Prep Your Gag Reflex

I was planning to write a post all about the fabulously kitschy hotel we stayed at last weekend...and of course what happened while we were on the premises of said hotel, but it's late and I really just need to ramble about this strange, new place I've entered.

Engagement.

I feel sort of like this ring is a protective shield that guards me from any possible type of negativity that may come my way. Bad vibes bounce off of it and go elsewhere. I can only feel goodness right now.

It's strange because every glass of wine I've had since the big day—whether with friends or my sister or Mr. Wonderful—feels like a celebratory glass. Like there's a big reason to drink and internally toast to these good times.

I cannot stop looking at my hand. I'm sitting at work and OOOHH SPARKLE! It catches my eye and I have to stop what I'm doing to admire it.

Amidst the excitement and utter exhaustion, there's this strange sort of serenity. Like I know everything is going to be okay now. I'm safe. I'm grounded. I'm chosen.

When U2 was on my car stereo this morning, I felt the need to sing extra loud.

My Facebook page has exploded in a storm of well-wishes. It's astounding.

It's all rather bizarre and I want to document and remember it. No one ever told me it would feel like this. No one described what it would be like to check out a potential venue—the surreal quality of surveying a room, picturing yourself taking one of the biggest steps of your life. No one warned me that I'd get "Going to the Chapel" stuck in my head and find myself getting teary on a daily basis. No one ever told me it would be this good.

All at Once

I remember thinking in 2003 that my world might collapse. I had moved into a new (more expensive) apartment, and the next thing I knew, the rug came out from under me. My cat got sick and accrued a rash of astronomical vet bills. The guy I had been dating broke up with me. And a week later, I found out I was getting laid off from my job.

I was in debt, broken-hearted, and completely uncertain of where I was headed.

I can vividly recall lying on my back, on the living room floor, sobbing. It wasn't the first time I'd done it. My last apartment's ceiling had witnessed break-up breakdowns, too. More than once.

I wanted that soft, off-white plaster to just suck me up into it and spit me out somewhere else where I didn't feel so lost and sad.

I wonder if caterpillars cry when they outgrow their cocoons and have to move on to being totally different little insect beings.

Obviously, despite what felt like a very heavy load, I came through that hard time. Having all that tough stuff thrust my way at once only made me stronger and more prepared to deal with difficult times in my future.

In the last couple weeks, I've been feeling my mental and emotional cocoon begin to crack again—but this time it's because of more exciting things. This time, the butterfly doesn't really have too many tears of sorrow...maybe just some tears of joy.

As I've confessed on this blog, I've been researching and starting to pre-plan some wedding stuff. Mr. Wonderful made the mistake of giving me an inch and I grabbed hold and ran a half marathon with it. Then we started talking about the living situation. And the next thing I knew, I was filling out loan paperwork and boarding the real estate roller coaster.

I'm at that tipping point of change and it's so very exciting to me this time around.

Feeling so confident in my load-bearing abilities, I must have put a vibe out into the world that said, "Go ahead! Lay it on even thicker! I'm READY!"

And the Universe responded.

Saturday afternoon, in the lovely golden hills of San Luis Obispo, Mr. Wonderful asked me to marry him. Oh, how I'm relishing this all at once.

Match vs. Mate

One of my favorite bloggers wrote a great post recently wherein she quoted Eat, Pray, Love on the topic of soul mates. It got me thinking about my own experience within the soul mate realm...

When I was young, I thought that every girl was supposed to marry her soul mate. Actually, that every person on the planet was supposed to marry theirs. That was the ultimate goal: Find that one person who made you complete.

But then I got a few more crow's feet around my eyes and knowledge in my noggin and I completely re-framed what I thought a soul mate even was. I used to think it was a missing half. Now I believe soul mates are sort of like our crutches and catalysts. And I don't think I'd ever want to marry one.

I find soul mates in my friends. I can see them in my exes. To me, they are the people who don't fill your missing half, but miss it right along with you or show you what you need to do to become complete yourself. These are the friends who walk alongside us and seem to end up going through the same peaks and valleys we do. "Parallel lives," I've often laughed knowingly with these people.

They are the mentors or short-lived boyfriends who you want to be with so badly that you sort of want to just be them. And they point out things you didn't know about yourself. And you learn from them. And you love them. Until you realize that their only purpose in your life was to hold up that pointer.

The other thing about soul mates is that I don't think they're meant to be consistent in our lives. Maybe they're there for a year or ten. But I don't think they're forever. Because you always need different soul mates at different places.

What does this all mean for poor Mr. Wonderful?

Well, he falls into a different category. One that maybe others could have fallen into, had I scoured the ends of the earth. Thank goodness I only had to look as far as Hollywood. I think Mr. W is my Perfect Match.

He's not there to be my missing twin, he's there to be my balance. His personality is the ebb to my flow. He's the kind of guy I would want as a business partner. The kind who gets things done and is endlessly reliable. He's the rational voice to my crazy. The calm to my upset. The laughing audience to my jesting. He fits me. And in the end, that's the kind of mate I want most around my soul.

Warning: To Prevent Injury, Proceed with Caution and without Expectations

I may have mentioned on here before that when I got laid off from my advertising job in 2003, I wrote a book. Two hundred and thirteen pages of chick lit. It was more of a catharsis woven into a story, but the people who read it still told me it was quite entertaining.

Over the next 4 years, I edited it, wrote a query letter and decided to send it to a few literary agents. Yes, I'm slow moving...I think most people do that sort of stuff right away when they finish a manuscript. I was too busy trying to conquer the online dating world.

Anyway, I queried four agents and two of them wrote me back—one asking for an extended synopsis and the other my entire manuscript. This is SO easy, I thought. I couldn't figure out why more people weren't getting books published if I was going to end up with an agent so quickly.

I packaged up my giant manuscript with a little note and a piece of turquoise twine. And then I waited. I don't remember how long it took. But I received a letter back thanking me for my submission and explaining that the novel was too slow, too drawn out and too long.

I packed it away in a cupboard and have looked at it again only once.

Some would say that's a defeatist attitude, but the truth is, I sort of lost steam on my book's content. I'd rather work on my next idea now...

I learned yesterday that getting your hopes up about real estate is much like getting your hopes up about book publishing. Not A Good Idea.

Just as I had been when I sent off my manuscript, I was certain that the offer I put on a house would go through. It seemed like it was totally in the bag.

It was not.

I suppose I should be happy to have garnered some experience and learned this valuable lesson so that next time I find a house I like, I don't have the expectation I'm actually going to get it. But really, I'm just annoyed and a little bummed out. Back to the drawing board...

It Fell Through

That thing I got shushed about...well it was a house...but the bank accepted another offer. Back to square one...

I've Been Shushed

I deleted my last post because apparently there are certain people who shouldn't be reading certain things about certain goings on. If you know what I mean... Thus, I shall be writing cryptically or on other topics altogether, henceforth. If you want to know any details about the stuff I said before, contact me via email. Or look for subtext. Well, maybe I'm not so good with subtext...

I guess I'm going to have to start flexing creative brain muscles instead of just regurgitating what's going on in my life. Nuts!

Different Dwellings

I LOVE home design and decor. It may not show when you enter my apartment...I still own a lot of leftover pieces from IKEA and I never painted my walls a different color because I never really thought I'd be in the same place for 8 years...but I drool over catalogs and get butterflies in my stomach at furniture stores. I daydream about picking pillow patterns and arranging knick knacks on shelves. This is part of why the thought of living with Mr. Wonderful is so alluring: because I'll get to start fresh!

Anyway, when Mr. W told me about the DWELL on Design Home Tour and Convention a few months ago, I was giddy at the thought of going. Saturday morning the tour day finally arrived, and we set out to explore 6 houses in the Venice Beach/Santa Monica area. What a treat it turned out to be! The gorgeous modern house above was my favorite on the tour.

But I think my other favorite may have been this little number below. We totally cracked up when we were walking toward one of the DWELL show houses and noticed this across the street. The picture does not do the gnome-age justice. The garden bric a brac was off the charts. And I found it funny and endearing that the owners were perched out front, watching all the hoity-toity yuppies walk to the fancy, minimalist home across the way.


Not all the homes were totally minimalist, as you can see below... When we came around the corner and found this room in one of the show houses, my eyes lit up and Mr. W said, "Oh my God you are NEVER having a room like this!" Everything was perfectly organized but I have never seen so much craftery in one space. It was seriously like someone took an entire Michael's Craft Superstore and condensed it into an 8' x 8' space.


I had sort of forgotten about both of these little hoarder's delights. But then Mr. W sent me an email with the subject line "Our house, inside and out" with the two pictures attached. Funny one, that Mr. W...