The Thin Pink Line

I wrote this about 2 days after finding out I was pregnant, I’m 13 weeks now. Over the next few days I’ll post some of the things I wrote before we let the cat out of the bag this weekend. This whole thing is a process and I think it is important that women can read something besides blogs about how blessed and amazing they feel with gross titles like “The Day I Become a Whole Person”, “The Best Thing That Has or Will Ever Happen To You” or “AREN’T YOU SO EXCITED YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE A BABY?! IT IS MAGICAL”, especially in the early months when they are still adjusting to the idea. 

 

“Oh shit”, is all I could say as I sat in the bathroom of a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf and read the pregnancy test I had just taken. But the second line was faint not a dark pink, like the single “no” line. It was light pink, dare I say, baby pink? It’s a fluke, was my first thought. Then I wondered if I had peed wrong? Or did I hold the stick wrong?

I took to Google, as you do in times of scientific quandary. And the overwhelming verdict was “a line is a line is a line, faint or not. Becky, you pregnant, girl”.

This was not planned. At all.

After the hill incident this summer I was forced to go off the pill and given some of my other medical history (I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome back in 2002), we did not think that an “oops” pregnancy was really in the cards for us.

WE WERE WRONG.

I started freaking out the way a teenager might freak out…okay, maybe a little less, seeing as telling my mom and dad resulted in tears of joy, not tears of anger.

I know a lot of women who know they want to be mothers. Some have always known, others get that feeling as they get older and/or meet the person they want to spend their life with.  But not me. I was nor am I one of those kinds of women.

Since this summer, I have seen lots of doctors and I had to inform them first that I was pregnant. They all sounded so happy and so excited!

“Congratulations!”, they would squeal. I had one OBGYN nurse hug me.

And all I could do was smile back weakly.

“Are you excited?!”, the OBGYN nurse chirped.

“Oh, yeah….I guess it hasn’t all sunk in yet,” I would manage to choke out.

But I’m not even sure that’s the case at all. If I’m being 100% honest with you, when I saw the first sonogram and the doctor and that freakin’ nurse where cooing over “that’s your baby” as I looked a screen with a sort of bean on it, I felt zero feelings. I simply turned to them and said “cool, can you print a picture for my husband? I have to get to the office.”

It’s probably not the kind of thing you are supposed to say when you are 35, happily married and pregnant for the first time. I imagine what you are SUPPOSED to say is “We are so excited! We have prayed for this! We can’t wait to be parents!” But for me, I am terrified. I am so worried about becoming a “Mom”. See, things haven’t really gone as planned in my career, I’m not even close to where I want to be professionally and to be quite honest, I’m not even sure where I want to be anymore which makes the prospect of motherhood even scarier.

I’m not stay at home mom material. Some women are and that is so awesome for them and I am happy they get to live the life they want. But for me, I need to work and be creative and be a part of something bigger than my now 3 person family. I fear though because of this lack of a career stronghold, it’s exactly what I’ll become. And then I will resent the kid and my husband and myself. And oh God, what if I try to live vicariously through whatever my kid wants to do or WORSE what if I crush their dreams because I feel mine were crushed? How do I stay social? How do I stay healthy mentally and physically? How do I keep my marriage happy and healthy?

HOW?!

I imagine that these are questions that women face everyday of their lives before and after the birth of their child. And I know I’m not alone. At least I think that logically. But in the blogosphere and all over social media are perfect, happy, smiling moms who joke about their kids but seem to be have happy lives. They are making it work. And I guess that’s what I have to do to a certain extent. But I can’t fight the overwhelming urge to do EVERYTHING I have wanted to do and cram it into the next 6 months before it is too late. I have to write every screenplay idea I have, every TV pilot, I have to go on every audition, film every sketch and edit every reel. I need to learn to ski and climb a mountain. I need to become a French chef, get into shape (somehow), organize my closet, label EVERYTHING, cook meals for the next year that I can freeze.

But I’m EXHAUSTED!  And I’m nauseous. I’m reading all these damn books about eating right and stuff and all I want to eat is a carbs and sugar. But more than anything I feel, I feel nothing.

I don’t feel like this is actually happening I feel like I am floating above myself, watching this play out and being like an obnoxious moviegoer in a horror movie. “BECKY! DO NOT GO IN THERE! RUN!”. I feel like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore and it occurs to me that this is the first of many many things that don’t belong to me anymore.  My body, my life, my time, my space, my heart.

It’s all a bit too much for me  So you will have to excuse me, OBGYN Nurse if I am less than stoked about this thing sucking everything from me.

All The Feelings

I’m writing this post-wedding and post honeymoon, so this won’t be as emotionally charged as it would have been say….the day after the wedding. When all the feelings happened.

First, let’s talk wedding weekend. It was amazing. A friend told me that she would have told everyone she knows to elope while she was planning her wedding, until she actually experienced the wedding weekend. I felt the exact same way. We had a blast! For a while before the wedding I started to second guess everything I planned, I thought I compromised things I shouldn’t have, I started to be afraid that I would regret this and that, your regular panic attack inducing thought spirals….but it was all amazing. Thanks to our designer, caterer, photographer, BAND (AMAZING), cake baker, coordinator, our friends, and our families. Notice I did not say anything about our shuttle service provider…’nuff said.

If you are planning a wedding right now and want to throw up your hands and run to Vegas, read this and know — it is worth it. As long as you let go of everything on the morning before your wedding. Everything is in motion by then and all you need to do is be the bride. All the planning and all the stressing, it is worth it.

There were hitches, of course (see above shuttle service comment), but for the most part, it was the exact wedding I planned.

Then the morning after happened. We had a lovely brunch at the hotel where we were all staying and as I said goodbye to some guests that afternoon it started to dawn on me…. this is over. The planning is over. The anticipation is over. All those reasons to get together with friends and family this past year…over.

I am very close with my friends, to the point that someone remarked that they were surprised my friends weren’t coming on my honeymoon. When you move away from home and live in a big city your friends become your family. And since moving to LA, I missed my second family. But having a wedding, bridal showers, and a bachelorette party gave so many reasons to see them. And planning the wedding in my hometown gave me extra reasons to see my real family.

Plus, I wasn’t a bride anymore, I would never be a bride again. I know it sounds bratty, but it’s fun to be the bride! A couple of friends are getting married next year and I found myself being jealous of them. Jealous of the whole journey they are about to take. The way I’m jealous of people that have just started watching “The Wire” for the first time. It’s exciting and scary and everyone walks away with their own take on it. When I told my husband (eep!) that, he was like “have you forgotten the last year?!”. I guess so, I guess it’s a little like a mother forgetting how childbirth feels once she’s holding her baby.

On top of all that, I was exhausted. I didn’t sleep for the last few days before the wedding from all the stress and excitement. I was this raw, tired, premenstrual (oh yeah) nerve.

But I was also beyond happy and relieved. We had pulled this thing off! And I had married this incredible person who I couldn’t imagine loving more yet find myself falling more and more in love. I am now someone’s wife.

I feel bad for the amount of crying I did on my first full day of marriage. But because my husband and I have been together for a while now, he got it. Thank God for the honeymoon where I didn’t cry at all (until we left because it was perfect and I didn’t want to come home).

And now we are married…. I have lots of feelings about that.

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Envelopes and Bumpers

I think it started with the invitations, but it was probably going on under the surface for a while….the unraveling of my sanity.

I mean, first came the car incident. I call it an incident and not an accident because accident implies a certain amount of seriousness that this incident did not have. I hit a parked car going 5 mph, not a big deal but I did mess up my bumper pretty good.  And I was driving for a riding sharing program at the time.

Maybe it goes back to that. To when I had to start driving for the ride sharing program because with so many conflicts I had for wedding related activities, I wasn’t able to find sustainable work in my field. So waking up at 6am to drive people to work was probably when the threads of my sanity started to fray. And the constant concern that I wasn’t pulling my weight. Once the incident occurred, insurance was no help with the damaged bumper, in fact, insurance was the opposite of helpful.

Then… there were the invitations. Let me just say that I am pleased with how they turned out, the design is exactly what I wanted and blah blah blah. But it was envelope drama that got me. I’ll spare you the details because that shit is boring, but suffice to say I spent way more time at paper stores talking about paper than I ever have or ever plan to in my whole life..which paper held ink best and which wouldn’t make my custom rubber stamp smudge as the originally purchased envelopes had. And I was running on a deadline.

I work well under deadlines usually, but this time was different and as I shouted at my fiance that THIS WILL NEVER WORK!! It hit both of us that the last two months was starting to take a toll on me.

Then today as I sat in my car in the Trader Joe’s parking lot crying about not having a good enough dress for my rehearsal dinner and angrily texting that at it HAD TO BE IVORY, I thought that maybe I’m missing the point of this whole thing.

The tough thing about planning a wedding is seeing passed the details and looking at the big picture. I think that’s true for planning any big event whether it’s a party or a TV show. Sometimes getting it just right, the way you have it in your head, gets to be more important than the actual thing you are planning. I need to constantly remind myself that whether or not we have the correct number of gift bags that at the end of the weekend, I won’t just be the bride, I will be someone’s wife.

It’s scary and exhilarating to think about being able to say to the world, “This is my husband, I am his wife” . So in a way, it’s easier to be the bride and obsess over dresses and invitations than it is to be the wife and deal with wrecked cars and stalled careers.

And soon enough, I won’t have envelopes to freak out over or cakes to pick out and I’ll have to get my bumper fixed, and that’s probably the most terrifying thought of all.

Father of the Bride

I couldn’t really decide the best way to pay tribute to my dad, so this is sort of two blogs in one.

“FORCE FIELD”

My sister got married when I was 19. I remember dancing with him at her wedding and promising that I wouldn’t get married for a long time and it wouldn’t be a big affair…..I kept one of those promises.

Honestly? I’ve got a bone to pick with my dad. I don’t think it would have been so difficult for me to find the right guy if he hadn’t been such an outstanding model of what a man should be. Not just a man in a marriage and a man as a father, but a man as a human being. Because of my father, I expected the man I marry to be strong, stable, reliable, funny, intelligent and giving.

Believe it or not, it was a lot to ask of all the myriad of jerks and hipsters that I dated in my 20’s. In fact, I probably went out of my way to avoid guys like my dad in an attempt to not be like my mother (see Mother’s Day post). But in the back of my mind I knew it was inevitable. Like my sister, a mini version of my grandmother, married a not so mini version of my grandfather (my brother-in-law clocks in at 6’5), my eventual marriage would be Jackie and Dave part two.

My dad always made me feel safe. I looked for my mom’s approval first in a lot of things I did in my life. But I looked to my dad for the final nod. Not because of some patriarchal thing in my family. If anything our family was a matriarchy, with my mother and grandmother as very strong forces in my sister and I’s life. No, I looked to my dad because not only was he able to look at everything logically and unemotionally (unlike my mother and I) but because he just has this air about him that makes everything feel like whatever he said to do was the right thing, the best thing. Even the unsafe things I chose to do. (The unsafe things I chose to TELL him about at least).

There is this great quote that I post every Father’s Day on Facebook, where he is thankfully not a member, in his honor that is the perfect tribute to everything he did for me.

“There’s a look little girls have who are adored by their fathers,’ Bea said. ‘It’s that facial expression of being totally impervious to the badness of the world. If they can keep that look into their twenties, they’re pretty much okay, they’ve got a force field around them.”

—Maile Meloy, Both Ways Is the Only Way I Want It

 

“WILLIE, MICKEY, AND THE DUKE”

Every relationship has a language and my dad and I speak baseball. My father loves America’s past time with such a passion. And my sister and my mother never really loved it. But I fell in love at some point when I was 7 or 8. My father would take us to ball games on every family vacation and he and I would sit and keep score while my mother and sister would sit bored eating hot dogs. My sister was the athlete of the family but I played softball. My dad coached me until I was 13 until coaching teenage girls became too much. But I kept playing until I graduated high school. After high school when I went away to London my dad and I would talk, not about what I was doing or what was going on at home, but we would talk about baseball. When I was so lonely in my first year in New York I would call my dad on Sunday mornings when I knew my mother wasn’t home to ask all her questions about my life (I’m still broke, sad and tired) but we would talk about baseball. When I first started dating my fiance…..my dad and I talked baseball instead. But when it really mattered, when I was faced with some pretty big decision in my life, I could always call on a Sunday morning and talk it out, and then talk baseball. It’s kind of appropriate that Father’s Day is on a Sunday.

When I was a kid, my dad had this cassette that I played until it broke, “Baseball’s Greatest Hits”. It had Abbot and Costello’s “Who’s on First” and songs about baseball greats like Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio, Jackie Robinson and my dad’s favorite, Say Hey Willie Mays. It had a few general songs about baseball and one song called “A Dying Cub Fan’s Last Request”. As a Cub fan it hits home “to the home of the brave, the land of the free and the door mat of the National League”. And to my father, it was a hilarious song. We listened to it all the time.  My sister and my mom thought it was weird and morbid how much we loved this song. So when I told him I was getting married, the first decision we made was to dance to that song at my wedding. Before I booked a band, caterer, found a dress, found a venue or anything, we had the song…..now we just have to get the band to play it.

 

 

Becky and Dad 1990

(Side note: My mother is the photographer here and while she is a multi-talented…photography is not one of them)

Weight a Minute

With almost 5 months until the big day, I’ve had a lot on my mind. A lot of my hips, thighs and butt to be exact. And to be honest, I’m freaking the f**k out about it.

The mania to lose weight before your wedding is insane. I’ve always been overweight, but at no point in my life have people just said out loud TO MY FACE “So you are going to lose weight. right?” Like….what?! But when you get engaged, among a lot of stupid things people say to you, the weight loss question gets brought up the most. And I’ve seen it happen to brides much skinnier than me. I mean, no one ever says to the groom “I bet you are going to get rid of that gut before the wedding”.   But somehow the idea of brides on juice fasts is just another part of the wedding industry machine.

Guys, I really thought I had this part of wedding planning covered. I’m old pro at dieting. Food has been my best frenemy since middle school. Years of therapy helped me pinpoint the triggers to unhealthy eating and dieting habits. And a HUGE event deadline? Well let’s just say that  I thank God every day for therapy because without that, I’d be an even bigger mess about wedding weight loss than I am today.

For those of you fortunate enough to never have to go through this, let me lay it out for you. You’re going along fine, eating whatever you want, then you get yourself on a diet. You measure your Greek yogurt, you put your fruit in Tupperware and when everyone is having cake for Helen in accounting’s birthday, you politely decline and have a carrot. You’re so proud of yourself and the weight is coming off. Then something happens….you stop losing, you have a really bad day,  or you’re too tired one night to make your baked chicken and steamed spinach for dinner, so you order a pizza. Then you figure, well I had pizza, might as well get some ice cream. And then you remember how much better pizza and ice cream is than baked chicken. And it’s over. There’s tons of self loathing, which leads to more eating. And now you are back to where you started, plus 5 pounds.

THAT is one of the many reasons why going on some crazy diet or meal plan is not something I am interested in. Because while I haven’t lost much weight, I haven’t gained it either. And as they said back in my Weight Watchers days, sometimes no gain is a loss.

But if I’m totally honest with you the whole weight loss issue boils down to one thing: pictures.  Pictures that last for the rest of your life, that you hang in your house as a reminder of that special day, that your grand kids will look at one day and say “Gee Grammy, you were so pretty!” or “Oh wow Grammy, you look exactly the same!”.  I don’t want to be going through my wedding photos and nixing gorgeous shots because I think my arm looks fat or I have a double chin.

Part of me feels like this is an unavoidable thing since most women whether they’re thin, average, overweight or professional models all think they look terrible in pictures. I have one friend with not an ounce of fat on her, that thinks her smile is weird. I have another gorgeous friend who hates her arms ( I can relate), and another who works hard at avoiding a double chin in photos so much that she contorts herself in ways unimaginable before taking a photo. Women are so hard on themselves.

I go to spin class and inevitably in almost every class there is a bride-to-be working her ass off and an instructor yelling “YOU WANT TO LOOK GOOD IN THAT DRESS!”. It’s upsetting and disturbing. But you better believe I start pushing harder too. I certainly don’t want to look back on wedding photos and be embarrassed at the big fat girl stuffing her face with cake.

I know that tons of you out there will be helpful and say, “I know a great diet!”. And let me say in advance, thanks but no thanks. It is dieting that messed me up so much in the first place, so I’m good without the 30 Day All Pineapple plan or the 22 week Protein Solution or whatever. And you are probably saying to yourself, “it’s only 5 months, get over it”. And part of me agrees with you. But its the principle here.

As a lifelong dieter, I’m sick of it. Sick of counting fat, calories, carbs, sodium or whatever we are supposed to be counting these days. I swear, if I have to measure one more cup of Greek yogurt I’m going to scream! And plain steamed broccoli?! No one really wants to eat that, if they say they do, they are lying!  I want to eat delicious things! As an adult, I’ve learned that delicious doesn’t mean fattening…. all the time. But I want to want fruits and vegetables because they are fresh and taste good, not because they are zero points on Weight Watchers. I want to want to workout not because some trainer is shouting at me about dress sizes, but because I want to run faster and be stronger.

This is a rough conclusion to come to at this moment in my life. This moment where enthusiasm for steamed broccoli and Greek yogurt needs to be at an all time high and desire for  donuts needs to be eliminated. Especially because if I do want to lose weight I’ve found that counting is the best way to do it.

This post took me 2 weeks to write because this is such a loaded topic, not just for me and not just for brides-to-be but for lots of women. I have no real solution. No real answer that will both let me eat pizza and ice cream and lose weight. Or eat Greek yogurt and steam spinach and feel satisfied.

All I know is I’m wearing a wedding dress in 5 months…and I hate my arms.

 

 

 

“Me” Time, Part II

So after I posted the last blog, my fiance read it.

Actually he read it before I posted it because he proofs my spelling and grammar.

Anyway, it spawned a discussion of selfishness that left me feeling, well, less than stellar about my abilities to be a good human in a life long relationship.

And not due to anything he said, well, yes due to something he said, but not in the way that you think.

So he read it and laughed at the appropriate places. Then when he was done I asked if he thought I was selfish and he said, “Yes….but so am I.”

He went on to explain that it isn’t so much a selfishness issue as it is a control issue. I like to control time and he likes to be in charge of resources. Which (as the title indicates) is pretty spot on. I don’t think he is controlling about money, he just likes to be the one that knows where everything is going and appropriates it accordingly. But I am definitely controlling with time…..especially my own time.

I am constantly making plans without telling him, or not telling anyone for that matter, and then I just expect him to do what I need him to do. This is a pretty typical conversation on a Saturday morning at our house:

Me: So first to the gym, then Target, then brunch with so and so, then tonight dinner with such and such.

Him: Am I going with you to all of this?

Me: Of course, now get your gym clothes on, we are already 10 minutes behind schedule.

Now if this conversation was to be reversed, he would ask me when I wanted to do all the things we needed to do. Which I would reply, “not now, I’m not ready”.

My time hoarding is especially evident when we are planning a trip or rather when I am telling him we are going on a trip. See, in my defense, I have been so used to picking up and going when someone says “Let’s go somewhere”. I didn’t have to take into a account another person. Let’s not even touch on the financial part of this, but I never had to worry about another person’s schedule. Work, life, family obligations. I know what I can do, and what I can do is go right now, so you should too.

Our talk that day ended with him saying “It’s something we both need to work on. And we will.” Because he is awesome.

That is when I spiraled. I thought to myself “But I like doing things the way that I do them now! I don’t want to work on it!”.

Then I thought, “but if I don’t work on it and he does, that is unfair and I will make him unhappy. And if I do work on it, I will be unhappy because I won’t be doing things the way I want to do them!”

Then, “And if I’m unhappy, he will be unhappy.”

At that point, I decided that I will be a terrible wife and I’m not fit to marry anyone, especially this wonderful guy. Luckily I was about to meet a friend (a new friend) and I ended up unloading on her (welcome to my life new friend!). She was really understanding and helped me see the normalcy of all that I was thinking and feeling. And that just for thinking all of this, I’m probably way more suitable for marriage than I thought.

I didn’t talk to him about this part….about the spiral. I was afraid of what he might think, about what my spiral might do to him. Besides, I wasn’t sure how to say to him “You know I’m going to be the worst wife, right?” without him thinking that I was joking. I wasn’t sure how to say “Are you sure you want to marry me?” in a way that didn’t sound like I was fishing for a compliment or reassurance.

But he’s going to check my spelling and grammar and find out all about it.

I just hope he laughs at the appropriate places.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Valentine’s Shmalentine’s

I was talking to a friend yesterday who was bemoaning her singledom. And it was one of those moments where I, as a person in a relationship, was looked at like I had it all figured out. That I just had always had boyfriends and I knew what I was doing with my romantic life and had never suffered the unbearableness of being single on Valentine’s Day. I confessed to her that before my fiance, I had spent every February 14th with my friends or completely alone. Then I went on to tell her about a very awkward, kind of sweet, first Valentine’s Day.

I was 30 years old and had never had a Valentine. I had been dumped on Valentine’s Day. I had been dumped a week before Valentine’s Day. I’d been stood up on Valentine’s Day. I didn’t have a great history with the day of love.
For our first Valentine’s Day together my fiance and I decided to spend the weekend in Atlantic City. Both of us love gambling so he booked us a nice room at a hotel/casino. I should also mention that this was our first weekend getaway as well. No pressure or anything.

I had just finished grad school and was unemployed, so I didn’t have tons of money to spend on a gift. But I did know one thing…lingerie was a must. In all my dating time, I had never had a guy that I felt comfortable enough with to wear lingerie for. i had come close with a guy, had the fancy panties on and then I found out he actually had a girlfriend, but that’s another story.

So I thought, this guy was going to be the first to see me in scandalous underwear. I obsessively shopped. I went to every place imaginable. Everything was either too expensive, too slutty or both. Finally I found a simple, lace night gown at a small shop in Brooklyn. Lingerie accomplished.

The next step was the gift. Since I spent most of the money on the lingerie, I thought I would MAKE a gift. At the time I was on a baking kick and I knew that he loved cinnamon rolls. So with the help of my amazing sister, I found a doable recipe. I ended up throwing out the first batch because the dough didn’t rise.  But the second rose enough (or so I thought). They actually turned out to be very….. dense….to put it nicely. Frankly, they could have been used as bricks.

So that Saturday, we take the 2 hour ride up to AC. He gets me a card and chocolates (and the room in AC). We gamble up a storm. We drink. We have dinner. We have an awkward exchange with a drunk guy at a blackjack table that asked if we were in love— cool off guy, it’s only been 3 months!

Then, after we’d consumed enough champagne, we make our way up to the room. I was drunk, but still sober enough to be nervous about the lingerie. This was not going to be our first adult sleepover. Or the first time he would be near my naked body. But lingerie sets expectations. Lingerie says “hey, look at my body!” in a way that being naked doesn’t. When I went into the bathroom to change, I told him to not laugh at me. (In hindsight, why would a man laugh at a scantily clad woman? Unless she told him to laugh.)

I tiptoed out of the bathroom doubled over, trying to protect my exposed parts and dove under the covers to hide.

Anyway, no need to go into the rest. The nightie was a hit and the Valentine’s Day was a success (he went on a 45 minute run at the craps today that he still talks about to this day). Although I’m not sure either of us enjoyed those cinnamon rolls very much (he did make a valiant effort though).

Much later he revealed to me that yes, those cinnamon rolls sat like bricks of lead in his stomach for days, but he continued to eat them…because I had made them for him.

And that’s when he knew he was in trouble.

A marathon not a sprint

The year I turned 30, I ran a half marathon.

I’m not a runner, like by any stretch of the imagination. Seriously, in New York I hardly ever ran for a train or bus. Nowhere is important enough that you need to run to get there. Running is reserved for serial killers chasing you and that is about it.

But I digress. I ran this damn half marathon. Not before I almost quit, a million times. And I had every excuse, I pulled a ligament, it got too cold to train, I hated it….but I did it because while I’m an ambitious person, I felt like I had never finished anything I started.

I started with acting at a young age, after college that got hard, so I went to improv, wasn’t making headway there so I moved to sketch comedy, then storytelling, then solo show performance and now writing. I never really stuck to one thing.

And now…I’m promising to be with someone FOREVER.

The-Sandlot-FOREVER

I’m faced with the question of “why?”. Why do I think I can do this forever, when everything else in my life ends after a few years?

Just when I’m about to spiral downward into a pit of self doubt. I think about my friends.  My very best friends in the world are from childhood, high school and college.

“But friendship and marriage are two different things…”, you say.

“Are they?”, I say to you.

Stick with me here. What I love about my friendships is that we have grown up. Together. We have changed and evolved and we’ve given each other the space and grace to do so. Sure, change is weird. And sometimes hard to adjust to, but when you find people that grow with you, that is something worth holding on to.

Cut to marriage. No two people stay the same over the course of 50 years. Or at least they shouldn’t. They should fundamentally stay who they are and stick to core beliefs. But wants and needs evolve over time. That is expected. And I’m really good at rolling with the punches. I’m pretty flexible and accommodating.  I feel like I have the understanding to be with someone who is changing and either give them the space to do it or support them. And  I feel like my fiance, while maybe not as good with rolling with punches, is supportive, understanding and accepting…except for if I decided to become a vegan…that would be totally unacceptable to him as an avid meat eater (think Ron Swanson levels of meat love).

So when I start to panic. I just think about my best friends and all that we’ve gone through together – the moves, the fights, breakups, lost jobs, marriages, babies, divorces, and death. Then I start to feel like, “Yea, I can do this forever thing….as long as he doesn’t want to move to Florida.” (Just kidding….but seriously, I never want to live in Florida).

“I’m a New Yorker…. fear’s my life”

Been listening to RENT a lot lately. And that line, even now living in Los Angeles, always struck a chord with me.

Then yesterday I took the “Which Jennifer Lawrence are you?” quiz on Buzzfeed. I got “Silver Linings Playbook” JLaw. Here is what it said:

You are somehow both the most scared and most fearless person you know, but if anyone calls you out for being so all over the place, they are going to get an earful.

Buzzfeed totally gets me.

It was that first line that I felt in the pit of my stomach like a punch in the gut. “Both the most scared and most fearless person you know”. That is me. Not in a hearing-a-Pink-song-that-resonates that is- so-me sort of way. But in a very real way.

I moved across the country to pursue my dreams of writing, acting, comedy and entertainment business success. But I’m too afraid of rejection to pick up the phone and cold call agents and managers. I agreed to meet a stranger from the internet at an Italian restaurant one cold November night in 2010 without hesitation. But when I think about becoming that guy’s wife, I am paralyzed with fear.

I think this is the point in the blog where I tell you all about how amazing this guy I’m marrying is.  He’s funny, adventurous, supportive, cuddly, and most importantly for me, grounded. He let’s me be me. And in the end isn’t that what we all want? But even more than that, he makes me want to be a better me. He’s not perfect (how hard is it to put a can in the recycling bin?!), but he is perfect for me.

Now, where was I? Oh yea, paralyzing fear of becoming this incredible man’s wife.

It feels insane to be afraid. Maybe it is just the anticipation of it that is scary. Like going on a roller coaster.

So, I love roller coasters. If you ask me to get on one I don’t hesitate to say “yes!”. The fastest, loopiest, longest, highest…I will do them all and I couldn’t be more excited about it. Until right before the ride starts. The moment they strap me in I say to myself, “What the hell are you doing on this metal death trap?! You think this harness is going to keep you from falling to your death?!”. Then the ride starts and I don’t have time to think,  it happens so fast. Then it’s over. And then I’m like “Let’s do it again!!”.

I don’t think marriage is going to be exactly like that. Especially the part where I want to do it again. Hopefully I’m just doing it one time. But I hope the part where I don’t have time to think is true because my brain is the reason that I get so scared. And I hope it doesn’t go by too fast. But I fear it will. And that part is very scary too.

 

 

 

 

 

I hate this part

When I was dating, my least favorite part was the first few dates. Where you talk about where you’re from, what you do, how many siblings you have, where you went to college….the basics. There’s a line from the play “Women of Manhattan” where a woman is on a first date and she explains her date that she wishes she could give him a shot that would just insert all of that bullshit into his brain and that get on to the deeper part. And that is what I wish for you, strange reader that was hoping she would be reading a wedding blog and but instead is reading this.

All you need to know is I was single in New York and now I’m engaged in Los Angeles. It happened that quickly it seems now. Although six months ago, I didn’t think it was happening fast enough. But now I feel like life is a car that’s brakes are shot hurtling down Mulholland Drive at breakneck speeds. I’m even making reference to L.A. streets now instead of New York!

I’m getting married in 10 months and I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about that. I’m not so much into the whole wedding planning scene. So if you are here hoping for tips on DIY garlands and party favors…sorry.

It’s a about change, relationships, life, wedding planning and finding a role in a new city. And a little bit about flowers. But only a little.