First Comes Love...Then Comes Marriage..Then Comes….

Reality.

What we know to be true...A.K.A. "our truth as we know it," (thank you Oprah).

The funny thing about reality is its ability to always exist, but not recognized (L.O.L). Meaning, fact is fact- and it always exists- but whether we choose to see it or not is up to us. Kind of like facial hair on women…midgets…or people with those eyes where one is staring you straight in the face while the other looks like a car doing doughnuts in an icy parking lot.

The interesting thing about reality is when one chooses to notice it (hmmm). For example, in regards to dating and marriage, the person you marry is the same one you dated…granted there is no serious brain injury or body altering surgeries of any kind. This is the same person you fell in love with and couldn’t imagine life without. The same person you wanted to bring little half-lings of them into the world with. Then marriage hits…and now comes the reality we’ve all been ignoring. I happened to hit my reality about twenty-four hours before the nuptials occurred. In essence, I had twenty-four hours to make the biggest decision of my life, for the second time.

Throughout the course of planning a wedding in record time (no baby involvement…at least that my parents know about)- in a state that I was not residing in- time and efficiency were beyond necessary. That being said…idiot didn’t get that. And by idiot I mean my then fiancé. The day before the wedding, we were supposed to meet with the photographer (I needed to know that she knew how to take pictures)...pick up the suits (heaven knows I didn’t want to see any of the groomsmen wearing their Birthday ones…well…except…okay no)…prepare the rehearsal dinner (okay...more of a dinner and not a rehearsal)….and deal with Mother 2.0 (think Mother Theresa...meets Richard Simmons). So...I asked idiot to meet with the photographer…I asked my dad to pick up the suits…put multiple family members in charge of the dinner…and slipped a valium into my mom’s drink. And possibly mine too.

Enter: Time to meet with the photographer.

Idiot didn’t know his way around the city…it was his first time there….he can’t be blamed for everything….even if Mapquest and Google were fully functioning...I also think my dad had actually hand drawn a map for him as well….anyhow. Not his fault he couldn’t find his way around the very small city we were in. So, he asked my brother to go with him. Now here’s where the crucial decision needed to be made...(men…boys…man-boys….and transvestites…don’t be dumb). Do you:

1)      get to where you need to get…asap and without crap… (ßyes) (rhyming answers are always the yes answers)

or…

2)     get lost…with the other idiot…who has lived in the city his whole life…and then call laughing…because the idiot joke you were laughing at while you were getting lost was so funny that you literally could not stop laughing to call to say you are not going to be able to do the one thing you were asked to do…(besides wipe yourself….so I guess it was two things you were asked to do). (ßReally idiot…figure it out).

Reality.

It wasn’t all sunshine and roses and butterflies.

Why?

Because I recognized. And I still said yes.

Idiot.

"I-Do" Defined

The purpose of this blog is monumental.
Take a minute. Let it set in. That's right. Monumental.
After hearing the same problematic stories being told over thousands of years, by millions of women and men...I found a solution. A rule-book if you will. You will.

These problematic stories are the same ones our parents told us, because their parents told them, and their parents beat it into them. The same stories that are discussed between friends and enemies alike. Common ground is common ground, and I'm certain that even the least liked person in my life (you know who you are)and I could spend a few hours comparing these stories (we won’t on account that you are least liked).

What are these problematic stories you may ask (you did when you read the first five words of that sentence)? They pertain to a certain institution I've taken the liberty of defining (you're welcome):

Marriage: the state (life sentence) of being united (stuck) to a person (breathing human) of the opposite (everything) sex, as husband (bread-winner, grass-mower, couch-sitter) or wife (child-raiser, house-cleaner, nagger) in a consensual (pun...con-sensual) and contractual (via pre-nups) relationship (parasitic/host) recognized by law (domestic disturbances).

Riiiigggghhht. See---you know what I'm talking about. And you know you know. And that's what I'm talking about. Are we on the same page now? We will be shortly. Same page of what book you may ask?(Again...you just did....trickery).  It's a little book I like to call "The Unwritten Rules of Saying I Do," also known as "What Every Person Should Know Before Life-Sentencing Themselves to Another Human They Think They Know,  But Trust Me You Don't, So Let Me Help You See The Light (A.KA. Who You Do Not Know)...And Everything That Comes With It. And Everyone that Comes With It. And Sunshine and Butterflies." (It Can't All Be Depressing).

Allow me to introduce you to "The Unwritten Rules of Saying I-Do."