Yay! Good things are happening!
One week. This time next week? Married. Fully bound to tax laws, property rights, spousal immunity, and farting.
Okay, maybe not the farting.
In the true spirit of “joining in holy matrimony,” we’re writing this post together. This is Kari. At some point I’m just gonna hand my iPad to Crawford and say, “Your turn.”
I can do that now. He lives here.
*pffffffffft* Er, so sorry about that. Anyway, it’s interesting. I’ve been here for 2 weeks, a time that, compared against a lifetime, doesn’t seem like much at all. It’s not really enough time to find the quirks and quibbles and quandaries that go with joining 2 lives together. But it’s been good so far. It’s been filled up with strange and mysterious errands, phone calls to vendors supplying the oddest wedding swag I’ve ever seen. Or not seen because they haven’t shipped it yet.
It’s hard to draw too many conclusions from 2 weeks. I like Tampa in April. Sharing a space with 6 other mammals (5 of them nonhuman) is entertaining. There are a lot of good restaurants within 2 miles of this house. And an astonishing number of Family Dollars. Twos and multiples of two abound. Appropriate, really.
I’m not nervous at all. I’m not scared. I’m not doubtful. I haven’t asked myself late at night whether all this is the right thing to do. It sure seemed like the right idea from 450 miles away, and it’s only gotten righter as we get closer to the big day. And why wouldn’t it? I get to spend the rest of my days with a smart, creative, feisty person who seems to get along ok with me. That’s pretty rad.
Ok, here, handing the iPad back over to Kari.
I hate it when he does that – namely when he out-writes me. He does. Frequently. Makes me nervous about our vows. I have this fear he’ll win the coin toss (yes, there is a coin toss), he’ll choose to kick off (yes, that is how it’s going down), and he’ll say these amazing things that make me and errybody else cry. Then it will be my turn, and I’ll look down at my paper and see:
- 20 years
- Leap of faith
- Happier than I’ve ever been
- Safe without feeling constrained, committed without feeling compromised
- People are watching, you should have written this out, make a joke
- You don’t fart around me
And I’ll realize – he’s out written me again.
Meh. I have a week to figure it out.
It’s amazing having him here – in my house, which is easing into our house without a lot of drama. He just fixed the fence. I got a little weak from the manliness. I manage his laundry. These might be the only gendered roles of note. Otherwise it’s a pretty equal team approach to, “A pet of unknown origin has produced a biological excretion of unknown origin on the rug… I’ll get it.”
It’s going well.
Back to CBL: A cynic might suggest that our (yay! our!) pets’ collective inability to excrete in excretion appropriate locations might serve as a distraction from other potential issues. I’m only going to mention it because it’s funny. Someday I’ll make the joke to my improviser-actor spouse that the pets aren’t excreting in the wrong place … They’re just improvising. I’ll probably get whooped.
Yes. It’s going well. Yay!
And so I (it’s Goetz here) will soon retire my crack-habit (aka Wedding Pinterest), pray to the weather gods for a nice day, and get ready to play some cut-throat cornhole with my old friends and my new friends. CBL’s crew? Looking forward to meeting you. Team Goetz? It’s on like Donkey Kong.
Oh and Pig? Live it up. You got two days… Max.