walked into the office to see my visitor, and my eyes fell on my fiance who was standing at the counter with a folder in his hands containing all the ring paper work.

I love him.  Have I told you that?  He is the love of my life, and I love him more than I can ever express.  He loves me even though I’m off-kilter on a regular basis.  I love him I love him I love him. 

Anyhoo, we drove to the jewelers who gave my ring a good cleaning and put it under the scope to check for any flaws.  Nothing.  My diamond is perfect.  My memories are safe.  My love is real. 

PS:  WE ARE IN 3RD PLACE NOW FOR THE BRIDESMAID DRESS CONTEST!  We need about 50 more votes to catch up to first place!  Please, if you haven’t already voted, would you go to the Bridesmaid Dress Giveaway Round 1 and vote for Board #7??  That’s me!  We have until Sunday to vote!  🙂  Thank you!!

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I hate Vegas.

lasvegassignI haven’t ever even been there, but I hate it.  We will not be going there as a couple.  Ever.  Where did this hatred come from?  I am not really sure.  The City of Sin.  Gambling, prostitutes, drinking, lights. 

I consider myself to be fairly liberal.  For me, I don’t really care about what choices other people make as long as they get the choice.  My choices are to keep my party guard up around my FI because a few too many drinks, and he’s a lousy drunk.  He’s not abusive or mean or anything…juuuuuuuust a little embarassing.  I know!  That sounds so terrible.  I should be proud of my future husband and say the best of him, but the fact of the matter is that after 3 or 4 drinks, my FI is asking ridiculously stupid questions and trying to sing karaoke to Pink Floyd.  (For another example of my FI being ridiculous when he’s had too much to drink, see the posts about our limo catastrophe.)

I should back up a few steps and tell you all that before I met my FI, I was the queen of my crowd.  I went out many times a week, stayed up late, spent a lot of money, and kissed a lot of guys.  I picked who, what, where, when, why, and how we would enter the night life scene on any particular evening, and my phone would ring off the hook.  About a month before I met my FI, I put the breaks on.  I am not sure how this decision came to be (providence?), but I needed to take a break for real.  I was exhausted and broke.  I was getting too old for this shit.  Then I met my FI who is fairly anti-social and takes a long time to get to know people.  Because I love him and I love spending time with him, and obviously we click, I didn’t mind at all staying home rather than going out, and for the first time in my life I was making massive payments TO my credit card rather than ON my credit card.  I nailed my first contracted teaching job, was accepted into grad school, started to tutor children, and went to bed on time.  Things were so much more simple than they had been before we started dating.

With the embracing of the new lifestyle and the distaste that I have for my FI when he’s had one too many, I shy away from situations where he’d be out drinking, with or without me.  Now, I will say, to his credit, that he’s gotten much better at regulating himself while he’s out, but that was only after a series of arguments where I would confront him about his drinking and he would deny that there was a problem.  At one point, I packed my bags and (almost) left.  After that ugly transition, my FI mellowed out, and my nagging evaporated.  That was a long time ago, and things are much better.

Now we are engaged, and things like the honeymoon and his batchelor party have come up.  Amongst those conversations, Las Vegas has come up more than once.  I have let him know that I refuse to go there, and I’d prefer if he not go either.  I think it is because I know that I would end up being babysitter to a drunk while he’s placing $100 bets and oggling the waitress…I know.  Shameful, but that’s the truth.  Please keep in mind that I have full confidence that my FI is faithful as I am to him, but that doesn’t make his drunken debauchery any less embarassing.  As far as his batchelor party, I know his brother has brought up taking him there as well.  I put my foot down as did my FI’s mother (thank God).  My FI’s brother is a ridiculous self-proclaimed “host with the most” who frequently cheats on his wife and is drunk 95% of the time.  My FI went through older-brother-idol-worship for so long in his youth that if his bro said he was going to take him to Vegas, my Fi would gladly go.  That is why I have spoken up now. 

For the vast majority, our relationship is strong and good.  We rarely have this alcohol issue come up nowadays because we really only go out for drinks or drink at home like once or twice a month.  Pretty tame, right?  I just wish that I could go out with my FI with full confidence that we could have drinks, and I could let loose, and not have to worry about anything.  Sorry, this post is a real bummer.  No zingers today, folks.

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Part Two of our Engagement Story


Whaaa?  Have I provided you with breakfast sausage this fine Wednesday morning?  No, readers, those are just my fat fingers.  Looking at my hand right now, I realize that my fingers look different after having dropped a little weight but seeing as my camera is aaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllll the way on the other side of our house, and I’m le tired.  So for now, you get fat fingers, but that’s my ring.  So again, you know I said yes.

We left off with Aaron leaving and me going to the local track for a run while I clear my head on how to make my move out of the house that we shared.  After running a couple of laps, my phone rings, and it’s my dad.  I answer, and he can tell right away that something is wrong.  I am a weakling, and I spill the beans.  I usually don’t spill the beans to my father, but he was the first human that I came into contact with, so he heard my fury full force.  I will have to hand it to my dad…the words he chose to share with me that day probably saved my relationship with my FI.  After hearing how hurt and embarassed I was, my dad empathized with me by sharing some stories from when he and my mom struggled in their relationship.  He shared some things that I had never known about even though I am very close to both of my parents.  He shared with me one particular story about a fight over money where he considered walking but stayed.  That was it.  I knew that I couldn’t walk away from my guy just like my dad couldn’t walk away from my mom.

I got off the phone with my dad and climbed to the top of the bleachers and lay down.  I knew I wasn’t going to leave my guy, but I did not think that I could pull myself together to go with everyone to the wedding which was starting in four hours.  I was supposed to be getting a ride with my guy’s parents to the church since my guy was an usher.  I cried for another while and then fell asleep like a BUM on the bleachers.  Embarassing!  I snore and drool and talk in my sleep, so God knows what pedestrians thought as they saw the blubbering idiot sleeping on the top bench.  Anyhoo…while I was sleeping, I missed several phone calls.  Later on I pieced together this series of events:

First:  My guy comes home and finds that I am not there.  He calls his mom to see if I’ve spoken to her.  She hasn’t seen/heard from me so she calls me.  I don’t answer because I am sleeping on the bleachers.

Second:  My guy calls my dad to ask for my hand in marriage.  My dad having just gotten off the phone with me is nervously hesitant (so my dad), so he tells my guy to call back later when my mom was there.  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!  That was my favorite part.  My dad calls my mom who is on her way home and explains the situation.  My mom calls me.  I don’t answer because I am sleeping on the bleachers.

Third:  My guy calls my parents again, and properly asks for my hand in marriage, my parents say yes.  He tells them that he intends on proposing to me at the reception that evening.  My mom is ferverently calling me to tell me to get home and get ready for the wedding.  I love my mom…Bad day or not, when you are being proposed to you go home and get your hair did.

Fourth:  I wake up, realize I have all these missed calls, and I don’t know what time it is.  I go home, and my guy buckles down and cries and tells me what I mean to him.  Upon hindsight, I kind of consider this our proposal moment because all the sweetest things he’s ever said come out here. 

Fifth:  We head to the wedding reception.  I AM OUT OF TIME AGAIN!  DAMNIT!  Have I mentioned that I hate working?  I swear, I’ll finish up this story properly tomorrow. 

Tune in, bitches.

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Limos are Outlawed…AKA How We Got Engaged…


So obviously, I said yes.  But the story is ever so much fun to tell, and I am really tempted to tell this story as a toast to my new husband on our wedding day, but not sure if that would be crossing the line.  I mean really, he’s got it coming, but do I want to spend the first moments of our marriage torturing him? 

Rewind to three weeks before the YES.  My guy tells me that he’s going to a batchelor party on the upcoming weekend and that strippers have been completely outlawed by the future bride to be of our friend.  I’m on the fence about the whole stripper/batchelor party thing.  It doesn’t really bother me when it’s a man who wouldn’t go to titty bars otherwise.  I always try to work in a “titty” into my posts.  Anyhoo, my guy tells me that the party will be a bbq at his friend’s house with all the guys.  Great, I say, go forth and party. 

On the evening of the party, I invite some friends over for some drinks.  I get a phone call from my guy around 10:30 who is obviously drunk as a skunk asking me if we want to go for a ride in the limo with him and the guys.  I pass because we are having a good time on our own.  I ask who has paid for the limo, and he tells me that the father of the groom paid for it.  How.  Nice.  I go to bed around 1am, and apparently the limo drops off my guy at 5:30 in the morning.  He sleeps alllllll day.  I mean all day.  He wakes up around dinner time. 

The next weekend is the wedding.  As my guy is an usher, we go to the rehearsal dinner.  While I am standing in a circle of strangers talking to the bride, I mention that it was so nice of her FFIL to pay for the limo at the party.  The bride and all of her friends uncomfortably stare at me as if I just said the stooopidest thing ever.  Well it turns out later that it was stupid because the bride-to be-pulls me aside and says, “I was under the impression that Aaron paid for the limo.  I thought you knew.”  There goes my jaw.  And my bladder.  And my humility…out there on display.  Suddenly I realize that everyone has been REALLY nice to me tonight.  They probably think that I’m either a really cool girl for not putting up a fuss over the limo or a really stupid girl for not knowing what her fiance does.  Turns out, I’m the later. 

Out in the parking lot on the way home, I point blank ask my FI who paid for the limo.  He confesses.  I ask him why he lied, and he doesn’t really have a good reason.  I point out that he just made me feel stupid in public in front of strangers.  He feels bad, yadda yadda yadda.  Whatev.  We go to bed.

Next morning:  I start to wonder how much this limo cost.  At this point of our relationship, I should point out, we are living together, we need a new roof, and I want to be engaged.  He refuses to tell me.  OH NOW I NEED TO KNOW, BUDDY.  Thinking that it was around $300, I overshoot it and say, “$500?”  Him, “Higher.”   Me, “$700?  $1000?  $1500?”  Eventually, him, “It was $1700.”  Bomb.  Explosion.  Silence.  I don’t know what to say.  I went in the house and sat in the shower for an hour because I knew I could be alone there.  He left.  And I decided to go for a run to clear out my head before I call the movers to help me pack my things. 

Okay I’m gonna go ahead and leave this as a cliffhanger.  Aren’t I clever to trick you into coming back tomorrow to get the rest of the story?  Really it’s because I need to get in the shower now and go to work.  I hate work.  Come back tomorrow for the dramatic conclusion!

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