Wedding Season

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After nearly a year of living together, a couple can go through quite a bit.

We had survived merging and decorating, sharing a bathroom, my morning appearance and frequent bouts of PMS.

But one thing we never saw coming and were completely unequipped for….. was Wedding Season.

Suddenly our refrigerator was overlapping in save-the-date magnets, the calendar was filled in with engagement parties, bridal showers, and bachelor/bachelorette parties and the confetti-filled mail kept coming.

I had no urge to join the betrothed any time soon, but I wasn’t vocal about this since I assumed my boyfriend knew me well enough to know that I’ve had enough impulse moves for one life time.

While I have a long list of well thought out bad decisions, it’s the impulsive ones that really lasting damage.

The bangs grew back but the emotional scars from the time I signed up for the school talent show in 4th grade (without having any talent) never faded.

I can still hear the murmurs in the crowd as I danced my heart out, choreography-free, to a Rod Stewart’s Forever Young.

“Psst.. Is she from the special needs class?”

“No, no… Her parents are getting… a divorce!

“Oooh gawd… she’s obviously not getting enough attention at home, poor thing.”

“Total cry for help.”

My big finale was a slow, struggling and painful (for the audience) attempt at the splits with my hands in the air.

“Tragic. But… she’s not special??”

My performance won me some regularly scheduled visits to the school psychologist. And although Dr. Tanner was a lovely old man who always let me pick out a mechanical pencil to take back to class, I figured I should probably start thinking things through from now on.

I did however still have the occasional run-in with impulse such as our decision to move into together.

It seems like a harmless idea at the time, but eventually we clued in that we put ourselves on the same track as everyone else had before they took the plunge… except we never actually had “the marriage talk.”

I know. Prerequisite for moving in together but split rent, parking spaces included with sleepovers and no roommates seemed like good enough reasons.

The night before I left for a bachelorette party in Scottsdale, the BF and I went out with a group of friends. Rings and wedding plans were a popular topic since there had been some recent Facebook status changes, so my boyfriend, assuming this is turning me into a ticking time bomb, got tanked.

We go back to our place, he passed out on the bed (shoes still on) but sometime during the night his “flight” instincts must have kicked in because he tried to make a break for it… in his sleep.

He was found the next morning in fetal position at the foot of the pull out bed where my sister and her husband were sleeping…. I didn’t ask.

My sister was in town after being in Miami for a bachelorette party, and before I left to go to that bachelorette party in Scottsdale I had to drop my sister and her husband off at the airport so they could fly to Vegas for a joint Bachelor and Bachelorette party.

With all that information we left my boyfriend to enjoy his thoughts… and hang over.

I drove 6 hours to Phoenix and meet up with my very newly-wed friends, their newly-wed-with-a-kid friends and my engaged friends, which included the honorary bachelorette. Despite how that’s jotted down, none of those circumstances affected me since I wasn’t even close to ready for that step. Again, though, should have vocalized that.

Now I’m not sure when or why the bachelorette party turned into a giant celebration of the penis but it really has become one.

The next day, I really wanted to take the giant 6-ft inflatable penis in the car with me so I could hit the carpool lane on my way back to LA. But I’ve been known to be pulled over on that route so I’d need an explanation for my passenger should the officer ask.

I considered arguing that no one ticketed me for this when I drove with my ex in the car and he was a huge dick, or pretend to have made a terrible mistake and start screaming “then who has my baby?!”

I sided against it altogether, because I don’t think they’d send me to a place where psychologists gave mechanical pencils.

I made it home and was excited for much needed sleep but the BF, who had a long time to think about things, needed to talk.

I told him about my trip, he told me about his weekend which included an all boy’s pajama party he went to in West Hollywood…. then the conversation got weird.

For a while I wasn’t sure if he was dumping me, proposing, or coming out of the closet, but I think the end result was something along the lines of the talk we skipped a while back. I’m still unsure of exactly what the end result was, but I was too tired to decode and assumed whatever he got off his chest would help him manage his alcohol intake in the future.

Boyfriends, don’t assume because your girlfriend is attending weddings that she’s dying to run down the aisle. There might still be a 4th-grader inside of her that doesn’t want to think about the future or talk about her feelings… she just wants to dance.

And parents, talk to your kids about participating in talent shows. Bad dancing is 100% preventable. Explain that one careless mistake can lead to a video tape they’ll have for the rest of their lives. (Even if you’re both scared of being the bad guy at a delicate time, someone should step up… because mom and dad, you guys let that happen.) Start talking.

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