Protected: wedding ring

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

how was the wedding? an email response

How was the wedding?  I cried literally all day on Friday. I pulled it together enough to buy and wrap a wedding gift on Friday night.  By Saturday morning I thought I’d gotten it all out. Was OK on my way to the wedding. Some very sweet and supportive texts from PF. Started getting sniffly as service started, but I’m the type that cries at weddings anyway.

I was in a black church, not sure of exact denomination, but protestant. Pastor made a very deliberate point of saying we were here to celebrate a marriage as God intended. Between a man and a WO-man. Which got a huge cheer from audience.

Which bristled me a little. I’ve always said that equal marriage rights is not a religious issue. That we’re not asking anyone to change their faith. That there are already churches who will marry queers. And that’s true. And I respect people’s faith. But something about having it highlighted that way offended me. It took away from what was happening and made a political statement and I didn’t appreciate that. I set my agenda aside to come to the wedding. Set yours aside and lets just celebrate two people in love. Grrr.

Longest processional EVER. That whole one step, pause, one step pause thing. It took longer to get everyone in to the chapel than it took to actually marry them. But Soul Sista looked beautiful and they both looked happy.

Then we were off to the reception. I was seated at a table that was half little kids, with their mom and grandma at the next table over, and half with two couples I’d never met. One of whom was a cousin of the groom and his girlfriend. The GF didn’t really know anyone either. She was a dead ringer for Natalie Portman just dumb and one of those white chicks that thinks she’s black cause she dates black guys. I hate that.

So I pretty much sat there without anyone to talk to. The only people I knew were IN the wedding party. Everyone else there knew lots of folks or was coupled up. The kids were up and down so mostly it was me and these two couples that were clearly good friends.

When our turn came at the buffet line, after returning to the table, the other couples from my table picked up all of their plates and moved off to another table on the other side of the room to be with some other friends. The kids had already eaten and were running around.

So that was too much for me. Sitting at a big table by myself eating chicken and greens and fruit punch. I stayed long enough to eat, cause the food was awesome, then started making my way out. I saw them dance their first dance and it was all I could do to not lose it.

I cried the whole way home. Sent a text message to Aaron and ripped off that band-aid telling him we needed to call a spade a spade and just be friends. I intended to get ridiculously drunk and because I’m old and lame took out my contacts, washed my face, and got into PJs first. I poured myself a Hennessey and Pepsi but didn’t want it. Turned to a 6 pack of beer and only got through a beer and a half before I was done and all cried out. So I curled up on the couch and watched back to back episodes of 48 Hours Mystery.

I went to bed at 10:15.

Awesome.

love and marriage

Soul Sista is getting married tomorrow. This has been coming for a long time. As long as I’ve known her. She and her fiance have known each other since they were 6 years old. They have two children together. They’re a happy family with their two plus two he has from another woman. The two of them have been off and on and off and on again for their entire lives. But for the last four or five years, it’s all been on.

They set three different dates for the wedding before finally hitting the go button on actual plans. I’ve been listening to talk of save the date cards and invitations and venue selection for months. I love weddings. I truly truly do. Because in my heart of hearts I’m a romantic.

But when I received my invitation, I drug my feet responding. Something just wouldn’t let me put down 1 in the little box for number of guests. I’ve never attended a wedding alone. I always had a date. Or a husband. Or I was going with my family. I thought about RSVPing for two. Optimistically. But then the RSVP date passed by and the card was still on my desk and Soul Sista actually had to call me and ask where my response was. So I gritted my teeth, committed for one, and dropped the card in the mail.

And now the date is actually here. I have cried all damn day. Because not only will this be the first wedding I’ve attended solo, it’s also the first one I’ve attended since my divorce.

And suddenly all I can think of is a young girl who met a boy in the air force and wanted to get married. Even though she never thought she would. I can see us standing in the rented hall, light from the setting sun picking up the warmth of the wood floors. I can still see the ocean through the big bay windows. I can see every medal on his jacket. I can feel his hands in mine. I can hear his vows.

And I can remember feeling so happy. On that day. To be called someone’s wife.

And just as quickly as all of those memories flood in, I remember all of the torment and the shattered dreams and the broken promises. I can remember all of the failures. I can feel the weight of the baggage I still carry with me.

And it just breaks my heart for her. For that girl. For that young blonde girl who doesn’t even feel like me.

And it breaks my heart for me. For the me now. That has forgotten how to really love someone. How to really have a relationship. The girl that spends every moment waiting for people to leave her. To disappoint her. Who sets herself up for failure because she doesn’t believe she deserves any better.

It’s not about marriage. The truth is I don’t even know what marriage means to me anymore. I can’t say that I know all that many couples who are happily married. Truly happy. If someone were to pop the question tomorrow, I’d freak the fuck out. And I know that monogamy doesn’t really work for me. Aaron and I used to talk about marriage. Sometimes. Of course his idea was to have two ceremonies. Let the first one be in Jamaica, at Hedonism, so everyone could fuck the bride. We got a lot of mileage out of that plan.

It’s not about marriage, per se. It’s about that optimism. The hope. The innocent belief that you’re standing next to a person in front of God and everyone you know and pledging to love them forever. To stay true. To stick with things. Through thick and thin. It’s the promise and the belief that you’ll never have to be alone. That’s what is getting me.

It’s a belief in happily ever after.

Well fuck happily ever after. Happily ever after never really comes true. So what’s the point?

I’ve been asked why I don’t just skip the wedding altogether. I can’t. I just can’t. She’s too good of a friend. This wedding is too big of a deal in their shared history. And I can’t just keep avoiding weddings for the rest of my life. Hell, I’m supposed to be planning the bachelorette party for one happening next year.

So I’ll go. And I’ll cry at the service like I always do at weddings. I’ll go to the reception and dine with acquaintances and strangers. I’ll drink more than I should and I’ll end up with phone numbers. And then I’ll come home. Alone. And I’ll probably turn to this blog. And then I’ll start putting it all behind me once more.

clarification

I feel the need to clarify something. Perhaps that’s not the best word, since technically no one has asked any questions. Maybe it’s just that I’ve showered and so I’ve sobered up and I just have more to say.

Agreeing to become a mistress. I tossed that out in the last post. Here’s the thing.

There’s a person who has wandered into my life. We’ve spent some time chatting, emailing, texting, and now one phone call. So far I think he’s pretty great. I’ve got a pretty good gut instinct for such things. I’ve always been able to make accurate character judgments fairly quickly.

There’s a lot to like about this guy. In fact, he’s the kind of guy that I could love, but that’s another post for another day. He’s married. With children. And has invited me to join him on a business trip this summer. I have agreed. Because I really enjoy him. Because I’d like to see where this goes.

It’s not the first time I’ve been in this situation. I’m like a flame to the married man moth. I typically don’t ask lots of questions of the men who wander in and out of my life. I was married. I was unfaithful. I believe people who are truly happy in their closed relationships don’t arbitrarily cheat.

There’s something comfortable about a relationship with a married guy. There’s no ambiguity. Expectations are clear. The offering on the table is clear. I still get to have my life and do as I please. And while I’m certainly capable of taking care of myself, I’ve found that I enjoy having men around who want to take care of me. And there’s something about married guys, they like to take care of people. There’s a stability that you don’t find as readily with the unattached.

So there you go. The dirty truth. I like dating married men.

But I’ve not entirely reconciled it with my personal code of ethics. Because while it’s true that I don’t ask lots of questions. That I won’t judge someone else for something I’ve done. There’s a flip side that I’m all too aware of.

Because LH was also unfaithful. Or, I strongly suspect that he was. And I know how hard that was for me. So when I know that I”m getting texts and emails and pictures from someone in a closed relationship, on the sly, a little tiny corner of my heart breaks for the other person in the triangle. The one who knows nothing.

It makes me question things. Knowing how hurt I’ve been by this activity, how can I knowingly play accomplice to it? If I simply turn the other cheek, refusing to seek out married men, but not turning them away when they come to me, does that make it better? Or does that make it worse?

I’ve contemplated simply closing the door. Refraining from any sort of relationship with someone who isn’t free. But then there’s BOF. He’s married. And I’ve absolutely no intention of leaving him. So where would my resolve get me then?

Aaron? His other girlfriend knows about me, but she’s not entirely hip to the polyamory set up. There’s a lot we hide from her. He never told her that he came out to see me in January. I’m not planning on leaving him any time soon either.

And now the new guy. The new guy who I’m very much drawn to. I actually really enjoy thinking of myself as his mistress. It’s a role I’m comfortable in. It’s a role that I think I play very well.

It’s not that I don’t know where to draw the line.  It’s that I don’t even know if there is a line with me any more.

nice day for a white wedding

I still think about marrying him. Every time I close my eyes I can see it. Our wedding. It always looks different.

Sometimes it’s just the two of us. On a beach or a mountain or in Vegas.

Sometimes it’s a large formal event. With family and friends and black tie. With his child bounding down the aisle toward us both.

Sometimes all I see is a glimpse of a dress or a suit. Flowers. Music.

Sometimes all I see is the look in his eyes as we take our vows.

Most of the time these visions, these dreams, don’t even make sense to me. Because I don’t really know what marriage means to me anymore. I don’t know what it is.

Husband and wife. Those have been our nicknames for each other almost since the beginning. First in jest. Later with much more substance.

These days we don’t really talk about our future. There’s so much that is nebulous. So much completely out of our control. But we continue to affirm for each other that this is real. That whatever happens, whatever shape things take, that this is forever.

I guess at the end of the day the ritual and ceremony don’t really mean anything. Or, more accurately, the trappings don’t matter. In my heart I’m already his wife.