Today was a rainy cold day, one that makes you feel like you must be trapped underneath a grey bubble and if you could only break through, there would be better weather. Despite the rain, I got a burst of energy and went on a run at lunch, listening to music that I imagine dancing to at our wedding in June. Maybe my motivation comes from the countdown on my phone: 166 day exactly. I also (sadistically) added a countdown for when my wedding dress arrives as further inspiration to get myself into modelesque shape for minimal alterations and maximal hot-body-ness.
This Saturday is my old roommate and best friend Amy’s wedding, and we got our nails done yesterday in preparation (I’m a bridesmaid). We talked rehearsal dinner, relatives in town, the first look, table arrangements, and cast our bets as to who is going to cry the most and why. If I know anything about her emotional, therapist fiancé, he will be the weeper. She will shed a few tears in an elegant manner, like the restrained, willowy being that she is.
I paid for her mani and pedi as a nice thing, then lopped off half my newly-polished nail and a good part of my finger that same night while cutting garlic with our sharp new kitchen knives. It’s events like these that have made me highly suspicious of karma. this is what I get in return for trying to be a good friend? And now I have half a finger that I’ll be hiding like a deformity at the wedding.
She even told me that I’ll likely be walked down the aisle by two of Paul’s groomsmen because there’s an odd number. That means both hands on display! I also feel odd about that whole situation. There’s a certain sense of smugness, yes, at having not one but two males by my side as I come down the aisle, but I also wonder: why me? Why did I get the two extras? I don’t know all the etiquette involving the hierarchy of procession for the wedding party, but for some reason I feel like this is not a good sign. That means I was stuck at the bottom of the totem pole. Which, in a way, I suspected. I mean, the other four girls are two pairs of past best friends and current best friends, leaving me in the unique position of that friend who you are close to in your adult life but doesn’t outrank any of the other bridesmaids.
Well, whatever. I’m getting a spray tan, it’s going to snow for the first time all winter, and I’ll be there with the man I love. And between free wine and snow and a new dress (regrettably a drab taupe but new nonetheless) I have to remind myself not to care about the petty details of female relationships.
Even though, well…I am admittedly consumed by the petty details of female relationships. In fact, I have a bad habit of waking up thinking about friendships I’ve lost and analyzing why exactly we grew apart and my faults and their faults and ending up in a tangled mess before my feet even hit the carpet. Yes, we have beige carpet in our bedroom, even though my preference would have been polished hardwood with a plush Persian rug under the bed.
I digress. Anyways, the laundry is going, I’m finally writing, and I have the whole house to myself. Wilson is off watching the Husky game. The Dawgs are in the championship, which is a big deal because it’s been a long time since they’ve done so and because Wilson told me it’s big deal. OK, that’s the sports report from me! I’m giving myself an ick by being a UW alma mater and having so little care for their football team but, here we are. I guess I needed a night alone, and well, football just didn’t take priority over that. Now that we live so much further north from Seattle, I find myself loath to travel far if the reason isn’t compelling enough. And if it’s dark out AND raining? Better be free suite tickets to Britney Spears.
Sigh. I am having that feeling where you’re wishing for a different life even though you know that the alternate you would probably be wishing for the life you have now. But man, it would be nice to be in Santa Monica right now. walking in the balmy night air and texting a new LA friend as I walk back to a trendy little apartment. At least, I think it would be nice. I’ll never know.
I’m in a big, new house that we built and own. There’s something to be grateful for. I have a job doing editing, which I love, that isn’t too hard and pays me enough that I can buy spray tans and manicures and Band Aids. There’s another point of gratitude, and I think I should keep going. Tonight I finally got to write this blog. I have an incredible story that I am currently writing, which I hope I can give birth too this year. I’m going to read the next Outlander book when I eat dinner. I have a guard doggie sleeping down by the front door. My fiancé will be home in a few hours, and kiss me with happiness and what I imagine is relief to be back within the warm comforts of a home filled with my feminine energy. He’ll walk in calling out to me and chatting with the dog (Ace the Australian Shepherd), and the dog will be spinning with excitement, and the footsteps will be loud and self-assured and fill the rainy silence. I’ll be regaled with an epic retelling of the football game (the historic game that I don’t really care about) and I will show full enthusiasm and secretly delight in the fact that I am marrying a man’s man, who bets on sports and built me a house and makes me feel instantly safe. Hello, rainy night. This is my real life.
the Husky’s
