Proof . . .

I mean I "knew" I was getting married when I asked someone to, you know, MARRY me but I didn't really think - in that cold, crisp air with the jolting smell of dead fish wafting by and the awkward glances of fellow cold, fish-filled air revelers casting about - that it was something that would ever smack me in the face or get "real".

Sure, sure. The ring shopping, the talking with her parents (and I thought actual negotiations were a bit much but my future father-in-law drives a hard bargain and knows the value of his offspring (I jest)), the actual asking, the announcements, the discussions, the (actual) negotiations over ceremony components, the hand wrangling over the bridal party and participants (some of whom are still yet to be asked/informed/negotiated with (I've got a few goats left to give, folks)), the constant "How's wedding planning going?", the save the dates (the hours and hours and hours spent stamping little tags and tying strings and putting satin circles on metallic honey caps and putting the whole thing on the save the dates (why can't THOSE f*cking things be resolved with goats?)), the searching for kippah and cufflinks. The hunting for the perfect ketubah and the tearful (happy tears) review of the language options and the discussion of Jon vs. Yon vs. John vs. Jean as one translates my future father-in-law's name.

It has been "real" (and (generally) wonderful) for many months and yet it was just last night (214 days after "popping the question" and nearly 3/4 of the way through our betrothal period) that I got PROOF that we were getting married.

Debash, you see, put our actual invitations to bed and I was emailed a PDF that put it right there - in "midnight navy" and "aged copper" ink on a double-weighted, "still grey" stock was the succinct (I'm trying to be less verbose (he says, hundreds of words in to a blog post)), simple fact that I'm getting married. I need to review, and approve these details (which we provided) that state for the whole world (or at least the 115 households on the invite list) that we are - in fact - getting married.

It is true. I have (a) PROOF. And a wonderful future father-in-law, wonderful day to look forward to, and amazing, squishy-faced genius to spend my life with.


Spousal Support . . .

Take a minute and check out the Facebook screen grab to the right. Okay. Do more than take a "look" at it. Read it. Now take the remaining 49 seconds left in the minute and do  your calming exercises. Breathe.

What? You're not enraged by this post? HOW not (yes - I know that makes no sense)? But . . . seriously. That crap is horrifying, right? Because let's talk about how strange it is to speak of the "burden" of honesty with your spouse when said "honesty" is not so much "I took the last Oreo" and much more "I've never actually loved you." Yep. That is one of the FOUR examples that this proud feminist bass-ackwards Christian who blogs about things like "How G-d Used Fried Potatoes to Change My Life" and "How To-Do Lists Can Improve Your Within-the-Bonds-of-Marriage-Love-Making" (title modified for personal reasons).

NOW . . . I get that every person is different and has their own belief system (I think "more" of you if your favorite color is orange and I think the more you tell me about your "training" and "fitness" routine the more you need other stuff in your life) and I know that people find inspiration in odd places (my sock drawer, Judaism, and Twitter accounts for the eternally angry) but please, please, please tell me no one is looking for beliefs worth following and inspiration from a woman who thinks you are best not admitting that you're no longer attracted to, in love with, or perhaps have never loved your spouse.

I know that physical attraction ebbs and flows and that the moment sexy stubble turns to mini blades of skin irritation is real. I know that love is alive and evolving. I know and admit and embrace all these things but you should talk with your spouse about these things. Not in the context of "if you lost ten pounds I would bang the bottom of you but, for now, I'm checking out your sister and loving my left hand exclusively" (because that is absurd, childish, and only 4% of men are left-inclined in this way) but in the context of "Hey - where did the love go?"

You know what is a burden? Living a lie. You know what is a burden? Finding out you're living life with a person living a lie. You know what is not worth sharing? Masturbation stats. You know what is not worth keeping to yourself? Misery within a relationship.

I'm not going to soapbox too much on this one but I'll just say this . . . "lov(ing), honor(ing), and vacuum(ing)" is not your friend and you're way, way more attractive than your sister anyway.