Tag Archives: marriage

The toothbrush moves in.

A few weeks ago, D arrived at my apartment one night and made an interesting comment.

“You know, staying at your place every night is really KILLING my hygiene.”

Oh? The standard routine has been that he comes over after work (which is usually late at night) and sleeps until he needs to get ready for his next shift. He throws on the same boxers and undershirt, puts on a pair of pants and a shirt fresh from the cleaners and goes to work.

“I normally like to put on a clean shirt and boxers when I get home from work, you know?” he said.

I asked him if he wanted a drawer.

“Why don’t you bring somethings over?” I asked.

He said he just always forgot.

I went into my bathroom and told him I had a toothbrush for him, which he appreciated. The next morning, however, I took a peek at his undershirt size and the number on his pants. I made a mental note, and that was that.

A few days later, I took a rather fun adventure to Walmart.

What resulted was a shopping cart full of things any guy could ask for in terms of showering/prepping for work: face wash, razors, body wash, shampoo/conditioner, Chapstick, a comb, deodorant, aftershave, and mouthwash… I even got a “Man tool” which was a manly loofah that I didn’t even know existed.

Although it sounds like I really knew what I was doing, looking for all of these items was mind-blowing. I had no idea all of the options men had out there! I cannot even describe to you the horror that was on my face when I entered the razor aisle… I didn’t know what razor to get and then I stood there for a solid 10 minutes wondering if he used shaving cream or not. I assumed not, and I was indeed right, he uses hot water.

IMG-20130321-00270Taking it one step further, I also purchased a pack of undershirts, boxers, and socks. And then I put it all together in a manly black basket on my bathroom counter.

Yeah. I’m awesome. Or am I? Because in the 24 hours that the basket sat there before he saw it, I was nervous as shit. I was worried he would see it and feel smothered or think I was moving too fast and then he would bolt and then I’d be left with a manly basket of crap.

Instead, he loved it. Because I’m not dating the men of my past.

IMG-20130322-00272He showered, got ready, and went to work in his new undergarments, and texted me saying it was a very comfortable shirt, and the socks were “amazing.”

“You did very good; I love my basket,” he said.

He was perplexed on how I got the correct sizes though. And I told him I just looked at his tags… he then concluded that I was a ninja and that my sneaky ways needed to be further reviewed.

Being the great girlfriend that I am, I washed the clothes (including the ones he left), folded them, and stacked them in their very own spot, the boyfriend drawer.

I’ve never given a guy a drawer or anything close. When I sent D the picture, he replied, “Major girlfriend points.”

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Country Drama (Part 1)

Over the weekend I went to a bachelorette party in Nasvhille, Tennessee.  I’ve been there a handful of times and Nashville never disappoints, so I had high expectations for the weekend.  The only problem I could foresee was that Betty was going because she can be lot of anxiety and some drama.  

When the emails about the weekend started swirling and the MOH was getting deep into planning, Betty who has been to Nashville several times offered her assistance since she apparently knew where all the cool places were.  The MOH respectfully declined her help and said she would take care of everything.  Betty is kind of a control freak so I expected her to start having anxiety/panic attacks over the whole trip when she didn’t know/plan every last detail. I was also worried that when we actually went out, if people didn’t want to do what she wanted to do she would leave the group and expect me to go with her, which I knew I wouldn’t leave the group, but it would probably be more drama from Betty.  And that pretty much happened.

A few weeks before the party the MOH sent out an email saying she had rented a house because there were so many of us and all the hotels were booked up for some convention.  The house was 5 or 6 miles from downtown so she had also rented us a party bus to take us wherever we needed to go – the whole weekend excluding food and drinks was going to cost us $150.  To me, that sounded pretty awesome, I hate taking cabs and we’d be able to drink in the bus/leave whatever we didn’t want to take to the bar in the bus and have a ride wherever we needed to go.  Betty started complaining that she thought $150 was a lot and the house was really far from the strip, which I just ignored because whatever, if you don’t want to pay it then don’t go.  Then she came up with some idea that her and I should stay with a guy friend from high school, he lives close to the strip and would drop us off and pick us up and then we wouldn’t have to pay the money.  Um, no.  I told her she could do what she wanted, but I was staying with the group.  As soon as she realized I wasn’t going to do that, she dropped it.

The following week the MOH sent out another email saying she had everything booked, but the house only slept 7 and since there were 10 of us, she needed 3 people to volunteer to bring air mattresses.  This is when the freak out really started.  Betty then said that if she was going to have to sleep on an air mattress she wasn’t paying full price.  At first I just tried to calm her down, explaining that 3 out of 10 people had to sleep on air mattresses, and no where in the email did it say she had to be one of them.

A few days later she asked me if I was going to reply to the email.  Which I explained that I wasn’t, because while I do have an air mattress, it’s a piece of shit hand pump one and I sure as hell wasn’t pumping that thing up at 3am when I’m drunk as piss, so I wasn’t planning on bringing it.  To add to it, the planning for this weekend started well over 2 months ago, and when it started the MOH told us all to be sure to take Friday off work, Betty didn’t take the day off  so I automatically was expected to wait for her to get off work before flying out, which also meant everyone else got there a solid 4-5 hours before us.  Of course I wasn’t happy that I had to wait on her, but what could I do? Since we were going to be so late and the last to arrive I expected we would be sleeping on the air mattresses, but I never said anything to Betty for obvious reasons.  I honestly could have cared less though, we were going to be drunk as shit and I would have preferred sleeping on an air mattress alone to sharing a bed with someone anyway.

A few more days went by and Betty started getting anxiety that no one had replied about bringing air mattresses.  Betty said she was going to reply and ask how we would get into the house if they were gone already when we got there and would say we would bring my air mattress but it’s jank and no one would want to sleep on it.  At this point I started to get pissed, like why was this still an issue? She wasn’t planning the weekend, so I told her if no one volunteered to bring them, then the MOH could figure it out – it’s not our problem. But she didn’t, she kept saying she was going to reply until I finally said you know what, if you reply saying we’re bringing an air mattress I guaran-fucking-tee you will be sleeping on it, so if you don’t want to sleep on it don’t say anything. Also, it’s not your air mattress to offer, it’s mine and I already said I wasn’t bringing it, so that’s the end of it. Of course, as the weekend got closer 5 other people volunteered to bring air mattresses and it was no longer an issue.

The day of the trip arrived and I was not at all excited because of all of the stress leading up to it…

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The right to wed.

Me and Gizzy were talking the other night about being single (big shocker) and how we’re not getting any younger.

The conversation goes a little something like this: If you meet Mr. Right tomorrow, you date for a year, get engaged, be engaged for a year, and then get married. Putting you at 30 when you’re married… and then factor in the fact that you’re not going to meet Mr. Right tomorrow.

This is a game we play often, which is probably damaging to several lobes in my brain.

The last time I actually imagined myself getting married was when I was dating BEX. I would picture the venue (a giant, sheer silk tent), my dress (Carrie Bradshaw’s white dress in front of the fountain with Aiden), the colors (black and white), the flowers (yellow and write roses) and I would imagine myself walking down the very simple aisle to him…

But since our relationship ended (again and again), I’ve tried to push those dreams out of my mind as much as possible.

I always tell my friends that I know I won’t get married, that it’s just not for me, but I know it’s just a defense mechanism. I don’t want to deal with the failure that I feel is on the horizon.

There are times when I’m positive about it and think, “you never know!” And in those moments, I picture a simple wedding in Vegas, where it’s just a party, and no one is bogged down with annoying bridesmaid’s dresses, rented tuxes, and fancy formalities.

After being in several over-the-top weddings, I started to think that I wouldn’t want to put my friends and family through all of that—for what? Just so I can have “my day?”

When I see pictures on Facebook (the devil) of people getting married, I start thinking it’s kind of silly—not marriage—but throwing a big shindig. I think it would be wrong of me to have some ridiculous wedding, like I’ve passed the deadline for that sort of thing.

Then I just get sad and think, wow, how cynical am I? Everyone deserves their day, no matter how old, marriage is something to celebrate, right?

And then I just remember that I’m single and I shouldn’t be worrying about my wedding.

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Gizzy’s baaaaaaack!

Well HELLOOOOOO there old friends. I’m back! And I’m sorry, and I love you.  I know what you’re thinking, I can’t just leave for 2 months and up and walk through the door and be all hey I’m back, sorry, and expect things to be peachy king again.  Well, you’re right,  I owe you all an explanation. 

So, why did I drop off the face of the Earth for 2+ months you ask? It’s easy.  I’ve been in this little country in Western Africa called Malawi, teaching poor kids math for free.  Don’t you feel like an asshole now? Good.

Here’s how it happened, I was at my new job just minding my own business when one of the Surgeons that I work with asked me on a date.  Oh, did I mention that he’s also Brazilian? Yes, yes he is, and H-O-T.  Anyway, of course I said yes.  We pretty much fell in love and he told me about this mission trip he was doing from September – October, since we’re in love and he’s a rich Doctor, I quit my job and went.  I know it seems pretty reckless, but when else in my life will I have this opportunity? Well, I mean now that I’m dating a Doctor that does this stuff all the time, a lot, but that’s beside the point. 

Anyway, I spent  the last 2 weeks in August getting all my immunizations/reading up on what it’s like to be in a third world country and then September 1st we were off. Basically it was the time of my life, yes I pretty much spent the first two weeks barfing my guts up from the water/food – but after that it was awesome.  At some point I’ll put up some pictures/share some stories, but I’ve been back all of 3 days so I’m still trying to get used to electricity and water without dirt and parasites in it – let alone the internet (blowing my mind right now!). Did I mention I’m really tan? I’m really tan. It’s awesome. 

So anyway, I need to give props to Lucky for running this show solo the last 2 months, she’s done a spectacular job even though she’s now going through a hard time.  Now that I’m the equivalent of a house wife, since I’m all African cultured now and have no job, I shouldn’t have any trouble posting my little heart out. 

So I hope everyone will welcome me back with open arms and get ready for some stories of what’s really been going on in my life the last 2 months, because if you people know me at all, you know that the entire above mentioned story is a crock of shit.  Except the part about me quitting my job (again), and that I now have a boyfriend, that stuff is true – the rest was a joke.  Tune in next week!

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An affair to remember? Part II

A few days after I shut down Josh for the chance to be his mistress, we had a nice little chat on Facebook:

Josh: Hey, real quick then i’ll leave you be. Just to be clear. You’re not pissed off at me are you? I respect your perspective but would still like to be cool. Def don’t want to fall into the same category as the trainer.

Me: I’m not pissed off. I am just really shocked and confused plus it has just been a really hard week and i feel like everyone is on my case

Josh: I am def not trying to be on your case at all. What are you confused about?

Me: I didn’t say you were. Just all of this, it’s really difficult to understand

Josh: I TOTALLY agree, def an awkward situation

Me: At first, I felt like a complete idiot for not understanding what you were trying to tell me. But then again, who WOULD automatically assume that a married man was asking her to partake in something immoral. It’s a shitty situation on it’s own, plus it’s been the worst week of my life.

Josh: I know what you mean, and you were dead on when you said you deserve more than a partial relationship. For me to argue anything else would be ridiculous…Also try put yourself in my shoes

Me: The things you said to me Saturday night were manipulative; trying to make me feel guilty for not wanting to be a part of breaking up your family. I am a good person, just trying to make it. I meet people every day who get off on treating me like shit, and you had me convinced you were not one of those people. Now, I just don’t know.

Josh: Honestly, Saturday I was able to get away and all I wanted was to be with you. When that didn’t happen and combined with alcohol, stupid things were said. I do not get off treating anyone like shit. That’s not who I am. I’m glad you’re telling me how you feel though. Seriously, think about how torn I am? I am so happy that I met you on one hand and then scared to death on the other.

Me: scared to death of what?

Josh: The possibilities of how much my life could change. I just love my daughter and I am a good father. You do believe me when I say I have never done anything like this before right?

Me: Does it matter?

Josh: Your perception of me matters to me.  I don’t want you to think I’m some scumbag running around chasing women. That’s not who I am

Me: Honestly, as long as it doesn’t involve me I’m not concerned about it. what you do is your business

Josh: I really hate having this important of a conversation through text. So much is lost.

Me: I don’t have anything more to say about this. I don’t know why you’re insisting on beating a dead horse, or trying to save face. You did something shitty, and you know it. If you’d ever been cheated on, you’d know that it is one of the worst feelings in this world. If you want to talk to me about other stuff, cool, if you just want to try and argue with me, forget it.

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All hail the bridezilla

Over the weekend, I flew out of town to be in a wedding I told you all about. It was…interesting to say the least.

I was worried that the entire weekend was just going to be coupley crap and that it was going to be non-alcoholic because years ago, the bride made mention that her bf (now fiance) thought she had a drinking problem. So, I was stewing about that and making plans to use my flask to make it through the weekend.

Turns out, the alcohol was the least of my worries. According to the other bridesmaids, the groom wanted to call off the wedding a few months ago, so the bride agreed to attend AA meetings to keep the show on. Fabulous!

Friday night actually wasn’t too bad. I spent 6 hours getting loaded at the airport, got a case of beer for my room, and by the time the rehearsal was happening, I was nice and toasted and was actually laughing at the fact that the groomsmen showed up high and in flip flops. Even the dinner and the lingerie shower was pretty fun.

I was beginning to feel great, I had misjudged this weekend and a small getaway was exactly what I needed.

And then Saturday happened.

When I met up with the bride, she was already pissed as the chapel had forgotten about our bridal luncheon. It was a perfect reason to be pissed, but not a reason to let it ruin your BIG day. We told her to calm down, the problem was solved, don’t freak out.


It was time for beer #2. We get in the car and the bride continues to stir, moving onto other subjects, like how much she hates the groom’s mom and how nervous she is and why are people calling her? Don’t they know it’s her wedding day?

This attitude continued throughout the luncheon, and throughout the afternoon, with special freak outs when the cake arrived 3 minutes late and when the hair and makeup artists were stuck in traffic. All of us were yelled at for not getting her water fast enough, not shutting the door to the suite, and not listening to her.

As the hours passed, the buzz from my 2 beers, 3 mimosas, and entire bottle of bubbly wore off, and my level of anxiety was quickly rising. There were so many people in the room, it was so loud, and oh-so-tense.

Around 6 pm, the bride sent one of us to the groom’s room to give him a love letter and a gift. Just a few minutes later, she returned, gift in hand. The groom had yet to arrive, with less than 1 hour before the wedding. Needless to say, the bride went on a marathon yelling session.



She got married, and I was for sure she’d be happy then. Oh, but no. She was tired of having her photo taken (!). She was also mad that no one was on the dance floor, and that those who were, wouldn’t make a soul train.

My breaking point came around hour 11 of Bridezilla 2012: the bouquet toss. I was mentally done being a bridesmaid, I just had one more hour to go. I went to the dance floor to make the monster happy, and she got in my face “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN” …I paused, took a swig of my beer, and realized that I’d spent about $800 to be yelled at.

“FUCKING EATING” I snapped back. And I turned and stood to pretend to catch the bouquet. Thankfully, I didn’t, and the bride apologized to us, saying she “had a moment” because no one was on the dance floor.

Um, a moment? How about 11 fucking hours of a moment where you treated 6 of your closest friends like pieces of trash? See ya never, bitch.

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The Notebook in real life

Yesterday I witnessed what may be the sweetest thing I have ever seen.  It really restored my faith in true love. 

So I went to a birthday party for my old friend Polly at her mother’s house, about 45 minutes from hometown.  Her extended family and I were the only guests in attendance.  Her family is a little odd, I won’t lie… but they’re a good time and they can keep the conversation flowing.  And a few years ago her grandmother was diagnosed with some pretty serious Alzheimer’s, so as you can imagine things can get a little crazy.

I was around Polly’s Grandparents growing up enough for them to remember me before her Grandmother was diagnosed.  The past several times her Grandmother has seen me, she hasn’t remembered me, which I wouldn’t expect her to and we go through the same old song and dance every time.  I introduce myself, tell her where I’m from and who my parents are, where I live now and what I do.. yada yada yada.  We did that this time too, but I did notice that she’s gotten a lot worse than the last time I saw her. 

She’s now struggling to keep her train of thought, on more than one occasion yesterday she started talking about driving or her family and it ended in her saying how much she loves her cat, that she also can’t remember the name of.  She has a good spirit, she knows that she’s sick and that losing her thoughts are a part of her illness, but I feel bad for her because you can tell she gets frustrated.

Her family has some fun with her, because she’s to the point where she’s almost like a toddler.  So they’ll ask her what color things are, what their names are, etc etc.. They all take turns “Grandma sitting” and even got tattoos on their ankles of “xoxo” in her handwriting.

Polly’s Grandfather, however, is still well and takes care of her Grandmother.  Although they don’t live in a nursing home, it reminded me of The Notebook, in the sweetest way.  Her Grandmother was talking about how she’d love to have more independence, but she can’t, someone is always with her.  They asked her if she knew who took care of her and she looked at her husband.  And she said, “This man. This wonderful loving, smart, very intelligent, kind man takes care of me.”  Then she looked at him and said, “Are you my wife?” He giggled and said, “Yeah, I’m your wife.” Then she asked him if he was black.  Which had us all rolling around on the floor, because he is certainly not black.  He asked her if he looked black and she said, “Well yes, but you’re a lovely beautiful black woman.” 

After everyone took Grandma inside, he proceeded to tell me about how he gets a tickle out of her every night because she doesn’t think they should be sleeping in the same bed.  To her, they aren’t married yet and she has hired Polly as their wedding planner, but she introduces herself with his last name.  Then he told a story about how a little over a year ago she was asking to drive, so even though he was scared because she can no longer read the word STOP and doesn’t know that a red light means stop, he let her drive down country roads just to make her happy.  The first thing that went through my head was what if they drove off a cliff or straight into a tree, but I can’t imagine him minding if she got them both into a car accident if it brought her a little bit of happiness.

I don’t know why, but hearing all of this and watching them warmed my heart.  It’s probably a rare occasion to find a guy now-a-days that would stick with you in your old age through all of this when he is perfectly healthy and lucid, but I just kept thinking about how much he must really love her.

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