No More Wedding Blues

I have dreamed about my wedding my entire life.  I would play bride by wearing my flower girl dress from my uncle’s wedding.  I would buy old wedding dresses at garage sales and consignment shops for my dress-up box.  When my grandmother was sick she would buy bridal magazines and we would flip through, cutting out the gowns we loved.  I have been a flower girl twice, a junior bridesmaid once, and a bridesmaid four times so far in my life.  I love weddings, and I have had mine planned since I was probably 7, though many of the details have changed along the years (puffy sleeves and tiaras had to be nixed).  I had no doubt in my mind that I would get married someday - because that is what you do.  You fall in love, get married, and have lots of babies; at least that is what I was always told.

When I went to, or was in a wedding I would think about when I get married … but now I think about IF I get married.  The idea of meeting someone, falling in love, and getting married used to seem just so natural to me, since family members, friends and the hundreds of characters in movies made it seem so seamlessly effortless.  Now, as an adult, I see people on Facebook getting engaged and married and I think “How does that actually happen?”.  I mean it, how do people find love, or how does love decide who is worthy enough to have it.  What makes someone lovable?  

I have shed my delusions that I will 100% get married some day.  Trust me, this has been a hard pill to swallow.  Unlike what I was told as a girl, not everyone gets a chance to be a bride and that is ok.  Not everyone finds the love of their life, or at least not everyone gets to marry them.  Not getting married is not life ending, because I would rather be single than marry someone just to get married.  I don’t want to be the kind of woman that gets a little older and settles for a relationship that is lacking something just to be in a relationship.  I never want to have to give an ultimatum to receive a proposal.  IF I get married, I want it to be to my partner and equal on every level, someone who cannot imagine going a day without me in their life.         

I like to think I was raised to want more than just a husband.  I think my mother sometimes regrets telling me I don’t need a man to be happy because she just assumed that one would fall in love with me anyway.  Now that I am 27, she is worried she was wrong.  She sees the people I grew up with moving back to our small southern town, getting married, and having babies.  What she doesn’t see is that I chose a different path.  I chose the big city, the career, the path less traveled by the women where I am from.  I have built a life for myself that not only doesn’t revolve around a man, it doesn’t even have a man in it.  Arguably I have built a life that might not even have room for a man, but that is an entirely different post.  The truth is, I have built a life that I love, with people that I love.  It hasn’t been easy, and I haven’t always been happy, but that is life, and especially for someone who struggles with depression.

Yes, I sometimes get lonely and crave the physical attention of a man.  Yes, my hopeless romanticism sometimes gets the best of me.  Yes, I sometimes panic that love will never find me, meaning I will never have the opportunity to be a mother.  The thought of never getting the opportunity to shop for a wedding dress with my mother or having that dance with my dad at my wedding makes me sad.  Thinking that I might never know the look the love of my life has on his face the moment he sees me walking down the aisle breaks my heart.  But, at the end of the day, if I never get married I will be ok.  Don’t mistake me, I want all of those things, sometimes so bad it hurts, but if they aren’t in the cards for me I will do more than survive, I will thrive.    

I believe, and maybe it’s because I come from the girl power generation, that your fiends can be the loves of your life.  Maybe it is because of the Spice Girls, Now and Then, and Sex and the City that my real friends are my family, my soul mates.  If I marry or if I am an old spinster Chloe will still be my perfect dinner companion and the most important opinion; Lisa will still keep me grounded in my southern roots; Connor will always help me defuse my mother; BethAnn will still be able to talk me down; May and Farah will always be there to make me laugh; and Bee will always be there to remind me of how far I have come.  On other occasions I have told you about The Many Loves of My Life, but the real loves of my life are those listed above.  They are the people that know my every flaw and love me more because of them.  They know what I look like when I ugly cry; that I get a lazy eye when I am really drunk; that hanger is no laughing matter; and that my confidence is so easily shattered.  

I might never get the chance to say “I Do!” to some dashing man who loves me.  I might never get to put on a beautiful white gown and walk down the aisle.  I might not ever know what it is like to hold a child of my own in my arms.  That doesn’t mean that my life is not valid, that I can’t be happy, and that I haven’t really lived.  I know passion, I know success, I know loyalty, I know love, and I can not think of anything that could make a life more valid, more fulfilling than a life with those things.        

Married Off

No one knows how to build you up or tear you down like your mother.  She can be your biggest cheerleader and your greatest critic, especially if you are Southern.  I am blessed with an incredible mother who encouraged me to move to DC with just a suitcase and a dream.  She has helped with rent so I don’t have to worry about getting stabbed every time I leave my apartment, and she buys a plane ticket when my homesickness gets out of hand.  She also does not hesitate to tell me that something used to fit differently (aka you have gained weight), I would look “disgusting” as a redhead, and if God wanted my hair curled he would have given me curly hair.  All out of love, or course.  

Since I turned 26, she has begun a new type of criticism mixed with guilt.  When we were talking the other day, she decided to bring up a guy from my hometown.  This guy is great, it is true, but my mom has been trying to get me to date him for a full decade.  He is now doing his residency post medical school.  Now, I will admit that I did try to date him in college, but he just wasn’t into it, or more accurately, oblivious to my efforts.  The rest of the conversation went as follows:

Harper: Mom, stop trying to marry me off!

Mom: You know I used to never understand those parents that tried to marry off their children.  Now I get it!  I just want you to be married.  I think a wedding would be fun!

Harper: Mom, yes a wedding would be fun.  You think I don’t want to be married?  It is not that easy.  I first need to find someone to date me.

Mom: I just don’t want your nieces to be my only grandchildren.  

It’s not like I don’t put enough pressure on myself for not being in a certain place in my life.  I do want to find a partner to spend the rest of my life with.  If I could will that to happen, I would be married already, but I can’t.  I have to let life run its course.  When I am ready, when my soulmate is ready, everything will fall into place.  Until then, I will have to deal with my mom trying to marry me off to the next “great catch” she discovers back in Mississippi.  

Her guilt trips sting more sometimes than others.  Last week, I found out that my high school love Daniel got engaged.  Daniel is, to this day, the longest and most serious relationship I have ever had.  Two years we were together, and I loved him.  He loved me, maybe more than I loved him.  I broke his heart twice, so it is only fair that when I fell back in love with him right after college that he broke mine.  I told him I loved him right before I was supposed to leave for DC.  I would have stayed if he had asked me to, but he told me to go, he told me we would only ever be just friends.  

I have loved a few people in my life, but Daniel is the only one of them who ever loved me back.  He loved me when I didn’t deserve it, and his heart broke at my hand.  I was young, scared, and didn’t appreciate the simple kindness of his love.  I often feel cursed, that I broke my first love’s heart, and therefore, every love after him will break mine.  Maybe he is the only person who will ever love me, the only person who will ever open their heart to me.  Now he is marrying someone else.  What if your person chooses someone else?  What happens then?  How do you survive if the only person that will ever love you chooses to stop loving you?  How do you move on from that?  

Maybe my mom is right for trying to marry me off.  Maybe I will never find love on my own.  It is quite possible that at 16 years old I threw away the only real love I will ever have.  

I am happy for Daniel.  I will always love him, and I am so glad he found his happiness.  I just wish I could find my own.

Bama Boy with a Texas Name

Hi strangers!  I am coming out of blog hibernation and have so much to share with all of you!  I am sorry for my disappearance.  I have been completely wrapped up in work, but do not fear.  I am back, and I have stories to share.  

I could tell you all about being a bridesmaid in my younger cousin’s wedding, and how Conner saved me by being my date.  Or I could gush about road tripping to Miss America with Lisa, Elle, and Lilly.  The ups and downs of friendship is another topic I could go on about.  I could tell you about my nervous breakdown, and how I am trying to overcome it.  But instead I am going to talk about something so much more exciting.  I am going to tell you about the new boy, well, man really.   

I am smitten.  This guy is the most beautiful boy who has ever been interested in me.  He is classically good looking, with a strong jaw, gorgeous blue eyes, and a little bit of gray starting to peek through around his temples.  His southern accent could melt butter with it’s warm smooth tone.  I could listen to him all day.  

We met a few weeks back at a Thursday night happy hour.  I was about to head home when a casual acquaintance of mine flagged me down from across the bar.  I had already noticed the tall, broad-shouldered, handsome friend he was talking to.  I made my way over just to be introduced to Houston.  Houston had asked for the introduction, and I have never been so flattered in my life.  Flirtation came easy between the two of us, and the way his lips curled and eyes lit up, I knew it to be genuine.  

He just moved to DC from LA a few months ago, but he grew up in Alabama. There is something about Alabama boys.  They are more beautiful than Georgia boys, and a 100 times sweeter than Mississippi boys.  They are still Southern, so of course they are trouble, but Alabama boys are never truly trouble on purpose.    And if they are, it is the good kind of trouble, the sexy pull-you-into-a coat-closet kind of trouble.  

Well, Houston got my number the night we met but hadn’t used it since.  I had been busy so with work and the trip to Atlantic City, so I hadn’t really noticed.  Okay, that is a lie.  I had noticed, but I wouldn’t have been able to do anything even if he had asked me out.  

This past weekend Bee, my college roommate and best friend, made a last minute trip to DC.  It was her first time here, even though I have been in DC for almost 3 years.  I was so excited to show her my city, introduce her to my friends, and most importantly, just get to spend time with her.  I took her to my Thursday happy hour after she landed, and I struggled through my Friday at work while she watched Netflix at my apartment.  Friday night we hit H Street, and Saturday, toured the monuments and the Smithsonians.  Saturday night I took Bee to a late dinner at Cava Mezze, one of my favorite places in the city.  While sipping drinks and gorging ourselves on delicious food she convinced me to send Houston a text and see what he was up to.   And so the fun begins.

He responded promptly, and I could have floated away due to the butterflies in my stomach.  He was watching SEC football, like every good Southern boy does on a fall Saturday.  He asked what our plans were and I told him we were still trying to figure that out and asked if he had any suggestions.  Bee and I ended up at my neighborhood bar because the rain was just too nasty to venture very far.  Just when we were about to call it a night my phone buzzed and it was none other than Mr. Houston wondering if we were still out and about.  

As he and his roommate made their way from Glover Park to meet up with us my nerves started to kick in.  What if I am not what he remembers, or if he likes Bee more than me? It took ages for them to show, and they walked up as we were getting shuffled out of the bar.  I invited them back to my place to hang out with us, a decision Bee and I had previously agreed on.  Damn, he looked good in his perfectly worn jeans and ostrich skin boots.

I played bartender as we goofed off, telling stories and getting to know each other.  Houston interrupted the conversation at one point to say that hadn’t told me yet, but I looked really pretty tonight.  SWOON!  He also made several comments about thinking my voice was incredibly sexy, saying I could tell him bedtime stories.  Funny thing is I feel the same way about his southern drawl.  His roommate was macking on Bee hard, and she really wasn’t feeling it.  I have never seen her half-ass flirting the way she was.  It was hilarious, to me at least.  

Somehow we came to the decision to head up to my roof.  I said I would meet everyone up there so I could use the restroom.  Houston stayed too and the moment the front door closed he grabbed me, pushing me against my closet door, and kissed me roughly and passionately.  I was almost dizzy from the heat between us.  We made out like teenagers, but better.  Teenagers don’t know how sexy it is to pin your arms above your head, or that passion doesn’t have to be sloppy, but blurred lines are the best kind.  

Every time he touched me, it was with hungry hands and hungrier lips.  It didn’t matter if it was waiting for the elevator, in the elevator, or pushed up against the door leading to the roof where our friends were just on the other side, it was steamy.  My imagination goes wild thinking about what, how, and where things would have happened had our friends not been there.   

Unfortunately, Bee and I had to send them on their way around 5:30am.  My studio can’t hold 4 people and Bee had more than fulfilled her best friend duties of taking one for the team.  Houston said we would hang out again soon, and I am crossing my fingers and toes that I hear from this one.

Bee and I had a great rest of the weekend.  We met an old college friend at the zoo, I cooked dinner, and we watched the Emmy’s (Best and Worst Dressed to come).  It was great having her here, and my apartment felt so empty when she left.  Everything with Bee is so effortless, we never get sick of each other, and she knows me better than anyone in the world.  Now that she is done with law school it has crossed my mind to move home.  We could live together again, and it would be like nothing has changed.  But everything has changed, maybe not our friendship, but I have.  So much has happened to me over the past 3 years, good and bad.  I have a life here, and although I am not always happy, I know home would never be enough for me ever again.  I can’t run away because things get hard here, or I get scared.  I am right where I belong, and who knows, maybe this new Bama boy will be another reason to stay.  

Right the First Time

Facebook is a landmine of engagement and wedding pictures from people from all stages of my life.  On any given day, these pictures can evoke many different emotions - joy, jealousy, disgust.  Am I, a known hopeless romantic, turning into a cynic?   

I get the most frustrated when I see someone my age or a little older getting married for the second time.  How did they get not just one , but two people to commit to them?  I know I am ignoring that their first marriage didn’t work, but that first person loved them enough to attempt the greatest leap of faith.  That counts for something in my book.

I only want to get married once.  I want to get it right the first time.  I want to know, without a doubt, that the person I marry is the only person I could ever think of waking up to everyday for the rest of forever.  I know everyone enters marriage with these same hopes.  I do think that some of the people I know have given up on their marriages too easily.  They rushed in or fell prey to an ultimatum, and they weren’t ready.  They didn’t fight to make it work.  Things got hard and they called it quits.  Marriage is not for the faint of heart.  Sharing your life with another person is one of the most difficult things any of us will ever do.  Letting them in to your heart, your mind, and your bathroom is a whole new level of vulnerable.  

I am glad I didn’t get married at 22.  I am not the same person I was then.  It’s not like I had the opportunity to anyway.  Nonetheless, I am glad that is not the path that life took me down.  I needed to know me to be able to share myself with another human being.  My parents got married very young.  Although my parents are still happily married, my mother stressed the need to let myself grow up before I chose to spend my life with someone else.    

I am not sure how one ends up getting married anyway.  I can’t even get a guy to buy me dinner, much less shell out the money for a ring.  I know that it is suppose to go something like: girl meets boy, boy asks out girl, boy and girl date for a while, boy buys a ring, and girl says yes.  My question is, how do you actually make that happen.  How do you get a guy to ask you to dinner?  How do you keep them interested?  

A guy once told me that I have too much personality to keep a guy interested unless I was sleeping with him. I took great offense to that, but part of me wonders if it is true.  Is the reason why I am single the fact that I am too neurotic?  I have always said I don’t settle, but the more I look at the men of my past I realize that is all I have ever done.  I have settled for fucked up, non-relationship relationships.  I have been in love with men who have made it very clear that I will never be their priority, and they will never care about me the way that I deserve.  

I want to get it right the first time, but what if marriage is not in the cards for me?  What if I am not meant to share my life with someone?  I like to think I would make an amazing wife someday.  I have a list of reasons why someone should want to marry me:
1) I am a good cook.
2) I am great with kids.
3) Parents love me.
4) I like sports.
5) I am pretty.

This is not exhaustive but hits the key points.  Aren’t these the things that men are looking for in a person they want to marry?  If not, they should be.  

Part of the problem is that every man I have met, who has been the kind of person that I would want to spend the rest of my life with, has never available.  I want someone that doesn’t mind that I talk A LOT, in fact, they should actually enjoy it.  He should be supportive and encouraging of my writing, and whatever other crazy dream I decide to latch onto.  He should love Christmas and family traditions, and want to make some of our own.  He must love television or at least put up with my extensive television schedule.  I want the small things, the things that are the real make or break points, the things that most people overlook.  To me, these are the things that make a marriage last the test of time.  

So, I am going to keep waiting to meet that person who is willing to take the greatest leap of faith with me.  I will wait as long as it takes because I will get it right the first time.

Weddings Can Leave You Torn

This weekend I had a wonderful time celebrating my dear friends, Farah and Paul, start their life together as a married couple.  It was great to be with old friends.  It was just like we had never left each other.  We have so many stories and so much history together.  We still make each other laugh and know how we will react to things.  I don’t know why I am surprised.  Farah, May, and I were like the 3 Musketeers in college.  They’ll all soon be in Texas, and it was easy to see the life I could have there.  Even May and her boyfriend Nathan are going to end up in Texas.  I know we would have amazing lives: raise our kids together, have our very own supper club.  Its a life with a clear path.  The weekend was confusing. Not just because the comfortable life presented before me, but, of course, I met a boy.

Farah decided that she did not want me to be the only bridesmaid without a date.  She commissioned one of the groomsmen to take care of me all weekend - especially the day of the wedding.  Pennington (Penn)  is so handsome.  It broke my heart when I realized that he is only 20.  His tall, slender body is topped with a luscious head of dark locks.  I can’t decide if it is his smile or his green eyes that captivate me more.  I feel wrong for even finding him attractive because he is so young.  I try to not let myself look at him for too long.  Its hard when I catch him looking at me though.  Then he does sweet things, like pull my chair out for me and refresh my cocktail.  There are boys that really act this way?  That really have manners?

Farah keeps encouraging me, telling me to forget his age and just focus on having fun.  During the wedding ceremony I catch him looking at me from across the church.  He caught me crying while the vows were being said.  I blushed.  When we get to the reception, Penn finds me and tells me he is at my disposal for the rest of the evening. I tried to tell him that he doesn’t have to feel like he is stuck with me, but he insists that it is his pleasure.  All night he does whatever I want to do.  We eat when I get hungry; we dance when I feel the urge, and he always makes sure I have a cocktail in my hand.  He even drinks whatever I am drinking.  This boy must like me if he will drink a vodka tonic with a splash of cranberry (my signature cocktail).  

I can’t remember ever feeling so taken care of and so at ease with any man.  Penn makes me laugh, and when the Grey Goose sets in all, I want to do is brush my hand across his cheek gently.  I want to touch him and then curl into his arms.  I resist.  As the reception ends, and the party moves back to Farah’s parents’ house, I try to stay away.  Then I realize I can’t, or maybe I just don’t want to.  Things get hazy; despite my diligent effort my hard plastic drink stirrer will not function as a straw.  I get frustrated and May can’t stop laughing.  It’s time to go back to my hotel.  

I wonder if Penn can come with me, or if he would even want to.  I invite him, but he doesn’t give me an answer.  He chauffeurs a group of us back to the hotel, some of whom are far drunker than me.  Making sure everyone gets to their rooms, he parks the car, and walks me to my room.  Luckily, I’m the only one in the group on my floor. He comes in.  Who kissed who first is unclear, but the fact is neither were protesting.  After a while, Penn pulls away.  He has to go back for another car of people.  I don’t want him to leave, but he swears he will come back.  I wait for a while and conclude he won’t be back.  It is 4:00 in the morning when I hear his knock at the door, right when I was giving up.  

I let him in.  He begins to remove the layers of his tux.  I tell him I need to unpin my hair, and he asks if I need help.  I say no.  As I am standing in the mirror of the bathroom, Penn comes up behind me and starts to help pull the pins out of my hair.  I didn’t know something could be so endearing and sexy at the same time.  Where did this boy come from?  Why are there not more like him?  We spend what is left of the night together.  When the alarm goes off after a few short hours, I didn’t want him to stop holding me, nor did he want to leave me.  He kisses me before he walks out the door.  I know I will see him at brunch, but I also know that there will be no affection in front of Farah’s parents.  

We spent the day sitting at Farah’s drinking fancy champagne and watching TV.  I could feel the tension run through me, my deep urge to touch him.  Everyone wanted to come along to take me to the airport, so we caravan.  For the duration of the ride, I kept thinking how I wanted to kiss Penn goodbye.  I concluded that it was the bubbly talking.  Penn gave me a big hug, and in my ear, told me he had so much fun being my date.  I told him it was amazing and thank you.  I hugged Fara and May multiple times.  I hate goodbyes.    

As the plane landed at Reagan, and the Washington Monument came into sight, I knew it was back to reality.  I love my life and friends here.  I love the city, my apartment, our routine.  I see a different future for all of us.  Living in the city until I am ready to start a family and settle down.  Then, who knows?  Move some place close to where Chloe and the rest of the girls decide to settle down?  This life is full of mystery and without a clear path for the future.  I wish I could have both lives.  This one in DC and the one I could have in Texas.  No matter where I am, I miss someone.  Why is this so hard?  

On top of that, I spent the weekend with a boy, a 20 year-old boy.  That boy made me feel more beautiful, cared for, and alive than any other man I’ve met.  The respect with which he looked at me with is something I’ve not seen in any other man’s gaze.  I don’t know what that is supposed to mean, but somehow, I feel like it changes everything.  I just got a glimpse of what it is like to be treated like a lady.  I don’t know if I can settle for less now.