| Wedding Hells |
[Sep. 25th, 2011|02:01 pm]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  anxious | ] |
My wedding date is in seven weeks.
My father has been promising to help since February. He did buy my dress for me, unexpectedly, in June. But since then, the promises that help is coming soon have been hollow. Last Friday he said he was putting a check in the mail to me the next day that never came, the check that was going to pay for the officiant and the wedding rings, and when I spoke to him Thursday night he finally admitted that he wouldn't be able to help. He said he'd be able to "scrape together" three or four hundred dollars by the wedding date, but that he had been shorted on his bonus and he wouldn't be able to do what he originally promised. I was upset at first, but eventually I felt okay.
I have been after Jeremy to save for the wedding since February, as well. The wedding he insisted upon having. The first check he gave me in March bounced, and took $250 in overdraft fees with it as well. I was over $600 in the hole. I had $1200 in savings for the wedding. He never paid the money back. Bit by bit over the course of the semester and the summer, I had to dip into my savings to cover his spending, until the savings I had was gone. About two months ago I sat him down and explained the situation: we were now throwing this wedding on whatever we had leftover from paying our bills each paycheck, plus whatever my dad could pitch in. We combined our checking accounts and allotted ourselves spending allowances in an effort to cut down on his errant spending. After he ran through his personal expenses money, he just used the joint checking for whatever he wanted to buy. Sodas at work, beers with the guys, fast food lunches out. He appears to just not think about what he spends, and he also tries to keep up with our friends, who overall, make more money than we do. It adds up. He overdrew the account last week and spent half my paycheck the same day it was deposited on his cell phone bill. The paycheck I needed to pay the caterer and my car payment.
Between my dad not being able to help and Jeremy not being able to control his spending, it seemed like the outcome here was clear: the wedding would have to be cancelled. Dad implored me to just postpone it six months, but my student loans come due in December and my sister is having a baby in five months. By March, all extra money and energy will be in use as I pay for my Master's degree and my sister begins being a mom. Dad kept saying he wanted me to have a wedding as nice as my sister's, that I was "entitled" to that. Like he could level the playing field between my sister and I by ensuring that I had a wedding.
Even if the wedding happens, she'll still be a new homeowner married to a successful medical tech and I'll be an underemployed teacher in perpetual financial struggle renting from my in-laws married to an underemployed IT guy until one of three things happens:
1)I land a k-12 or community college teaching job and I keep all the extra money I earn a secret from Jeremy
2)Jeremy gets out of his comfort zone, steps up his career-advancing efforts and gets a better job and I keep all the extra money he earns a secret from him
3)Jeremy comes to grips with the limitations of our income, stops being ashamed of being working-class, realizes his friends will love him even if he can't go out with them and stops trying to compete with people who make three times what we do
Or all three things could happen. Yes, please.
Anyway, my dad called me Friday and said he and his fiance have put up for sale anything extra around the house they don't need: one of his guitars and amps, some of her old jewelry. I asked him to please not do that. His ex-wife already thinks I'm a loser. I don't need resentment or coddling from his new wife, too. I don't want them "scraping together" money for this. If Jay and I are thirty years old and still can't figure out how to pay for a wedding, that means we don't need to have one. And again, I'm okay with that. That's no failing on my dad's part, it's a failing on our part.
Today my sister announced that she and her husband want to help us. She's five months pregnant and he just took a pay cut at work and they still want to give us- give, not loan us- $1000 for this wedding. I said thanks, but no, thanks, about twenty times but she is very persistent. And I feel very guilty. I can't take their money. Even if they don't need it in a hand-to-mouth definition, it's theirs. They earned it. I'm older and shouldn't be taking money from my little sister, regardless of her impending baby-having. I wouldn't be able to look my brother-in-law the eye. Or myself.
Cancelling my wedding won't make me happy. I'll have disappointed lots of people and I'll owe quite a few people money. But if I take money from my family for it, I'll be disappointed in myself. |
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| You made an impression; sometimes I still feel the bruise |
[Sep. 14th, 2011|09:24 pm]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  discontent | ] |
| [ | soundtrack to my life |
| | pizza man knocking | ] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | green office | ] |
I have to be the only person on the planet who cries in the car to the Go-Gos.
Since Monday, when I cried in a meeting (humiliations galore!), Mike has just felt a little closer to the surface than usual. The meeting in question was a CPR/First Aid training, and the instructor was Superman. Just kidding. He was a firefighter/EMT in his late 30s who had just come back from fighting the fires in Bastrop for the previous 3 days. He is also a cancer survivor; he told us that two years ago he had been diagnosed with stage 4 lymphoma and his doctor had given him two to six months to live. But with a second opinion, faith in God, and the love of a good woman- his wife, who never allowed him to give up- he recovered, bounced back and continues to kick fire in the ass and play Barbie with his three daughters. So yeah, pretty much Superman.
It was what he said about his wife refusing to let him give up that got to me. That coupled with him talking about how no doctor should ever be telling you how long you have to live, because the only factor determining that is your will. It made me think of the fact that Mike had been trying to off himself indirectly since he was a teenager, and that instead of pushing him to fight, Rand gave him permission to die.
I lost it, a little. My face crumpled in a way that just felt ugly. I could feel it getting hot and red. There was snot, and there were tears, but it was at least quiet. A couple of minutes and I composed myself, but it was still very awkward.
One of our substitute teachers was there, also. We happened to be working together the next day and she asked me about it. So then I had to explain in a roundabout way to a woman who I know for a fact is deeply Catholic and conservative- she wears a gigantic crucifix about her neck and prays quietly before breakfast and lunch. I don't especially like or dislike her, but I didn't want to make her uncomfortable. I omitted a lot of the details, and she said that giving your partner permission to die is defying God.
I don't know if there is a God. If there is, I'm pretty sure he's unconcerned with what we do. He probably doesn't expect obedience, or else he's pretty damn petty. I'm not sure that Rand telling Mike to let go was an affront to God. What I do know is this: For two years, Rand was terrible to Mike. Rand belittled Mike every single day, calling him stupid, fat, ugly, untalented, chipping away at the thin veneer of self-esteem Mike had managed to build up after high school. Rand would take off for days at a time and order Mike not to contact him. Several were the times Mike called me and said he was sure Rand was sleeping around. I know that when Mike was first diagnosed, Rand was pissed off. He told Mike that it was his fault, and that they couldn't afford for him to be sick. It was only after Mike became very ill, needing long-term hospitalization in November of '07, that Rand began behaving like a decent human being. And I am sure that the only reason Rand's behavior changed was because he could control things. Suddenly he was Jack and Lynn's son-in-law when before he didn't even want Mike talking to them. He bought matching rings for himself and Mike, declaring them engaged. He fielded all of Mike's telephone calls, handled his email, turned in his graduate school projects. Told me it was probably not a good idea for me to come up and see Mike during Christmas break, citing the fact that Mike was much altered from sickness and wasn't physically up to entertaining. Four months after Mike's death, at the memorial service, Rand was remarkably together, telling everyone he had "made peace with the whole thing." He orchestrated that service like the event it was, and positively worked the rooms. There wasn't a shred of grief about him. He never cried. I don't believe Rand ever loved Mike, and that's why he could tell him to let go.
I don't know if real love and a refusal to give up could have saved Mike's life. He was such a sad boy. He disliked himself so much. But if he were with someone who built him up instead of tearing him down, and who was in it for the fight, it couldn't have killed him any faster. |
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| Ugh. |
[Sep. 7th, 2011|09:48 pm]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  sick | ] |
So I'm sick. I have flu-like symptoms that I have been dealing with since Saturday night, but today it really hit me hard. I was exhausted when I came home from yoga class last night, where I punished my body with really hard work because I thought I was just being wussy and whiney. This morning I woke up to ridiculous body aches, fever, chills, nausea, the whole show. Of course I took some medicine and went to work. About 11 o'clock I came home, intending to rest today and go back to work tomorrow. I still have a fever of 101, so that's out. Instead I'll be headed to the doctor about 10 and spend the rest of the day with my rear end in bed. Which I think I will begin working on now. |
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| Well, it's been about a year |
[Aug. 17th, 2011|09:09 am]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  sleepy | ] |
I guess now that no one really reads this I can use it as an actual journal again.
Not, if I'm being honest, that a journal was ever really its initial purpose. I guess initially it was a "vehicle for my poetry." A journal is supposed to be the place where you write the things you need to get out of your brain but you don't want anyone else to know.
The problem with writing things down, even if you hide the book, is that there's always the fear that someone else will get to it. And they will. Without a doubt, if you write something you don't want anyone else to know, someone else will find it, and usually the person who would be most upset by what you've written.
And where do we get off being upset by others' thoughts, anyhow? If I think something less-than-flattering about a friend, but keep being their friend and being good to them, and they find out about this thought it creates mistrust. Even though it's just a thought, and it might not necessarily even be true, and no one in this world is perfect. I don't think my friends are perfect, I know I'm not perfect, yet the expectation is for none of those people to ever think an unkind or uncharitable thing of me. Despite the fact that I'm discussing it rationally, if I were to know that one time, So-and-so had entertained the thought that I was selfish or it occurred to What's-her-face that I was being sanctimonious my feelings would be hurt. Maybe for just a few minutes until the thinking portion of my brain covered it up, but it would be there. Why do we do that?
Ooh, big thinky thoughts. Let's go watch some Strong Bad emails. |
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| Stop looking so damn depressed |
[Aug. 14th, 2010|01:04 pm]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
"You'll live to dance another day, just now you'll have to dance for the two of us."
I hate that for the rest of my life, I will find songs you should hear and not be able to play them for you.
I'm sure it's something deeper than that, but that's how I process it. So many songs we should obsess over together. So many nights I want to hear your voice. So many days you should be a part of.
So much I thought you'd see. So much I thought you'd still be here for. |
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| Metabolisms are dumb |
[Jun. 28th, 2010|04:43 pm]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | Current Location |
| | RRHEC library, where people are allowed to talk | ] |
| [ | soundtrack to my life |
| | clickety-clackety computer lab sounds | ] |
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  cold | ] |
It's four-thirty, and all I've consumed today is an English muffin with pecan jam, a cup of coffee and two liters of water. I have a hollow, gnashing pit in my stomach, which I enjoy, in a perverse way. The hunger pangs feel like control. I don't want to eat for the rest of the day, just keep chugging water and plugging away at my to-do list until I go to bed. I feel cold, particularly in my hands and arms. In class, I teared up several times during the video we watched on social skills instruction for learning-disabled kids. I have a floaty, slightly dizzy, day-dreamy sensation in my head that is a tell-tale sign of very low blood sugar. Those parts I don't enjoy.
I am angry with my body today.
I hate it for being huge, stupid, clumsy and ugly.
I hate that it continues to need food every day, even though it has a sizable amount of perfectly good stored energy.
My nutritionist said, it's as simple as calculating calories in and out, as simple as balancing my bank account. Why can't my body just use the calories it already has, and then when those are gone, I'll get some more? Seriously, if I had a dollar for every fat cell on my body, I would probably never need to work again. I almost feel like every time I have to stop moving to eat, it's a set-back in my attempts to control my weight. It's as good as the three weeks my patellar tendinitis kept me from the gym.
Cognitively, I know this is crazy thought. I know that I just have to keep making good choices about what I do eat, and now that I have been cleared, make sure I work out every day.
That's what makes it so ironic when my dad starts going on about over-eaters anonymous. He's convinced I must be eating everything in sight and need a support group to stop. |
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| This love is full of lies and sorries we don't use |
[May. 19th, 2010|09:04 pm]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | Current Location |
| | office | ] |
| [ | soundtrack to my life |
| | I was sittin' here five years ago, tell me it won't be five years more. | ] |
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  skeptical | ] |
Probably the thing I should not be doing is sitting in my maybe-fiance's dark office, listening to Wade Bowen sing about heartbreak and disappointment.
( Seventh grade with bank accounts.Collapse )
I don't know where the line is between being forgiving and being stupid. Am I a good-hearted woman in love with a good-timing man? Sure. Am I a schmuck? Only he can answer that, with his actions going forward. In a few weeks, I'll have my answer. |
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| Reality check, peeps. |
[May. 8th, 2010|09:34 am]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | Current Location |
| | green office | ] |
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  defiant against rudeness | ] |
| [ | soundtrack to my life |
| | Rosalita is still a rose; now it's been ten years for Rose and Joe. | ] |
So Lisa Rose posted this on Facebook:
Love this: "Always remember what your wedding day is about and who it is for: you. It's not a show for anyone else, not an evening of entertainment you provide, it's a celebration of an outward commitment that you and the one you love are making to each other." from Offbeat Bride Cori.
And while I would love to agree with that sentiment, I can't. It would be nice if things were that simple, but a wedding involves the one element that complicates and confuses all: people. If one person were planning a wedding, it might be that easy. But as soon as you factor in that two people are involved, the complication quotient goes up because no two people agree on everything. What you might cherish as vitally important to your wedding, your partner may see as not all that crucial. Now, just for fun, add in the couple's family, biological and chosen. Are they paying or contributing at all? Well then you have to hear their opinions, too. And really, even if they're not helping out, they are in some way involved, even if they are just showing up on The Day.
Even the guests' opinions matter. You are, after all, asking them to give up at least one day of their time just for you. Good etiquette requires a present, and you wouldn't be friends with people who have bad manners, so they're going to purchase a gift. If they live out of town, or out of state, or out of the country, they will be paying for travel and lodging, unless you have ceaselessly patient attendants who will put your cash-strapped out-of-towners up for the weekend. Your attendants, by the way, especially bridesmaids, put up with a lot more: you ask them to buy a dress, buy some shoes, buy some undergarments, throw a shower, buy a gift, throw a bachelorette party, make sure the groomsmen don't get too drunk, act as hostesses at the wedding and make sure everyone's having a good time and every detail is in place. Is the guest attending the rehearsal dinner or morning-after brunch? Then that's at least three days out of their life- which includes their job, their home, their partner, their kids, their friends- just for you. So the least you can do is provide a nice meal and a fun event. Ooh, talking of kids, are your guests bringing theirs to the wedding? Because if they are, not only do your pint-sized guests, who will be so overstimulated they won't even eat, count toward your catering head count, you are going to need to provide some kind of kiddie entertainment so the little darlings don't cannibalize each other or burn down the community center during the father-daughter dance.
A very good friend who is planning a wedding for another woman said recently of the process, "You can't please everyone, so don't try. Just please yourself and (groom's name) as this will be YOUR moment. Feelings may and probably will get hurt, but that just goes with planning weddings. The bitchy hurting people's feelings part is where I come in. Just keep focused on what it is that you want, and I'll make sure it happens that way. The people involved in this wedding are going to have to remember that part...that it's nothing personal, but I'm here to make sure you get what you want."
This "It's all about what I want, it's My Day, I'm the Bride" mentality is no good. It's no good to act like that at any time, including during and leading up to your wedding. A wedding is not just celebrating the commitment of two people to each other, but really honors the commitment we all make as family and friends to support the marriages and families of the people we love. It is about compromise, conscientiousness, compassion and courtesy, the same things we should bring to dealing with loved ones every day. And at no time should it even cross your mind as okay to treat anyone who is important enough to be involved in your wedding with anything less. |
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| Open Letter to Bitchy Receptionists Everywhere |
[Mar. 24th, 2010|07:24 am]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  irritated | ] |
| [ | soundtrack to my life |
| | the world waking up | ] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | J's office, that I have infiltrated | ] |
Okay, receptionists, admins, assistant managers, assistant directors of the world. Any other "gatekeeper" type people who have the task of setting up appointments for job interviews for your boss. Yes, I know you have the power. Your boss wanted to interview me, and so he or she sent me an e-mail saying "Call my assistant and set up an appointment." But I know it's really you, Assistant, who decides whether I'm getting that interview or not. And I fully understand that if I'm snarky on the phone with you, flaky in returning calls, ask to speak to "someone in charge" or otherwise display assy behavior, I'm likely not going to get the opportunity to speak with your boss. I get it. That's how you exercise your little bit of control in the universe. Toddlers have temper fits, teens roll their eyes, and you, Receptionists, put people on Endless Hold or say, "I'm sorry, she's not in right now" when you are filled to the brim with righteous indignation because you feel your authoritay is not being respected. And if someone is being a snot to you on the phone, that is completely justified.
However. How.Ev.Er. You can't take out your frustration with one customer or applicant on another customer or applicant. If you are having a bad hair day, or you're PMSing, or your boyfriend dumped you or the snack machine only had plain M&Ms or whatever else is going wrong in your little world that day, you can't decide to make someone else's life tougher in order to balance the scales. At least not without being a complete bitch. And it doesn't work anyhow. The universe is going to like you that much less because you chose to be a bitch when you could have been cool.
Along the same vein, it is not okay to make an applicant call back three times to set up an interview requested by your boss only to tell them the position has been filled. Well, seeing as how the position was not filled when your boss e-mailed me, is it possible I would have gotten an interview if you had taken two minutes to return my call and set up a damn appointment in the first goddam place? A)You're wasting my time. B)How long does it take to set up an interview, anyway? A minute? C)It might come back to bite you in the rear.
At this point, Secretary, you are just effing with someone's livelihood. In this economic climate, someone looking for a job may be feeling a little desperate. And yes, you are the gatekeeper, but that doesn't mean that your supervisor is completely inaccessible to us peons outside your organization. Don't forget, your boss e-mailed me. And if you're going out of your way to be a snit in order to exercise a little power, I have no problem sidestepping the chain of communication your director requested that you have decided to dismantle in order to complain to said supervisor about your bad behavior.
Oh, look, I have minimal, bitchy control, too. How about that. |
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| I ran out of hot water, so I had to take a break from doing the dishes anyway |
[Feb. 14th, 2010|08:59 am]
Joan of Sunnydale
|
| [ | soundtrack to my life |
| | I believe in a house in the clouds, God's got his dead friends around | ] |
| [ | what's with her? |
| |  indescribable | ] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | bureau vert | ] |
Last night, at Near Fatal Injury Park (our pet name for Cat Hollow Park because of an unfortunate merry-go-round incident) Josh and I both let go the contents of the bottles Rand sent us. There was quite an assembly of people who loved Mike. All of us managed to get on the merry-go-round and ride until we all felt sick, then played on the swings, Sandy and Cici snapping pictures throughout, and then it was time.
Josh elected to climb the big tree to let his go, so I couldn't see his face, but most of the girls there were crying and taking pictures at the same time when I emptied the contents out next to the merry-go-round. I wasn't. Not because I'm hugely tough or anything, but because the ashes didn't signify anything for me. The only reason I wanted to scatter them was because I couldn't think of a less-disrespectful way to be rid of them. And I needed to be rid of them. They were creepy and gross.
Again, please don't mistake me for desensitized. I was listening to Frightened Rabbit, doing the dishes, crying into the sink not five minutes ago because
a)"Head Rolls Off" is about a young man accepting his death,
b)Mike would have freaking loved the band and
c)there is just so much I won't get to share with him.
The ashes, for me, just didn't mean anything. His glasses, on the alter at his funeral next to his Wizard-of-Oz snow-globes, that meant something. That broke me down as soon as I walked into the church. There was something of who he was in that. In that, there was the twitch of his cheek as he hands-free-adjusted the black plastic frames on his face before taking a photo or because one hand had a Dr Pepper and the other had a cigarette or just because he was too damn lazy. There was him skipping down the hall singing "We're Off to See the Wizard" on the way to photo class or humming the Wicked Witch of the West's theme when Marge pulled up in the driveway at night or screeching "I'll get you, my pretty" across the high school cafeteria after Melissafent. But the ashes were just part of a container for one of the most beautiful, fucked-up, ego-maniacal, brilliant souls the world could have handled. It's the man inside the container that I miss. If anything, those ashes should have gone to Lynn, to where that body came from, to the person who carried it inside her own. There was just no way I could have sent her something so cruel and cold as part of that burned-up flesh, so I chose to take him to the park, instead. |
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