The Times Weddings & Celebrations pages are my guilty pleasure. It’s not that I’m one of those girls that sits around day dreaming about her wedding day. I don’t. Or that I may be slightly obsessed with cushion cut diamonds. I am. Or that I have an in case of emergency groomie set aside. I do. For the most part I would say I’m somewhat indifferent on the state of my union. I, like many others I know, and some I don’t subscribe to the non-plan, plan. Let the rhinestones fall where they may AND If I could, I’d bedazzle an “S” for “I’m Super thanks for Asking” on my just enough to fill up a wine glass chest. Proudly.
So why you ask, am I obsessed with the Weddings & Celebration pages in the Times? Simple, Serendipity. I love that on any given day a trip to the market can seg way to a journey down the aisle. It’s inspiring. This way to happily ever after or at least dirty wedding sex if it’s not your time to shine. Always a hostess, never a bridesmaid I’m talking to you.
A few weeks ago in one of my cathartic rants about NsSA I mentioned how my cousin and his wife met the last day he was on holiday in the Dominican Republic. They saw each other and had an instant connection. I guess you could say they just knew. I’ve always wondered what people mean by this … “I just knew.” I’ve “just known” a few times – twice to be exact. The first being with “Can’t Stop Won’t Stop” whom I dated two weeks in college and officially broke up with four years later. It was a complete and total
cluster f*ck disaster. The second time I fell in love, was “Straight Eye for the Queer Guy,” my down low ex. Straight eye and I were introduced through another mutual friend during a baby shower. I looked across the room and our eyes locked and it was unlike anything I’d ever experienced in my life at that point. Crazy. Sexy. Intoxicating. And completely unfortunate. Conclusion: I suck at “just knowing.”
For many of us, namely me (I include you because it makes me feel less pathetic by _ this much) the beginning of the story … the when-harry-met-sally, how we met story — is the alpha and omega. The beginning and the end. Often carelessly dismissing that with all good stories – the ones with substance and literary symmetry, always have a beginning, a middle and an end. In my opinion the former and latter, through no fault of their own – being the most queried by far. How did you meet and Why’d you break up? Leaving the middle in a perpetual state of Jan Brady-ness. And perhaps for good reason. Sometimes one plus one doesn’t always equal two. And while I enjoy a good climax, not all climaxes are the good kind. Can I get an a-woman? No … Fair enough.
Show of cyber hands – When’s the last time you spoke with someone who watched a film you’d been salivating to see and they turned and asked “Do you want me to tell you about the middle?” Never.Happens. And yet, this is typically the story. Just when you think you’ve figured out it was Mr. Smith, in the library with a candlestick – BAM! Opposition. Maybe it was hipster, in fitted jeans and torn Ramones shirt at obscure cafe’ turned record shoppe in Little Five Points. Yes, that just happened.
And while I’m on a bit of a roll here and at the risk of being struck by lightning — join me for a brief tour of The Holy Bible, which is full of big finishes. Say what you want, but God has a flair for the dramatics. He is the original David Blane. He actually out Blane’s David Blane by far and then some. So let’s see I’m freestyling here a bit as I don’t have a Bible handy, but the first few books are pretty risqué … murder, orgies, dysfunctional relationships. Just your average run of the mill twin on twin hate crime. I dig it … There’s some good stuff in there – its honestly a phenomenal read. And talk about scene stealers, well, the middle is where it’s at. Before MTV’s “Teen Mom” there was The Virgin Mary. And let’s face it, the early BC’s probably not the best time to be an unwed mother. Oh and the plot twist, you’re preggo by the Holy Spirit with The Messiah. That’s story telling at its finest!
Less we forget, Revelations which reads like a Sorcerer’s Stone meets Race to Witch Mountain on blue magic heroin. I’m not sure how you feel, but I sure as hell aren’t jazzed about the thought of being sucked into the fifth dimension of hell for a gazillion years. **Spoiler alert,** being on fire for eternity is the spiritual equivalent of a Ke$ha and Dirty Money Remix album … On repeat … forever. But I digress … Where was I, oh –how we met.
So, I was chatting with on my besties a few days ago who’s due some good lovin as her lady bits have been on hiatus for more than a year. We’ll call her Not-So-Desperate in Seattle (NS-DS for short). In the last year, she endured a date with “Surprised Eyes” guy in red man Keds who itemized a dinner check on her — you had the chicken and the salad I had theeee … Been stood up … Stood down (yes, I just made that up — its my blog so that’s totally allowed) And my personal fav, attacked by Harriet Tubman, a neighbor’s ferret, not the other one – #TrueStory. My point is, if anyone deserves some happiness, she does.
A few weeks ago she met swoon worthy – and soooo not her type in any shape, form or fashion – Aiden. He’s a gainfully employed, seemingly normal, all around good guy and she is smitten. I recognize the signs as I was her a few months ago when I met my very own all around, gainfully employed, seemingly normal and yet completely odd, but still good guy. “He’s just a really nice guy” she said. “I can’t really explain it … he’s not someone I would have chosen for myself, but he’s a really good guy.” Her words warmed my heart. I can’t resist a good love story. And as she began to recite their “How We Met” story I listened attentively. Pausing periodically for the obligatory friendship ewwws and awwweess. It was a good story. Something you’d want to share with the kids over brunch at the summer house, where oddly I just know this will end up – for them, provided the pretend Rapture doesn’t F things up for us at 6 PM tonight. *Fingers Crossed.*
And when it’s all said … stories shared and memories made, I look forward to knowing that I was a witness to something good and wonderful. And when someone ask the infamous “How did you meet?,” I’ll stand next to them both (in a non SBF way) and smile as they recite in unison, “We Met at Whole Foods.”
Cheers to New Love – B*tches!