A Girl Named Honey Glaze

Me and Nikki in Disneyland.
 

Nikki, my soon-to-be sister-in-law, got engaged this week.  When she left to work for Disney World in January, everyone was sad.  In the car ride home, I told Joe, “I’m not sad that Nikki is leaving, I am sad that she will never come back.”  Joe said I was crazy for saying something so ridiculous, but I just had this feeling, and I was right.  Nikki and her fiancé, Anthony, are going to live in Florida.  I hope they will have a second bedroom for me with possibly a shrine to Baby Ariel or Kittykins.

Nikki was the last person of Joe’s family that I met.  I actually didn’t meet her until we had been dating for two years!  Joe and Nikki have had a so-called  “strained” relationship, but when I would ask Joe for specifics, he couldn’t give them to me.  When I first met her, I was attracted to her fun personality and how she is always so excited about everything.  She also doesn’t give a hoot what people think which is such an awesome and rare trait to have.  I instantly loved Nikki.

Over time, Nikki and I spent more and more time together, and the more time I spent with Nikki, Joe also spent with Nikki.  Sometimes I would have to work on school work, so Joe and Nikki would just hang out, go to lunch, or go to the movies.   Both of them starting coming around about their feelings for each other.

As for Nikki and I, we can laugh and laugh hard at the most ridiculous things.  Nearly every time we are together, I start laughing so hard I cry.  She just gets this look and I completely lose it.  We have these silly little jokes like “magnum” and “sister wives” that no one gets but us and it’s the best!  Sometimes, Joe and Nikki’s mom, Nancy, has to separate the both of us.  We feed off of each other’s ridiculousness.

Last summer, Nikki was my nurse during my toe incident and would sleep over.  We’ve endured the twelve hour Gone with the Wind saga, and survived a murderer/rapist in a grungy hotel in Disneyland.   She was the first person (aside from the mom’s) that we called when we got engaged, and I was the first person she called.  If I could only share my engagement period with one person, I would choose Nikki, and that has come true.

When Nikki left for Disney World, Joe started bringing her up more and more and calling her more than he has ever called anyone.  What she enjoys to talk about on the phone and what he enjoys to talk about on the phone are so opposite, but it works for them.  One time I heard Joe say, “don’t talk to me about this guy, I’m trying to tell you about my car!” As strange as that sounds, that is just Joe and Nikki.

At dinner one night, I finally burst out, “The reason why I love Nikki so much is because she is exactly like you!”  Joe just sat there perplexed.  They are both very funny, incredibly social, and have more friends than I will ever have in my lifetime.  They both are very passionate and will fight until the end for something that they wholeheartedly believe in.  The only difference I see is that where Joe is more logical, Nikki is more emotional.  Other than that, they are two peas in a pod and probably haven’t realized it until this post.

When I told Joe to call her last night so she could tell him she had just gotten engaged, Joe said, “no matter what, she deserves only the best and all of the happiness in the world.  After all, she is my little sister.”  So congrats to you, Honey Glaze.  Love your Snicklefritz and Big Brother.

 

This Dress is a Mess

When Kate Middleton stepped out of her fancy white car the day she married Prince William, many of us watched just to see what she was wearing, and to our delight, she looked stunning.  Then, as Pippa carried Kate’s train in the church, I thought her dress was beautiful as well.  I knew that when the time came for me, these two women would be my inspiration for both my ring and my dress.

Stunning.

Getting married in one of the hottest places in the United States during one of the hottest months of the year posed a problem, however.  Kate’s dress was long sleeved.  I needed her dress but with short sleeves.  So, as strange and silly as this may be, I Googled “Kate Middleton’s dress short sleeves.”  That search generated dozens of hits.  I finally found the one that I wanted.  I didn’t care if it was half across the world (my flowers already were), I was going to get that dress.  As luck may have it, it was at David’s Bridal in Layton.  I have heard many horror stories about David’s Bridal, but I didn’t care.  They had my dress, and that was that.  I called and made an appointment three days before Christmas.

I walked in with the picture, style number, and my credit card.  I told my mom the goal was two hours or less.  I knew what I wanted, and I had no desire to try on every dress in the store and make a spectacle of it.  I don’t think she or the sales lady believed me, but I was walking out with that dress that for many months was just a picture I carried around.

After I gave her the picture of “my dress,” the lady asked if I would like to try on others that were similar.  I agreed.  Why not?  I had two hours to kill.  I amused everyone by trying on three other dresses.  “Not it,” I stated.  “This isn’t it either.”  I waited for mine until last.  As soon as I put my dress on, both my mom and the sales lady agreed that this was the one.  “You may be the easiest bride I’ve ever worked with,” she said.  I should have told her to call the caterer because he would have a completely different opinion.

So, after an hour and a half, I had my dress, and I was eating tacos.  Many brides on the shows that I watch like “Say Yes to the Dress,” “I Found the Gown,” “Brides of Beverly Hills,” and “Something Borrowed,” make a day of the whole thing.  They drink champagne and have everyone and their brother attend the fitting.  Not me.  Dress.  Tacos.  Nap.  Done.

I think that I mastered a normally stressful event by watching my crazy shows, that Joe cleverly calls “This Dress is a Mess.”  Who knew that my obsessive, reality television would actually be educational?  Listed below are tips that I learned:

• Find a style that best fits your body type.  This is similar to jeans.  Sometimes a dress you like won’t look great on your body.
• It’s all about the undergarments.  Who knew?  Depending on the slip that you pick, your dress shape can be transformed.
• Stay within your budget.  Don’t even ask for dresses that are more money because you will just leave heartbroken.  Also take into consideration alterations and accessories.  Are they part of your dress budget or separate?
• Go to the store with a plan.  Bridal stylists are there to help you, not look into a crystal ball.
• Remember your timeframe.  Last minute weddings = sample dresses off the rack.  If that is appalling to you,  like it was to me, set your wedding day 9-12 months away.  I bought my dress in December for instance, and my first fitting isn’t until April 30.  I won’t have it completely sized until June.

• The most interesting piece of advice: You only need to try on four dresses to know what you want.  Several people try on tons and tons, but generally speaking they go back to one of the first four or one with a similar style from this first group.  If you don’t believe this advice, think about me.  It was the fourth dress I tried on.

So there you have it.  If you want to be a Bridezilla, pick something else to freak out over.  The dress shouldn’t be a hot mess.

P.S. HAPPY 2ND ANNIVERSARY WILLIAM AND KATE :D

A Toe, a Dishwasher, and My Proposal

It was the morning of July 7, 2012.  I was half-way through summer break, but time seemed to be going by faster.  In the previous six weeks, so much excitement occurred. I had put in an offer on my very first home.  It was accepted, then rejected three days later.  I was heartbroken until I found an even better house, put in an offer, it was accepted, and for good this time!  Prior to buying a house, I have been put in stressful situations like we all are.  I thought graduate school was the worst it could get, but as they say in Vegas, the house always wins.  I have vowed never to buy a house again and I want to be buried in my back yard.  Nine months later, rationalism has still not set in.  I'm not moving...ever. 

Besides the home buying stress, the day I signed the papers for Dream Home #2, June 27th, I was in such a rush to give the papers to my realtor, Amanda, I opened her office door, and my foot went under it.   When I slowly pulled it out, my foot was intact minus one big piece: the top half of my big toe and its nail.    I tried to act like it was no big deal; I had papers to give to Amanda.  When Joe pulled up to meet me at Amanda's office, He.  Flipped.  Out!  Joe picked up the remaining pieces of my toe (totally disgusting), put them in his pocket (even more disgusting), and took me to InstaCare, in which I was told to stop bleeding on the carpet!  I was doomed to spend the next two weeks, including my birthday, in severe pain, neon bandages, and an embarrassing story. 

My horrible toe.

"The Toe Incident" couldn't keep me away from plans I had to quickly make about ending my lease in the town home, and moving to my dream home. The house was perfect to me, but there were some issues that needed to be resolved, toe, or lack thereof.  My house had a beautiful kitchen: stainless steel appliances, granite countertops, white cabinets.  It did not, however, have a dishwasher.  Joe thought that was a travesty.  "You mean to tell me you are going to wash your dishes by hand?"  He laughed.  If the only other solution was to tear up a new kitchen that I loved, and delay moving again, then of course I would wash the dishes by hand.  Joe didn't believe me.

Between the home stress, moving, my toe, and my unwillingness to even talk about let alone consider Joe's ideal plans for my dream home, we stopped talking for several days.  It did occur to me that this may be the end of us.  His mom and sister even took me out to lunch in which I told them I didn't know the fate of our relationship.  We had already been through so much together, I thought our relationship was solid.  But I didn't know if we would/could survive the home-buying situation.  It wasn't until one of my finance people kept giving me the run around, and I, on constant pain medication, simply couldn't fight back.  Joe took the initative, amidst our "silencing" and called the men to get everything in order once again.  "No one's going to mess with you, especially when you're like this,"  he looked down at my huge, hot pink bandage, and my sobs turned to laughter.  We were ok, for good this time.

On July 7, ten days after my toe incident, I was still on pain medication, but able to drive if I spaced out my doses.  It was a Saturday, and my cousin Spencer's fiance, Ashley, was having her bridal shower.  I went, feeling like garbage, but grateful to be out on my own. When I returned to my car, I had several missed calls from Joe.  "Good news," he said on the phone on my way to Bountiful, "Amanda has found a kitchen exactly like yours with a dishwasher.  I booked us an appointment to go look at it."  I agreed to this appointment, to simply not start an argument that left us not speaking several days prior, but there was no way, no way I was putting in a dishwasher at this time.  Like, get over it already.

When I got to my town house, Joe was outside pacing, looking rather nicer than usual.  Was that hairspray in his hair? I wondered.  Man, this pain medicine was incredible.  "We have to go right now," he urged and started escorting me back to the car. "But I have to wrap my toe," I argued.  "Joe, I don't feel well.  Please, just you go."  "Come on," Joe smiled.  "It's just up the street, you'll be fine."  The next thing I know, I'm in the passenger seat and he is going up the hill.  "Where is this house?  Where is Amanda?  I thought you said it was just up the street?"  My questions kept spewing and Joe kept driving.  Then Amanda called.  "I'm running a little late," she said.  "Just meet me at the park, it's right by the house," she giggled.  "Why don't we just meet you at the house?" I responded back.  "What is the address?" "The park will be easier," Amanda said, and she quickly hung up the phone.       
  
"This is really bothering me,"  I said to Joe as he is parking in a park I have never been to. "If you think about it, this makes no sense.  We are going to some random person's house to look at a dishwasher I'm not even interested in.  I don't want any part of this." 

Joe seemed not to hear a word I was saying.  He got out of the driver's seat and came around and opened my door.  "I need to check your toe.  Get out of the car, please," Joe said.  "Absolutely not," I snapped back.  "I'm tired, I'm sick, it's hot, Amanda will be here any minute."  I closed the door and watched Joe walk around. 

He tried again.  "Please, please get out of the car," Joe begged.  "Leave me alone!"  I snapped the car door shut again and pouted. 

And then the third time.  "It's very important to me if you get out of the car," Joe pleaded.  I finally relented and hobbled over to the very edge of the seemingly wet, grassy lawn.

"What are all these baseballs scattered around here for?  Stupid kids," I chuckled.  I kept looking around for any sign of Amanda's car.  Joe began examing my toe, saying something nice, and I chuckled.  "Will you help me up?" I asked.  "Amanda is going to be here any minute."  I then noticed Joe start sweating.  He continued with his speech.  I interrupted again.  "Just tell me all of this later.  I want to go back to the car."  But he didn't hear me.  He just continued talking and talking.  "What are you doing?" he finally asked, midway through his speech.  "What?" I questioned.  I was in a daze.  "Where is Amanda?"  I questioned back. "Can you call her or go get my phone and I'll call her?"  But oh no, Joe just continued talking and talking.  Why wasn't he listening to me?  I suddenly became attentive when Joe said he had a gift for me.  I smiled, and he pulled out a rose. Before he handed it to me, he said just one sentence, "With all of that being said, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"  And there it was.  My perfect ring. 

My ring.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"  I immediately responded.  "Amanda is going to be here!"  There was a long pause.

"The baseballs, the park, the rose, the ring.  This was all planned for you.  No Amanda."  Joe responded.

I sat there dazed and confused.  All of the signs were there and I Just. Didn't. Get. It.  I won't get the do-over...I missed my own proposal!  Joe began telling me of his plan, and that it was his grandmother, Ruth's birthday, and no matter how mad he was at me earlier this week, it was planned and has been planned for a while.  "Amanda was just a bonus," he responded.  I was completely caught off guard and still regretting that I missed every word he said.  He called my mom, his mom, and finally, Amanda.  I just sat there dazed.  I'm such an idiot.  I missed my own proposal.  I didn't listen to anything he said.

I was pretty quiet the whole way back to my townhouse.  "What's bothering you, bean?" He said with a bright smile.  "I missed the whole thing," I began crying.  "I'll never get a do-over.  I didn't listen to anything you said, and I feel horrible."  Joe pulled over and grabbed a white piece of paper out of his pocket.  "I know you even better than you know yourself," he responded.  And then he handed me his folded-up speech, down to every last word including "Check Kristin's toe to get her out of the car."  I finally had my perfect proposal. 

I keep that paper next to my bed and refer to it often.  All of the signs were there, I was just too preoccupied (and possibly under too much pain medicine) to figure it out.  I do wish I would have been more conherant, to say the least, however, I have something that few couples have: a transcript to their proposal.  I cherish that piece of paper, and the funny thing is, it's written on the back of an old grocery list I made.  That is so completely me, I laugh every time.

As for my toe?  Three months before we say "I do," on his grandmother Ruth's birthday, exactly 365 days after my proposal, it has almost grown back.  Just to be on the safe side though, I am wearing closed-toe shoes with my dress.  And then there is the question of the silly dishwasher.  Have I installed one yet?  Nope, and I have no plans of it either.  I'm very predictable and stubborn, even down to my own wedding proposal.

My kitchen, hold the dishwasher.

Growing Up George

For our 2012 George Christmas party, my mom's "ugly sweater" consisted of pictures of her brothers.

When I was little, a stranger would stop my mom and me at a local store.  They would say to my mom, “Are you one of those crazy Georges?”  Or even better, “Are you that crazy [insert any uncle’s name here] sister?  My mom would hesitate and then very quietly say, “yes.”  The stranger would then tell us some shocking/probably illegal story that my mom hadn’t yet heard about one of her crazy siblings.  I would just laugh and laugh.

 

In looking back at my almost thirty-two years of life, a lot of who I am today can be contributed to my childhood.  My childhood was glorious not because of all of the trips I went on or experiences I had, but rather the people, my very own aunt and six uncles, that made my childhood the best ever.  My mom frequently jokes and says, “I wish I was an only child,” but I am so glad she isn’t.  Where would I be without these crazy Georges?

I have so many memorable experiences with each of them, but felt that I should pick the highlights for now.

When my aunt was in her early teens, and I was not yet in school, my aunt decided to have a sleepover while my grandpa was on vacation. Naturally, my mom was the responsible guardian, and just as naturally, I packed up all of my cool girly things to fit in with Aunt Kathleen and her friends.  When they all listened to Bill Cosby’s comedy tape, I laughed even though I didn’t understand what was funny.  When they talked about boys at school, and shot soda through their nose, I followed, and shot soda through my nose.  When they all carried their sleeping bags out to the backyard, I followed behind them with my orange and yellow sleeping bag nearly double my size.  This was the final straw for my aunt. She shot me the “I can’t believe you are ruining my party glance,” picked me up like a baby, carried me to the kitchen, and dropped me onto the floor.  My mom gave me “the look” and I knew I was doomed to spend the rest of the evening inside, alone, and away from all of the fun.  I bawled, and wailed, then sobbed and sniffled my way to sleep, in Aunt Kathleen’s bed of course.  When I awoke the next morning, my mom, Aunt Kathleen, and all of her friends had a surprise:  I peed her bed. 

Yes, my aunt was fun, silly, and crazy, but she was a mere amateur compared to the wild ways of my six uncles.  Everything they did, they encouraged me to try, and would praise me afterwards.  All of the swearing, dirty jokes, and farts, they let me be present for, and as long as I promised not to ever, ever, ever, tell my mom , so help me God, I was a welcomed member of the boys club and still hold that position today.  

My Uncle Kevin, before he moved to Washington, had the entire Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar posted around his bedroom.  He is my Godfather, and sent me the most unique Christmas gifts every year until I was eighteen—a flute made out of wood, a shammy to wash the car, and a recycling handbook—all treasures that I still have.  He once even bought me a sheep from Africa that the people could use the wool to make clothes for themselves.  That was so hilarious to me! 

My Uncle Sean, who is a mix between a panda bear, a gorilla, and Chef Boyardee, refused to let anyone enter his room.  He had the basement room, across the hall from Kevin and his swimsuit girls, but he didn’t have carpet.  For some reason I thought that was super neat.   One day, I got a quick peek inside and all I remember noticing was his leopard print bedspread…and underwear.  Yikes!  He once invested his hard earned money and rented an authentic gorilla costume, and came barreling into the living room grunting on Halloween.  I cried and huddled in the corner, while my mom beat him with a broom.  He still laughs about it twenty years later and my mom says that is why she has long fingernails.

  My Uncle Brian may very well take the prize for the craziest.  He had platform Pee Wee Herman shoes, and he would dance on the top of the kitchen table in them with the music blaring in nothing but his underwear and a white dress shirt.  I could jump on his bed, climb in and out of his bedroom window, and eat all of the sugary substances in the world and he would pay for it!  Uncle Brian first introduced me to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” music video, despite how terrified I was.  He took me sledding in the winter, and played kickball with me in the summer.  He once had me eat an entire bag of gummy worms in ten minutes.  He was a true pal and I cried when he moved to St. George even though I was nearly fifteen.

For some strange reason I can bring myself to call all of my uncles by just their first name, but then there is “Uncle Tim.”  Uncle Tim would frequently let me sleep over at his house in his wife’s doll room…the ultimate vacation.  He would wake up at four a.m. to go to work, and I would consistently flush the toilet at regular intervals to get his wife, my aunt Nicki, to awake.  One night before bed, Uncle Tim and Nicki heard fire engines blaring past their house.  This happened over the course of several minutes. Uncle Tim finally went out to the porch to see that Saint Benedicts Hospital was on fire.  “We have to go see,” he  yelled.  I looked down.  I was in my pink slippers and robe.  “Put your snow boots on, you’ll be ok.”  And so I did.  We drove right up to the burning building and watched alongside the firemen.   They since have built a new hospital down the street from my grandpa.  Uncle Tim’s version of the events of that night was that I begged him to take me, and it was his duty as my favorite uncle hint, hint, to do so.  I playfully argue back, but we both loved that night and bring it up frequently.  Uncle Tim was the first person who saw my ears pierced and commented on how brave I was.  He would play Mario Brothers (old school Nintendo) with me every Wednesday short day and always let me be Mario while we ate caramel popcorn.  He is who I call in any emergency, and has attended every birthday party and both of my graduations.  Uncle Tim is my second dad.

The story of my strange uncles and their impact on my life today would not be complete without mention of my uncle Chris.  Chris’ life still remains a mystery to me, a puzzle missing just one piece.  He has never been married, lives in a shack (literally) and works a job he claims he hates and has hated for the past forty years.  Chris, however, has a memory and an I.Q. of a genius.  He can quote any fact from any time period and have three sources to back it up.  He gives money to any friend and family member who needs help, and even to those that don’t.  I frequently ask my mom about Chris and why he acts the way he does.  My mom shows me photographs, and simply states, “before your grandmother died, Chris had a beautiful smile.”

If I could give you one word to sum up my early childhood, I would ask for two: Nick and Heather.  Nick and Heather were the children of my Uncle Steve who lived in Sandy.  Sandy was a far off land to me, and when they would come up and visit, it was an ultimate treat.  Nick and Heather were my partners in crime.   They would usually come up for Thanksgiving and stay at the Marriott Hotel in Ogden.  I was so pleased when they asked me to start joining them.  We would swim all hours of the night, and order fruity drinks at brunch the next day.  My Uncle Steve would play hide and seek with us in the hotel, and we would always jump as the elevator landed to our floor.  On our way back to the hotel once, my cousin Heather had me open my Christmas gift early.  It was a Barbie hot tub.  I was ecstatic.  “Go on, tell her,” my uncle prompted.  Heather started crying.  Between sobs she said, “I told my dad to get you the hot water too, but he said no.”  The van erupted with laughter.  This is one of my most favorite memories of my cousins.  

Whether I was imitating Kathleen or chasing fire engines with Tim, my childhood has impacted my life for the better.  I wish I had a grandmother, but more importantly I wish my mom had her mom.  I realize, however, that my life wouldn’t have been so enriched, so loving, and so much fun if I didn’t grow up George.

Tip #5: Wait, I have a coupon for that!

In case you're just joining us (and by us I mean Joe really is contributing to this site), money is the evil necessity to all things weddings.  If you have big dreams and mere pennies to spend, may I now introduce to the room: coupons.

Now say what you want to say about so-called "Extreme Couponers."  I for one, love that show, but I don't have the time or the willpower to commit to a grocery store excursion for eight hours.  Joe and I, however, rarely buy anything or go anywhere unless there is a coupon attached to it.  Why?  Because I like money, and saving money = happy Kristin and an even happier Joe.  Afterall, my money is my money and his money is my money :).  Moving along...

When it comes to your wedding, I wouldn't suggest settling just for the sake of coupons, but I think if you have the time, consider all of your options.  My first suggestion: go to at least one bridal show.  There are two major times bridal shows happen in the year: August, for brides getting married in the fall/winter and then January, for brides getting married in the spring/summer.  Bridal shows offer tons and tons of samples, freebies, giveaways, and coupons.  Take all of them!  Then, sort it all out when you get home.  Some of these coupons you may not use for your wedding, but rather for something else later on.  But who cares?  It's free, and free is always better.

At the bridal show, for instance, Joe won a free tux by spinning a teeny tiny wheel (and by free I mean, they handed him a $200 gift card), and we got a coupon for a free tie, which we used, just not for the wedding.  See what I mean: $220 just for going to the bridal show!

And then there are your vendors.  Sometimes vendors refer other vendors and when they do, you get a discount.  Here is how that played out for us: I bought my dress from David's Bridal.  David's Bridal offers 50% off any suit bought at Men's Warehouse.  So...Joe got a free tux for Las Vegas and a brand new suit for half price for our reception!  Then...David's Bridal also gave me $100 towards getting all my engagement and bridal pictures printed.  And that's not all: our venue, Cactus and Tropicals, referred us to Specialty Linens.  I mentioned Cactus and Tropicals, and instantly saved 50% off my linens!  Isn't saving fun?

Here's our savings so far:

• Venue: Saved $600 for paying it all up front
• Dress: Full price with 1/2 price suit and $100 picture gift card
• Tux: Free
• Suit: 1/2 price
• Linens: 1/2 price
• Invitations: 65% off  (for being a new member, I saved 15%, then, for buying in bulk, I saved an additional 50%)
• Table Decorations: 50% off sale at Hobby Lobby
• Catering: $1,500 dessert added for free since they made me mad

So the next time you're in a hurry and think, "It's for a wedding, things are just expensive."  Think again.  Not everyone is paying full price, so neither should you.  Why?  Because you have a coupon for that!

Tip #4: The Long...and Short of it...

The Five-Year Engagement

So...you just got engaged.  First, people will grab your hand and gawk at your ring finger.  Next, people will ask you, "So when is the big day?"  An average engagement in the United States is 10-18 months.  Living in Utah, the thought of that is just way out of the question for most people.  But sometimes there are extenuating circumstances, as we all watched in the movie The Five-Year Engagement.  With career changes, location changes, and family changes, sometimes the engagement is longer than initially planned, but does that make it all the less special?  I would certainly hope not.  So when you and your significant other are stressing over a wedding date to make grandma happy, consider this list.  Both the long...and short of it.

Long Engagement Positives

• Long engagements typically have a purpose behind the day selected.
• Long engagement allow for careful selection and having the upper-hand when negotiating vendors, dress, flowers, and venues.
• Long engagements allow for cheaper rates when booking your vendors.
• Once you have picked your vendors, date availability is not competitive.
• Long engagements allow for more out-of-state friends and family to attend.
• Long engagements enable the wedding to be paid over the entire engagement period, not just one big sum thrown on the credit card at the end.
• Long engagements allow for a Plan A, Plan B, Plan C, and Plan D.
• Your wedding plans won't consume your life;  you can still work, play, and have fun.

Short Engagement Positives

• Short engagements keep the interest of both the couple and those attending the big day.
• Short engagements lead to the end result faster and the couple can start on the next big thing...together.
• In Utah specifically, vendors are used to shorter engagements and can seamlessly accommodate a smaller time frame.

Long Engagement Negatives

• People will forget you are engaged/not take it as seriously.
• People will not want to listen to your plans for a year.
• You have to stay in constant contact with your vendors so they don't forget that you booked with them months ago.
• Long engagements allow for the couple to change their minds about certain wedding details, and in some cases, you start over again and again.

Short Engagement Negatives

• Your choices are limited on dates, venues, dresses, vendors etc.
• You will pay more for your vendors since it's a shortened time frame.
• You will be planning your wedding nearly everyday.  There is no time for a break.
• You will only have a Plan A, so hopefully it's a good one.

The Toaster Theory

Tact.  Few people have it, but it should be required just as much as shoes and shirts are when entering a public establishment.  I'm not sure of the movie, but a middle-aged woman asked an elderly woman why she had never married.  Her response had me erupt into tears for hours: "I guess I never married because no one ever asked me."  The lesson I learned from this scene was NOT how important it is to get married, but rather don't ask someone something that lacks tact.  Period.

I can't tell you how many times people asked when Joe and I were going to get married.  I never found the question amusing, and quite honestly, it was upsetting at times for both of us.  It was upsetting not because I was dying to get married, but rather I was fine with my relationship and quite happy.  I guess I just hoped others could see that too.  And then there was the opposite side: People that simply brushed our relationship off and never took us seriously.  We are over thirty, so there's no hope for us.  Those people infuriated me as well. 

In January, mere minutes before I was supposed to go to the bridal show with Joe and my mom, I began crying and crying a lot.  "I'm not going anymore," I sobbed to Joe.  "I'm too old; people will look at me strange."  And Joe replied with something that I will never forget.  "We've always played by our own rules.  And as old as they will think we are, we will laugh at them for being so young."  And then he promised we would go to Olive Garden afterwards, and for the next several hours, all was well with the world. 

But that solution, why it got me to go to the bridal show, wasn't right either.  Getting married young or getting married older shouldn't matter to anyone but the couple.  Just as some young people are incredibly immature to handle even their own lives let alone being a partner for life with another, there are those wandering thirty year olds that lack maturity as well.  Which is why, many years ago, on the couch of my mom's house, I declared the toaster theory.

Any theory that you may have about anything has statistics to back it up.  You think that getting married young is a travesty? Well guess what?  The Chicago Tribune suggests that 60% of all marriages where the couple is between 20-25 years old end in divorce.  You think that having a baby by forty is too late?  Well, The Huffington Post agrees that thiry-five is the best age to stop having children.  See what I mean?  Anything you can think of will have research and statistics that will support your claim.  But not the toaster theory.  No research. No stats, real or fake.  Just me, on my couch, at my mom's, with the candle stick. 

The Toaster Theory: If you own a toaster prior to marriage, you are of appropriate age to get married. 

What the h$@!?  When you move out for the first time, whether it be to a college dorm, or a scuzzy apartment, you can't afford a lot.  If you have enough money to scrape together, you buy one appliance.  What is that one appliance you ask?  Usually a toaster.  I don't know why it's not the George Foreman grill or a blender, or a freaking rice cooker.  I don't know why it's a toaster.  It just is. 

What does a toaster have to do with marriage?  To me, it says establishment. If you have your own toaster, you are out of mommy and daddy's basement. It says, "I can handle being poor in a scuzzy apartment with crazy neighbors who smoke pot and keep me up at night when I have a final to take the next morning."  It says, "I put on my big girl/boy pants and can handle things on my own."  It says, "Now that I have handled things on my own, I can play nice with others."

So there you have it.  A theory all my own, supported by no research. Sure, it may be a little crazy, but I think if you really think about it, it makes sense.  Figure out who you are and what you want before you commit to another, whether that be at age 19, 46, or not at all.  No one says you have to get married, and no one, really, should care.  But people do, and those people are obnoxious and lack tact.  They are the same people who ask if a woman is pregnant, and those people are why I believe in the death penalty.  Ok, that was harsh and waaaay off topic.

So if you really want to take advice of yet another birdie chirping in your ear, mine is simple: buy a toaster.