Notice anything different? Aside from looking exhausted due to many occurrences of "would you like fries with that"?
My boyfriend, Scott, proposed to me last night and put a ring on my Truckasaurus man-fingers.
|Lana and I have a lot in common. Really, my hands are fucking huge.|
So Scott's gonna make an honest women out of me, and that requires some work on my part. I've gotta get my shit together, because I don't want him dealing with any of it.
The first thing on the list is getting rid of my stupid house. The second thing on the list is signing everything away on the house... and with these meat-hooks I call "hands," that should take like nine years. (My hands are ginormous. And now one of them has a ridiculously large and pointy ring attached to it, so... don't make me punch you. Seriously, this flashier-than-I-expected ring turned my windshield wipers on while I was driving home tonight, and my hand was nowhere near the lever.)
|Huge hands + huge diamond + huge left hook. Just tempt me.|
The third thing is to finish up with my bankruptcy, which unfortunately could take months. I just have to do my part, submit my documentation, and show up when I need to. The bankruptcy fees are paid.
The fourth thing is to plan a wedding. ...What.
Scott has this deluded theory that all women have been planning their weddings since they were five years old. I am not one of those women. As a child (and... actually, this is all still accurate), I was more concerned with setting up little villages with my G.I. Joes in my mother's garden, building a fort in our backyard trees and bushes, acing the crap out of any sport I could join, and how far I could ride my bike outside the neighborhood boundaries my parents set without getting caught.
|Who's got four thumbs and intentions for marriage? These dorks.|
People talk about weddings as if it's the best day of a woman's life. What? No, dumbass. Do I want the best day of my life to happen so early on? When I'm currently working in a restaurant (so the newspaper will say, "The groom works in IT in medical device research and development, and the bride graduated from Purdue University with honors but is a waitress at TGI O'Chilibees")? The best day of my life has to be when I'm in some kind of torture device (a.k.a., a corset attached to some tulle, a thousand buttons and hooks, bobby pins poking at my scalp, and heels high enough to make my feet bleed), greeting random people with their unsolicited advice on marriage, shooting furtive and hopeful glances at the buffet in vain, all while trying to look like the prettiest female that ever existed? No, weddings absolutely suck. I'm going to have one, but I'm not going to be enthusiastic about it.
Marriage is going to be great. I have no problems with that. Scott is awesome, and I'd marry him right now, standing in a swamp and wearing a potato sack. The wedding, however... the expectations of a wedding will stress me out a bit. And then there's logistics.
We both own homes by ourselves. I will be moving in with him at some point. That isn't too scary in itself, since I have very little furniture. All I care about is my piano and my cat. Thing is, my cat is practically bulimic, and Scott cares about things like stains. I haven't really cared too much about stuff like that because... well... I've been dealing with it for ten years with this cat.
|It's okay, Micky. Mommy still loves you. Scott will learn to love you, too. Even if you ruin his carpets.|
Another thing: I drink, and I smoke. Scott does neither. He's perfectly fine with me having a cocktail after work, during dinner together, or out with friends; "you deserve it," he says. He looks the other way when I step out for a cigarette occasionally and laughs when I get embarrassed later for smelling like tobacco. However, I just spent almost four years living with someone who smoked and drank as much as I do, and in my own home, I just do what I please inside of it. This part could be a rough transition.
Typing is getting difficult, because holy shit, this ring is heavy.
|My silly fiancé.|