It's literally the final countdown to the wedding now. I don't want to say this, because it sounds like an old Aunt or Uncle, pinching the cheek of their favourite Nephew and remarking 'My haven't you grown fast?' but it's come around so quickly.
It's been over a year since we got engaged, over a year since we first start looking at venues, and everything seemed like it was a such a long way away, they was so much time.
Now time's pretty much run out. In a few weeks it'll be all over, all the hard work, all the fights, all the months of planning and the continual colour scheme changes, and all the dieting and binge eating, and saving and worries will be over and done with, and we'll be sat in the Jacuzzi comitting it to memory and to a finacial debt that will last until we retire at the age of 90.
Love. Thank God I'll be over and done with it soon.
Monday, May 26
The Final Countdown to Love
Friday, January 4
Wedding Day Blues
There was a time when weddings were simple. All that was required was a broken condom and a shotgun. There was none of this fuss with wedding lists, or Evening Entertainment, or cake; just a night of unbridled passion followed by a life time of being bridled.
Our wedding was meant to be simple too. It was supposed to be about our feelings for each other, about promising to spend our lives together until we waste away together in a nursing home eyeing up the young carers.
Somehow, it got confused.
Because now it's about everyone else. It's become less of a fairy tale wedding and more like the Rocky horror Picture Show. Madness takes control.
Forget Love, our wedding is about seating arrangements and table decorations and dessert choices and photographers and accommodation and suits and best people and loans and family politics and scatterfetti and party poppers and invites and speeches and wine and transport and tiny chocolates...
And money, always about money.
At present, I'd be quite happy to forget about the wedding and skip to the honeymoon, just like I managed to forget being born. These things just aren’t major life events.
But over Christmas ,when I was lying in bed on my third consecutive night away from Dan, my thoughts were dancing round my mind like a raver in a army obstacle course. And I realised, slowly, that without Dan lying next to me, my bed was a void waiting to be filled. I missed him; I really missed him. It would be fair to say that was somewhat surprising. But I couldn't wait to be home again, hugging him, punching him and annoying him while he cooked dinner.
I am so enraptured by him, that if he asked, I would spend the rest of my life researching, designing and building a machine which could transcend the clouds, steal the stars from the sky, and grind them into a fine biological washing powder to make his laundry whiter than white.
He's worth the money. He's worth the stress. He's worth the rising feel of panic. Our wedding is, and always will be about us, the 2 of us, together for the rest of our lives, pinching each other when we get bored, fighting over the TV remote, and gazing 'thoughtfully' at the shirtless men on the beach until one of us loses our eyesight and has to 'eye up men' using Braille. I want my happily ever after, I want my pet dog, and my evening strolls, and my cold nights in bed spent stealing the duvet. And I want my Fiancée; I want my Dan, I want the one person who has managed to be more important to me than the Simpsons, whilst still managing to increase my latent homophobia on a daily basis.
I want my husband.
And if it costs me all the money in the world, a mental breakdown, and a wedding day styled after Nightmare on Elm Street, I'll do it. I'll do it for him.
Because promising to be together, forever (or until one of us gets really fat) will be the Happiest Day of My Life.
At least until the honeymoon...
Thursday, May 24
Happy Chappy
Sunday, May 20
Sticky Post - Love and Magic
(UPDATE: Picture is back online)
On Sunday, my boyfriend under went a magical transformation.
He knelt down beside me as just my Boyfriend, and rose back up, my Fiancée.
Thursday, May 17
Pre-marital Blitz
The arguments have started.
First there was the confusion over the engagement rings. Where should we get them from? How much should we pay? What will they look like?
It took us 4 or 5 detailed studies of the same 3 stores before we finally found a ring we both liked, and when we finally went to buy it they didn’t have it in our size. So we wasted half a lifetime trying to find another one, had our fingers measured, discovered our actual sizes were different to what we first thought and that the new ring didn’t come in them, ran back to the first shop to order the first ring again only to discover it had since sold out.
I’ve always believed a wedding was a somewhat magical event that effortlessly arranged itself, and resulted in a wonderful time for one and all. So far just trying to find a symbol of our engagement is difficult enough.
On top of this, My Fiancée (^_^) follows a highly predictable pattern every time a new Idea comes into his head, such as getting married, owning a car, or becoming a porn star. For about 2 days he will be obsessed with the idea, researching it in great detail, then falling in love with the first thing he saw. For the next two weeks he will dream wildly, throwing imaginary money at the idea, talking about it 24/7 and wearing me out by bursting into my room every few minutes with a new idea. Then finally, after a certain incubating period, the idea begins to lose interest, his attention wanes, and I can step in with some more practical, affordable, and generally sane ideas.
Right now, I feel exhausted just being around him, trying to keep up with the barrage of information he throws at me every few minutes. I’ve been finding it hard to update this blog, hard to be funny, and even harder to resist hitting him round the face every now and then. I’m actually looking forward to him getting bored of me again and abandoning me to watch downloaded episodes of CSI all night so I can finally sit down, spend some time to myself and work out what I want from this wedding.
The average modern engagement lasts 15 months but at this rate I’ll have died of exhaustion before the year is out.
And I still won’t have found an engagement ring.
Monday, May 14
Love Drunk
As with most of our relationship it was largely to do with alcohol.
I first met My Boyfriend in a gay club. I’d always assumed I’d never meet a partner in that kind of place, imagining instead I would meet them at a Philosophy Club, Writers Circle, Amateur Drama Company or some other thing that I have never actually been to. Instead, I met him in the club toilets, where, in impetuous, imprudent inebriation, he refused to let me use the Water Fountain unless I kissed him.
Then he gave me his e-mail address, got more wasted, and ended up going home with someone else. He doesn’t remember that night.
The next time was at a party. He was the designated driver, completely sober, quiet, shy, boring. He remembers that night, I’m not entirely sure I do.
A few weeks later I was upstairs in a straight club dancing with some friends when they said, “Hey, there’s this guy downstairs who’s so camp! You’d hate it!” Of course, it was him! He got me drunk, and we ended up at the corner of the dance floor making out, causing a girl to scream as she walked past us. I’m not sure either of us really remembers that night.
And on Saturday night, we were back in the Gay Club, not the same one where we first met, but they are all replicas of each other in someway. As our friend was chatted up by the one straight man in the club, we sat on the couch, drank and talked about marriage. We’ve discussed it many times before, what we would do, how we would do it. And amongst sips we confessed our love for the millionth time. He brought me a rose. We hugged, we kissed, we danced badly to pop music, And we promised each other we would be together forever.
And both of us remembered.
Sunday morning we lay in bed recovering, holding each other, talking, being together, the two of us caught in the glow of the night before.
He kissed me, then got out of bed and knelt down beside it, next to where I was lying. His eyes, which were still half asleep, looked down into mine. His hair had suffered from a drunken slumber, last night’s style caught in a tangle of weakening gel. The floor was covered in smoky clothes, the stale smell of alcohol on our breaths. And it was the most beautiful moment of my life.
Regular readers may have noticed two quirks with this blog. Firstly I have avoided posting anything like a picture of myself or My Boyfriend. Secondly I have always referred to My Boyfriend simply as My Boyfriend, preferring to hide him behind a witty pseudo name (note the Capital Letters) than share him with you.
Well today I’d like to share.
So on the left is me, Simon, The Freelance Cynic, in the flesh.
And on the right is Dan. My Fiancée.
Lingering Love