Let You Down

I don't know how to say this. I can't even find an image to depict what I'm feeling, so this is my first blog post without one. I'm just going to rip it off like a bandaid:

I'm not getting married anymore.

And just like that -- poof -- my future, my family, my home, my wedding, my precious ring, and the love of my life have simply disappeared. No one is more shocked than I am. I wish I could say it was mutual. But it wasn't.

When he asked me to marry him back in December, I came up with a slew of adjectives to describe how happy I was. I said it was "super-terrific-happy-HUGE-totally awesome-fantastically wonderful-can't even believe this is happening-somebody PLEASE PINCH ME news." Those same words held true when I moved in with him a mere 2 months ago.

And as I've spent the last week sobbing, packing, and moving out of the home I thought we were creating together, I came up with a whole new list of adjectives to describe how I was feeling.

You can use your imagination, but one remained, "can't even believe this is happening."

It's funny, before we met, I'd resigned myself to the fact that I likely wouldn't ever get married. So when I was over the moon about our engagement, it wasn't because my marriage clock was ticking and he just fit the suit. It wasn't a "to-do" to check off a list. Quite the opposite. I never HAD that list before him. It was because of him that I could even imagine becoming a wife and a mother. That I could finally have the kind of life that came so easily to everyone around me. That it was MY turn.

I told myself it was worth the wait. And it was.

It took everything I had to get out of my own way and fall in love. I was SO guarded. But there comes a point in any relationship where you have to make a choice to move forward. To trust someone completely. To have faith. So, I leapt, and he caught me. Willingly, I think. But I must have become too heavy along the way, and he let go.

So now here I am. Devastated, numb, humiliated, and alone.

I could rehash for you the myriad things that went wrong, or second guess every move, or play armchair psychologist, or dole out blame. But honestly... what's the point? It won't change things. And it certainly won't help me put my life back together.

Really, all I can do here is question my own judgement. I'm a smart girl, so how did I not see this coming? I've been on my own for most of my 36 years, so how did I allow myself to become so dependent on someone else? And I believed this was forever, so how can I ever expect to go down this road with someone new and NOT be constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop?

In the end, I think I let myself down. My bad judgment has had a sickening ripple effect across my life, and the lives of my family and friends. And I'm crushed. CRUSHED. But in the moment, I guess I heard what I wanted to hear and saw what I wanted to see.

I don't plan to make this blog all woe-is-me now. That's not what you signed up for. And frankly, that's not who I am. I WILL cheer up and post my random thoughts about silly things. As cliche as it sounds, I will get my groove back.

Eventually.

It's just that when I created the "getting married" tag for this blog, I never in a MILLION years thought my last post in that category would be about the end of our relationship. I assumed the last one would be about our wedding. How foolish I feel. I've been told repeatedly that he's done me a favor by ending things now. Surely, I can see that this is better than if we were married, or had a child. But it still hurts like nothing I've ever experienced before.

So I'll just end this post with a heartfelt thanks to everyone who has listened, comforted, packed, driven, supported, hugged, and housed me over the last week. Your kindness means more than you know.

Put a Date on It

Um, hello? Is this thing on? I haven’t blogged in ages. I mean AGES. I owe you an apology.

(Sorry)

Actually, I’m probably just talking to myself at this point. You aren’t even reading this because you’ve given up. Given up on me. Given up on this blog. Who can blame you?

You might think I’ve just had nothing to say over the last 7 weeks. Ha! Me? Nothing to say? Oh, please…

I just haven’t made the time to say what’s on my mind. It’s as simple as that.

Sure, I’ve started crafting many a blog post in my head on my walk to work, but sadly, that’s where they remain. So, if you hoped this post would contain my musings on highly persuasive AT&T pitchman, Luke Wilson, you’re out of luck (though I should tell you I'm thisclose to ditching Verizon and getting a iPhone).

You will also be disappointed if you stopped by on the off chance you’d learn how Gary “Scary” Coleman’s recent arrest inspired me to develop a gallery of celebrity mug shots. Or why I think you need to be watching Undercover Boss and The Marriage Ref (seriously, get on that). Or when I became the crazy deodorant lady because my 24hr antiperspirant took a half day (don't ask).

Nope. You won’t find any of that here.

I know, excuses, excuses. I’m not the only one who’s busy. We all have lives. And the majority of the last 7 weeks of mine has been spent doing a MILLION different things. But one thing I have NOT been doing is planning my wedding.

And it’s not that I don’t want to. Really, I do.

It’s that we haven't set a date set yet. Mainly because we don’t have a budget yet. Welcome to wedding planning, recession style! But one thing we DO know is that we’re getting hitched this summer.

Yep, you read that right: THIS SUMMER. (And no, I'm not knocked up.)

Sounds crazy. I mean, being in the biz, I know the average wedding takes 12-18 months to plan. I also know that the average wedding costs roughly $26K (make that $42K in the NYC area). And I know that the average bride-to-be spends nearly 30 hours each week planning her wedding -- it’s basically a second job.

But that’s not me. I am the anti-bride.

I really don’t care to be engaged for a year and a half, obsessing over every minute detail, I cannot fathom spending what could amount to a down payment on a house for a silly little party, and I do not need a second job planning my wedding when my FIRST job involves helping other people plan theirs.

Personally, I’d rather just be married and move on with our lives. And luckily, so would he.

Blasphemy? Maybe. I don’t care. I’m not a princess and this certainly isn’t my “big day.” I’m 36 years old for God’s sake!

That ship has sailed.

The fact is, whatever the budget, whenever the date, I've met the man of my dreams. What else do I really need? Well, maybe two more things: 1) a wedding that feels like us and 2) to have our closest family and friends there to celebrate. I know I DON'T want a generic, cookie-cutter, insert-bride-and-groom-here-style soiree that focuses more on what you’re SUPPOSED to do than who you actually ARE as individuals and as a couple.

Huh. And all along I thought I was so conservative and traditional. Who knew?

If anyone out there is still reading this blog, inspire me! Did you do anything non-traditional when planning your own wedding?

Joy to the World

I have been a blogger slacker. I know this. You know this. We all know this. Mea culpa.

As a peace offering, I come bearing good news. Actually... scratch that. This is super-terrific-happy-HUGE-totally awesome-fantastically wonderful-can’t even believe this is happening-somebody PLEASE PINCH ME news.

I am engaged!

I KNOW!!! News this good bears repeating: I. Am. Engaged. WOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO!!!! You may think it’s kinda sudden, but I say, when you know, you know. And, believe me, we know.

You know?

Of course you do! You faithfully followed my online dating disasters. You cheered when I officially took myself off the market because I met a truly wonderful man. And now, I believe it is only fitting to share how this perfect engagement happened.

Facebook may have known it first, but YOU’LL know it best…

We’d been talking about getting engaged for a while. I knew it was looming. Hell, I even picked out the ring! I kind of assumed it would happen over a weekend, either before or after the holidays.

So, my parents recently came up from Florida -- 5 whole days (and nights) in my 550 sqft deluxe apartment in the sky, and we had a great time! But since my boyfriend and I didn't have very much time together that weekend, I suggested that I visit him in CT on Monday, after my mom and dad were safely back in the Sunshine State.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll just see you on Wednesday.”

“Fine,” I said, and hung up the phone. Disappointed.

Shortly after, I received a text saying he’d reconsidered. Turns out, I was right! I really should come up for a visit on Monday night.

I paused momentarily on the fact that I was right. (That’s always lovely to hear.) And then I made plans to come visit, all the while thinking this was MY idea...

Fast forward to Monday after work. I caught the 5:28 out of Grand Central and arrived in Stamford around 6:15. He picked me up at the train station, as per usual, and let me know he’d ordered us pepperoni pizzas from a local place we love, Colony. Yum.

We grabbed the pizzas and drove back to his condo. When we walked in the door, I saw his halls were all decked out for Christmas. His tree was framed in the picture window. Amidst the twinkle lights, about a hundred different ornaments hung from the branches -- ranging from Jimmy Buffett margaritas to Dolphins helmets to Montauk lighthouses -- each one with a special significance. The house smelled of the holidays, a mix of cranberry and evergreen. And three little stockings hung from the windowsill.

One for him. One for his 7 year old daughter. And one for me. (Awwww!)

It felt like a normal night, with a dash of holiday cheer. We chatted and enjoyed our pizza. We watched two episodes of The Office. And I told him the most long-winded, never-ending saga about a good friend’s horrible date (remind me to tell you about it sometime -- it’s a doozy!).

I must have blathered on for thirty minutes straight. At least.

Around 8pm, I flipped on the TV Guide menu to see that Santa Claus Is Coming to Town was on ABC. We were totally in the mood for a Christmas cartoon, but not that one. So he dug into his extensive DVD collection and popped in ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas. You know the one -- with the mice? And the broken clock? Love it.

Anyway, just before he hit play, he disappeared. I didn’t think much of it. When he came back into the living room, I saw a flash of orange in his hand. “Score,” I thought. “A Reese’s peanut butter cup!”

Um… it wasn’t a peanut butter cup.

He approached me as I was sitting on the couch, by the light of the Christmas tree, and dropped to one knee. The orange flash was actually a ring box. And inside was the most beautiful ring I’ve ever worn. And the most precious gift I’ve ever received.

The ring has three stones -- one to represent him, his daughter, and me -- with a sparkly deep blue sapphire in the center, which just happens to be the birthstone for September (the month he was born).

I was SO stunned I may have blacked out for a minute. (Is that what I THINK it is? Is this happening?? Did he fall off the couch, or is he really on one knee? OMG, it IS happening!!!) At first, this inner dialogue prevented me from hearing the lovely words coming from my boyfriend’s -- now fiancé’s -- mouth. But once I snapped out of shock, I said yes. Yes. YEESSSS!

And I’m pretty sure I thanked him about fifty times.

That’s when the waterworks started. Now, I don’t consider myself a big crier, but these were tears of joy. When I went to hug him and pulled away, a giant streak of my black/brown mascara went across his cheek like he had just been accosted by Tammy Faye Bakker. It wasn’t pretty.

But it was perfect. Perfectly romantic. Perfectly us.

So that’s the story. And before you ask, we have NO idea about a wedding date yet, but it will be sooner than later. We’re thinking this summer, maybe?

Because as much as I love being his fiancée, I truly can’t wait to become his wife.

xoxo

Off the Market

I really never thought I’d be writing a post like this.

I try to be as honest as I can be in this blog. It’s not like my manuscript -- which is actually fiction, despite the fact that it resembles my life and the people in it.

This blog isn’t loosely based on my life over the last year -- it kinda IS my life. Here, I try to push aside feeling stupid, or random, or neurotic, or whatever, and just tell a story that I’d be amused to read. (YOU can be the judge of how successful I’ve been in that endeavor!)

So if I’m being honest, I should tell you that I feel like I’ve spent my entire adult life celebrating other people’s milestones. And I’ve been happy to do it! I just couldn’t ever help feeling a little left behind, as my +1 was generally a giant handbag instead of a boy -- over, and over, and OVER again.

When I was able to focus on me -- to whip up one or two milestones of my own -- I shared my indecision about jumping into the scary online dating pool. I took you with me as I waded through thousands of freaky FREAKY profiles. And I recounted the ridiculous dates that followed (FLOSSING… um… seriously?!? I still can’t get over that one). There were actually more where those came from, but they were SO boring, even I couldn’t find the funny.

As you know, throughout this whole online dating process, I have been… selective. I didn’t dismiss 4 out of every 5 guys who contacted me. Or even 9 out of every 10. Oh no. It was actually closer to 99 out of every 100. (I know!!) But with each guy I actually did respond to, it became abundantly clear why THEY were still single (nevermind me… I’m perfect). Inevitably, within the first week or so of emailing, I saw SO many red flags I swore I was running in Pamplona with the bulls.

Which made my decision NOT to meet most of these guys very, very easy.

For the handful that I did meet, it was always One & Done. I didn’t particularly want to see them again, or they didn’t want to see me, or it was mercifully mutual. And it’s not like I was out looking for a husband -- I wasn’t delusional enough to set the bar THAT high! I was just looking for a guy I’d want to spend more than an hour with, without fantasizing about gnawing my own arm off to get away.

I mean, let’s face it, ANYONE can get a date, or even a boyfriend for that matter. But I didn’t want just ANY guy -- that’s not my style. I wanted to meet the right one for me. My match. Besides, I didn’t make it ALL the way to 35 only to settle for some schmuck (which is exactly what I would have been doing with any of the clowns that crossed my path). The pickins were SO slim, I very nearly pulled the plug on all of it back in April.

This just isn’t for me, I thought.

In total, over a 6+ month span, I was matched with a staggering 6,000+ guys, and of that, 700+ contacted me in one form or another. (I know, I can’t even believe it.) And I KNOW what you’re thinking -- who DO I think I AM? Should I be that picky at my incredibly advanced age? Especially when faced with a near-certain future of becoming a tragic spinster with 14 cats??

The answer is yes. I should have been that picky.

Because amidst the freaks and losers, I truly found a gem. A one in a million kind of guy. The needle in the proverbial haystack. I know I told you I didn’t believe in The One. And maybe I still don’t. But I did meet my match, perfect for me in every way. Which makes me a very lucky girl, and makes the final chapter in my online dating saga a very happy one, as I officially -- and quite publicly -- take myself off the market.

I should probably send Match a muffin basket to say thanks, wouldn’t you agree?

(PS: He is the only other person on the planet that doesn’t eat eggs either -- now if THAT’S not a match, I don’t know what is)