i should be over all the butterflies in 2013-2014

This song is stupidly cute. The only thing I like more than the song is randomly encountering it on the radio on the way home from work:

Also, the big story is back one, under the appropriate-yet-still-a-song-reference title Storytime. :)

Dear friend beetroot s. sent me to A Practical Wedding. I am tickled by the idea of an engagement card that says "shit just got real." One of my freak-out elements is that we're real adults now. We leveled up. We're not stuck in that prolonged quasi-adolescence, courtesy of a recession that's made it exceedingly difficult to manage any of the usual milestones of marriage or homeowning or viable savings accounts or saving for retirement. Which might be more honest and back to the roots--engagement/marriage as a cooperative life strategy (two incomes, baby!) rather than a status symbol of some sort.

I've never felt like a 'real' adult, partially due to the whole economy-is-shit-and-I-have-a-liberal-arts-degree-with-no-intent-of-teaching thing and partially because of my goofy personality. Clowns aren't taken seriously very often, and let's face it, I forgot a steak knife was in my hand and tried to scratch my ear and still haven't lived this down. I do stupid things a lot. Not to get onto some kind of sexism soapbox, but something about getting married gives legitimacy. Like you're a real person with something to contribute and value rather than another struggling human scavenging for survival. So that's a weird pressure or tension. Like there are expectations somehow. Like, oh wow! Rachel's getting married! HELL HAS FROZEN OVER. (I heard this over the weekend.)

I've been a single tomboy all my life. Aaron is my first (and only HAHAHA) boyfriend. That contributes as well. This is a big reason my parents are so deliriously happy.

Anyway, so I was perusing A Practical Wedding, and the fading wave of anxiety and feeling overwhelmed came right back. These people, women, are eloquent. They have verbalized feelings. There is meaning to their plans. They were active participants in their proposal planning.

And then there's me. For the love of baby cupcakes, I've only got this cat gif and this A Softer World comic. I didn't even know what my ring looked like until 90 minutes after I got it.

He's the cat coming out from under the couch

Remember to check the alt text

I'm not grieving my singleness. I'm tired of my singleness. I've lived by myself in a strange town that I don't fit in for four years. I've got all the singleness I could dream of. I can't wait to be done with bars, with meeting guys, with being turned down because I don't put out on command. I can't wait to not have the constant, silent pressure that if I don't do it then it won't get done, that if I'm too sick or injured to help myself than my only alternative is a bankrupting 911 call, that if I want to see anyone I love then I have to drive 4+ hours. It was fun, singleness, and we had lots of ridiculous and grand adventures, but I won't miss you. I'm ready for having someone to come home to and split the housework, with having someone else to walk the dog or take out the trash. I'm ready to have my best friend as my permanent roommate and partner in crime. (Kacy refers to engagement rings as "BFF rings.")

This isn't the most organized thing I've ever written. (I'm not the most organized that I've ever been.)

So I've been a tomboy since my mom's OB/GYN looked at the ultrasound and swore I was a boy. I never dressed like a boy, but I've always been a bit stymied and terrified by things like excess emotion, conforming to beauty trends, large groups of women, dresses, flowers, and everyone staring at my feelings. In a nutshell, weddings terrify me. I don't even like to look at my feelings, let alone stick them on an altar and command attention to them. I also have nasty pollen allergies, and flowers are only enjoyable from a safe distance.

There was this comment in the page that beetroot s. linked me to:
""I think the key is finding someone who understands that you freaking out isn't a reflection of your commitment to them, but just how you're wired."

Yes. Absolutely. My fiance and I started using the phrase "Challenge accepted" (in the Barney Stinson HIMYM voice) when it's clear I am freaking out about something." -Happy Engagement

True.

A little bit of background: Aaron has known that he wanted to marry me within two weeks of meeting me. He has never been shy about this. I've had almost two years to come to terms with it and catch up, since I move slow as a dead turtle, and he accepts this too. It's given him time to plot out the ring and his proposal many times. He finally clocked out at Proposal Plan E and Ring 2. Poor guy. The concert festival he wanted to propose at first didn't have the band they usually do, then was rescheduled for an indefinite future, and when he went to get the ring, it wasn't available anymore. So by the time that he did it Friday night, he just didn't care anymore and wanted to get it over with. Maybe that's not romantic or disappointing, but I like it. Eternity together isn't about the cute planned perfect ceremonies. It's about rolling with what you get.

But because I've always known what the end-game is and just had to finally reach the point at my own pace, it's not out of nowhere. It's not surprising. I gave him the diamond with which to propose in December. It was actually getting into the irritating pre-engagement/suspense territory. We had thrown around the fiancee/fiance words experimentally; he called me his fiancee on his last job application. There's been a slow easing into this, which is perfect for me. I think it's good for him, too. He might be the more impulsive and romantic one, but he also moves too fast sometimes, and needs to be slowed down.

There was also that roadtrip last fall where, in order to stay awake, we played 20 Questions with each other and basically planned the wedding.

Getting engaged wasn't some kind of angels-singing, life-changing, revolutionary event. It was just a thing that finally happened to the delight of everyone we know. It's exciting and intimidating and we're bracing for a good year of saving money and planning, but also expected and anticipated, and because of that, not a total mindfuck.

That said, have I been blinded by my ring while driving and had a good moment of HOLY FUCK THERE'S A DIAMOND RING ON MY HAND? Yes. Yes I have. At least once a day. My fingers are cold up here and it spins around and moves and pokes me and is impossible to ignore.

Any of my mindfuck is that I don't know how to "be a girl." I don't even know how to be a proper rebellious feminist, because I have no interest in borderline self-loathing. I am a female. I am a girl. I don't see anything wrong with it. I've been an athletic girl all my life, and no matter how much equality rhetoric there is, I'm well aware of my own physical limitations and I'm pretty sure most athletes are. /tangent

So now you say, oh, you'll be a beautiful bride! When's the date? What style dress do you want? Colors? Flowers? How many bridesmaids? And I get online and it's all about Pinterest and DIY cute crafts for favors and table pieces and bridesmaid gifts. I've never been on Pinterest. I'm not 'crafty.' (I'm sneaky and artistic but not 'crafty.') There are stereotypes and expectations and it's like there's this club of clever female solidarity and I'm walking toward it but instead of entering the hallowed Building of Wedding Planning I just went straight into a glass door and smushed my face all over its pristine surface. I don't know how to be a girl. I don't own foundation and can only apply the laziest, smudgiest, "smokiest" eyeliner. I do all my shopping at Goodwill and never really got out of the grunge style of the 90s, and I worry more about calf muscle balances than mythical thigh gaps.

So I recoil, and land back at The Bouquet Toss and Other Gender Weird Traditions. But it doesn't make me feel better. I don't like the idea of the garter toss, either, and we're not doing it because Aaron would prefer all skirt-breaching to be done without screaming witnesses, but then you get into the discussion and everything has meaning. Traditions are discarded in the name of expression and liberation and outdatedness and enlightenment.

I don't fit that either. We're trashing traditions because we can't afford them and we're not getting much, if any, financial help, and we don't use credit cards. That isn't much of a political statement. ("We prioritized the bounce house over the flower arrangements because EQUALITY!") I don't care about throwing a bouquet, but I don't want real flowers because I don't want to spend my wedding sneezing all over the place or spending that kind of money. I want my daddy to walk me down the aisle, because we're super close and we all like the concept of him entrusting his only daughter and football buddy and gun show buddy and beer buddy to someone he wants to have as a son. I think we all know by 2014 in America that I'm not chattel. It probably doesn't need to be explicitly stated.

Where are the articles about derp how do I girl? My mom's not a 'girl' either. She was an athlete growing up and well into her 50s, until my dad's worrying made her stop. We've never known the subtleties of dressing up or applying makeup or what exactly to say and how to hug. We get confused a lot together.

I'm lucky. My best friend, who adores my scruffiness and celebrates it, is handling so much of this for me. She's been prowling the dress market for two days, narrowing down which styles I like and would work for my muscular body type and finding color palettes and trends and ranking stores. She's hijacked the role of Maid of Honor and is doing the title justice, because she is honestly going to do so much in making me presentable and babysitting my panicky anxieties. She'll worry about cosmetics and hair styling and nails and shoes and dress fabrics. She'll call in a veritable army to get it all done if she has to.

I have recently married friends who are full of advice. I have super competent people all around me, multiple photographers and culinary geniuses, all eager to share their talents. I am so stupidly blessed that I don't need to figure it out all out because they're all right there, beaming up and waiting to be tapped. Kristen and her mom squealed when I asked if they'd like to come up a day or two early, be given $100 and a kitchen, and go to town making food. Aaron's dad is a photographer, and Collin is just waiting to be told what to do. Heather's mom is a professional hair stylist who's done my hair before. Kate loves to focus her bipolar manic stages into party-planning. Kacy is always down for a good, dirty, confused discussion on spiritual applications. I showed my mom XKCD and she's happily prowling the Internet and using her own craft genius to brainstorm decoration ideas.

And I'm just over here, eyeballing my ring, petting my cat, and looking up bounce house rental rates for the after party.

I couldn't imagine pulling this off without everyone in my life. I absolutely do not have the tools to do it by myself. (Remember all that ruminating on independence yeah that's sitting funny right now.)

I don't know. So that's my weird feeling casserole. Less singleness grief and apprehension over shackling myself to some man in an oppressively patriarchic society and more how do I dress myself, more feeling completely out of place and lost in some nasty maelstrom of female rites of passage that I don't understand.

And in the end, when my eyes start glazing in fear and I start clinging, Aaron's there to kiss my forehead and remind me of what really matters. We're going to live together and take NAPS together and get a PUPPY!