The M-Word.

I was asked about marriage recently.

The 5 second "Marriage" word association:  50's housewife, dad in a tie, family vacations, Cinderella, arguments, church, old married couple, divorce, same sex marriage, The Princess Bride, pets, children, anniversaries, weddings, savings, memories...

So many images come to mind:

As soon as I recovered from my deer-in-headlights impersonation, I hesitantly offered, "Yeah...I'll probably get married."  And life went on.  The gears, though--they kept on rolling.

Marriage.

These days there seem to be so many attitudes toward it.  In Ye Olden Dayes, you were for it or against it--on the Oregon Trail, you needed a husband to stay alive, and I'm down with that OR you could have lived in New England and been one half of the Spinster Sisters, which also sounds pretty fun--simple as that--but now there seems to be a murky middle ground that has arisen from feminism, religious and non-religious thought, government policy, etc.  All of a sudden there are not just the Singletons and the Marrieds, but a third type--the Maybes--moving in down the block.  (There are categories within each, of course, but the simple addition of the Maybe category is novel itself.)

I feel confident that I make my bed with the Maybe clan.  Granted, one must understand that this does not mean that I have wishy-washy feelings toward marriage itself--no!, for on it I am quite decisive (read: picky).  I may or may not get married.  I am perfectly fine with that.  I know what I want in a man and a relationship, and if he I want doesn't present himself...well, I'm of no mind to go track him down.
If I sound detached about the subject it's only because that's all I know to do.  Marriage is no fairy-tale love-fest.  I am no Cinderella, and I'm fairly confident Kate Middleton has bagged the last Prince Charming on the planet.  (Lucky bitch...)  Marriage is a contract between two people and, ultimately, with God.  Marriage is saying, "Okay.  This is what I want, and That's what you want, and I think I can live with this...and with you. I agree to stop surveying my prospects and settle down with you."  And with's God's help, you do just that.
Please don't misunderstand--I'm not saying there's no love.  [There must be love!!--and lots of it!!]  But it's a love that turns from the heart-pumping, stomach-flipping, butterflies-churning first stages of love to a deeper, more comfortable love.  Sometimes when that first love infatuation goes away, you start thinking that you're falling out of love--but if you're in a healthy relationship, I think it just means you're entering a deeper, more mature stage of love.  Kooky as it sounds, I think Richard Gere put it well in Runaway Bride when he said, "Look, I guarantee there'll be tough times. I guarantee that at some point, one or both of us is gonna want to get out of this thing. But I also guarantee that if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it for the rest of my life, because I know, in my heart, you're the only one for me."   To me there is no backing out, no taking of breaks, no breaking up when you are married.  You're in it together.  When one of you is down for the count, the other steps in and fights even harder.  It's gotta be work.  No pain, no gain, right?


But I also know I'd be happy alone.  I'd wander.  I might rent a small flat in Ireland or perhaps in Croatia:

I'd teach English and have 52.7 cats of various shapes, sizes and temperaments.  I'd read, I'd travel, and I'd be insanely happy.  But if I meet someone I think I will want to have in my life every day from here to eternity?  Some one I can't stop thinking about?  Someone who makes me think and laugh, and learn?  Someone who fits me perfectly?  Someone who is my best friend?  You bet I'll wanna put a ring on it.
This still doesn't contain all my feelings on the subject, but I needed to verbally vomit that all out before the gears in my head choke up and explode and I starting explaining it to the awkward check-out boy at Food Lion.  Cause let me tell you how well that worked out last time...

Just sayin'.

Crap.

Life is lovely, and life is crap.
The Greeks had this obsession with tragedies.  (Oedipus anyone?)  You know, a bunch of really crappy crap happens, and then you die.  Today I'm inclined to agree.  I've had issues all weekend.  Issues with boys, with girls, with keys, with alarms, with laundry, with food...you name it, I've probably had an issue with it in the past 48 hours.
Crap, all of it.

Hi. I'd like to take a moment of your time and tell you about my favorite time of the year: the holidays. See, some people are crazy about spring and summer, and that's great and all, but I'm just not the kinda girl who's gonna get hot and bothered by getting, well...hot. And bothered. I'm not a fan of sweating like a pig. Sorry. And spring? With those pastels? I can't bear to go there today. But fall, with it's cool breezes, fun layering of clothes and accessories, warm homes with fireplaces anxiously waiting to be lit, pumpkins and gourds and hay, deep, rich colors...now that I can get behind. Das mag ich viel.
Today is a Terry family gathering to celebrate their Papaw's birthday. I'm sure there will be tears, but honestly, I'm pretty excited about it. It's hard to believe he's been gone just over a year, but it's truly amazing that the whole family is coming together to celebrate his life. I can only hope to be that loved by my descendants, which brings me to another thought. I love family gatherings. They are more prevalent during the holiday season, and perhaps that's yet another reason I love it so. I have a weakness for family gatherings. Goodness knows that mine is so spread out I hardly see them, and we communicate so little that the only updates I get are at the holidays. I wish it weren't like that. I love big feasts where everyone sits down and eats and talk together. What's better than good food and good conversation? The holiday season is perfect for that. Cousins rake leaves into piles to jump in and mothers gather together to prepare the good eats in the sinfully delicious smell of the kitchen. Fathers position themselves around the tv discussing politics, work, and sports.
So I guess what I'm saying is that I'm being really optimistic this fall. I can smell something in the air that's different than usual, and I'm excited (and impatient) to see what will happen.
But for now...I'm gonna go make my grandmother's homemade banana pudding.
:)

I'm calling it a day.

Some things can only be solved with a bubble bath and a glass of wine.
Today I chose a White Zin.
And B&BW Twilight Woods.
And 3:00 pm.
Well, 3:00 pm chose me.
[Psh.  Detailssssss.]

Bloggity blog blog.

I'm 99.999974826573174% sure I failed my Multinational Finance exam this morning. Great. I only studied for hours upon hours to walk in and read the first page...and suddenly visualize my diploma getting torn to pieces by the Tasmanian Devil as the Loony Tunes huddle together and laugh derisively.

On the other hand, I actually understood my Finance 3210 material today. It's about time. Heh. We're only halfway through the semester, you know. And now I'm in the library, chilling. I picked up my history textbook and haven't been able to stop reading it for the past, well, almost two hours. [Nerd!] Maybe this could be a sign??
I'm crossing my fingers.

I love sitting in the library if only to watch people. Yes, yes, I am a people watcher. It's just too much fun not to, and let's be honest, college campuses contain the most interesting people in one convenient environment. For example, I do believe I saw a pair of Ugg boots made from Goofy himself.  Kinda like these, but worse:

Too many cartoon references in one post?
Nah...

The Weekend Not-So-Summarily Summarized

There are days I can come up with nothing interesting and nothing witty to say.
This is one of them.
I go to school.  I work.  I check facebook.  I check (read: stalk) my usual favorite blogs.  Occasionally I do laundry.  Sometimes I even have fun on my weekends.  This is one of those.

I spent the weekend in Nashville, halving my time between Ryan and Marshal.  Ryan had a MtG tournament all day Saturday, so he prepared for that while Marshal and I went out Friday night (read: wee early hours of Saturday morning) to the Flying Saucer and the Big Bang Dueling Piano Bar.  It was GRAND.  We talked, drank (Terrapin Pumpkinfest, ftw!), talked some more, drank some more, sang loudly and embarrassingly, drank some more, scathingly ranked men and women on scales of 1 to 10 by their attire or lack thereof, drank a bit more, walked Broadway, and searched for food.  Note to self: apparently Nashvillians don't eat after a night on the town, for every food venue in a ten mile radius that was not a Mickey Dees was clo-sed.

The Flying Saucer's tap lineup:

The Big Bang (and obviously not my photo):

I was slightly hungover the next morning (read: hungover as hell).  Let me explain.  I am a small person.  I rarely drink anymore.  Ever, really.  I just don't have the time or the opportunity, or, really, the desire.  I suppose that is a sign of adulthood, and I suppose I can embrace that.  However, it does lead to me thinking I can drink more than I can.  Which leads to other bad, bad things.  I woke up Saturday to Ryan leaving the hotel and thought, "Dear God.....please shoot me."  I showered, washing my hair with what I prayed was shampoo and not lotion.  (Who can read the tiny script on hotel toiletry bottles??)  With that I proceeded to Target and purchased the darkest sunglasses I could find, a bottle of Tums, Excedrin, a Sprite, and a small travel pillow.  I was already running late.


I got to Marshal's by ten thirty.  Now, you might be asking yourself why in the world I would even be up and trying to be social in such a state.  Well, you see, Marshal is a god among men.  Physically attractive, remarkably intelligent, witty, honest, blah blah blah (and it's all true, too!), and the kicker: an amazing cook.  Seriously.  The man can cook anything.  So when he offers to cook me breakfast, I jump at the chance.  A man offering to cook for me?  Who will share his cooking secrets?  Who will discuss with me the pros and cons of French butter versus Irish butter?  I'M SO IN.  By ten forty-seven I was nursing myself into human-ness with a hot mocha and a prosciutto--emmentaler cheese--fig crepe that was out of this world, amazingly delicious.  See photo:

 Oh--did I mention that Marshal lives (lives!!) at Cedarwood, an 1831 antebellum farm estate that is Nashville's premier wedding site?  (www.cedarwoodweddings.com)  Yeah, it's pretty much gorgeous:

I left at noon to bring Ryan lunch.  I enjoy doing that.  It's my way of being supportive, because I really am supportive of his playing...I just find it hard to pay attention if I try to sit through a whole round of a game that's stratospheres above my head.  His friend Jonathan was there with his girlfriend Katie, so I hung out with her for a few hours until Marshal called again.  "Do you want to come to Oktoberfest down in Germantown?"  Er...HELL YES.  Oktoberfest, I'm sure, is self explanatory.

What it's all about:

My favorite shot of the day:

And it rocked: yummily and in my tummy.  Jon and Ryan ended up playing until about eleven, so we headed to Steak N Shake for nourishment.  Fun times followed.  We wound up getting home at 5 am Eastern time Sunday, so though we missed church, we did fall into bed thankful and full of prayer.

And that was my weekend.