Life List: Unapologetically wear bright red lipstick

This "project" got kicked into high gear 2 months ago when I got bangs. As it turns out, bangs literally beg you to wear bright lipstick, as does the onset of spring.

Since I'm cheap, and this blog is technically about personal finance, I'll tell you that I started by grabbing a few cheap-o lipsticks at target. The moral of that story is that something like bright lipstick should really be left to the professionals. I love the "makeup counter" one I got a lot more. I'm sure someone with more experience could do better at the drugstore than I did though. So here's the lipstick progression for you:

1. Here's my regular "pumped up" lip look (by which I mean, I bothered to put on something other than Burt's Bees chapstick). It's Bobbi Brown "Nude 9" lip liner pencil and  Chanel #94 lip gloss "Sundress".  I have thinner lips, so the liner pumps them up but the gloss only keeps them pretty neutral.

2. Here's the look I wore for my wedding. It's Bobbi Brown #7 "Rose Petal" glossy lipstick. I like it, because it's just slightly north of my exact natural lip color, but comes off a little heavier than just gloss and liner.

Now, I know what you're thinking. There is essentially NO DIFFERENCE between those two photos. You are totally right, which leads me to the life list item: Unapologetically wear bright red lipstick. It's a little out of my comfort zone, to say the least.

I ended up with a blue-red and an orange-red. The blue red is supposed to be awesome for making your teeth look white. I think they both do a good job of that though.

So first, my Target purchase. This is Maybelline Super Stay 14 hour lipstick in 070 "Enduring Ruby". I feel doubtful that this would stay on for 14 hours, but whatever. I like that it smells good and doesn't require liner (in my totally inexperienced opinion). It also doesn't totally taste like wax/fish scales, which I'm a fan of. However, it's REALLY dark/purple-y and I feel like I have to be really choosy about what I wear it with as a result. So I haven't worn it as much as I wanted to.

 

And now, for the big finish. I took myself to the mall for some new tights, and found myself at the MAC counter. I ended up with AB2 "Ruby Woo" in Matte with AA2 lip pencil in "Cherry". This stuff is so super matte that you pretty much can't put it on without blending with a light gloss (I just use a layer of Burt's Bees first). lip liner is an absolute MUST. However, that means that it is not going ANYWHERE. I wore this to a wedding and made it through the entire dinner/cocktail reception without needing to re-apply. I LOVE this lipstick. so much so that I wear it at home while I'm cleaning because it just makes me feel that Fabulous. 

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I'm kind of obsessed with j.Crew. This lipstick really reminds me of what they put on their models (albeit slightly toned down on me). I love putting it on with a broadcloth collared shirt, pearls, comfy jeans and Sperry's. It makes me feel so chic! It doesn't go over the best here in Missouri, but I refuse to give up the east coast ghost just because I live in a place where crocs are considered acceptable footwear. 

I love this red lipstick so much that I actually crossed off my life list item when I used this picture for work (cropped to look less like a selfie, of course). BOOM. If that's not unapologetic, I don't know what is.

Also, I have to be fair and say that the Grige HATES all lipstick on me. I think most guys probably do - it makes the kissing harder. However, that just kind of makes me like it more, because it means I'm doing in 100% for me - because it makes me feel good. 

So I'm wondering, what other fun makeup challenges can I do? I always thought this was a weird life list item, but in addition to being low-hanging fruit challenge-wise, it's been a lot of fun! 

A Few Words From the Bathtub on Marriage and Independence

I write this from the bathtub, where I am sitting, with my shoes on, listening to tornado sirens wail. If you take one thing away from this post, let it be this:

Rule #1 of home disaster preparedness is PUT YOUR DAMN SHOES ON. When it's too late to buy extra water and food, make a family disaster plan, or any of those other things that are so important, please please PLEASE put shoes on yourself and your family. Imagine trying to climb out of a house with a blown off roof and covered in debris (Or run from a zombie) without shoes, and you will see what I mean.

Safety First.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

One of the things I was most worried about before the Grige and I got married was losing my independence. I was worried that there was a "Single Emily" that I would never get to know, or that being half of a marriage would mean that I was no longer a whole person. Most of all, I think I was/am afraid of not knowing how to be alone. In retrospect, you would think he had proposed that we become conjoined twins instead of getting married.

Well let me tell you (alone from the bathtub in the middle of a tornado), this first year of marriage has been a freaking crash course in "aloneness". I'm pretty sure I get my advanced certification after tonight. Perhaps you think I'm being dramatic, and maybe I am. But I was deeply afraid that marrying young would leave me unprepared for moments like this. And here I am, alone, in the candle-lit bathtub on the phone with my mom (WITH MY SHOES ON), and I will definitely survive.

INDEPENDENT MARRIED LADIES!

Quite the opposite, our new marriage has pushed me geographically, professionally, physically, mentally and emotionally. We moved to St. Louis, I faced down unemployment and accepted a new job where I'm pushed harder everyday, I ran a half marathon, sought out professional writing opportunities, and learned how to be alone in a new city (WHERE THEY HAVE TORNADOS) while my husband focuses on his graduate program. I also learned how to use power tools, haggle with mechanics and parallel park. Look out, world!

So I'm raising my tornado-bathtub glass of wine (yes, there is a wine bottle and a sippy cup in my tornado bag) to all the independent married ladies out there. Because marriage is not the same as being surgically attached, and sometimes marriage pushes us to more independence than our single selves could have imagined.

On The Shattering of Illusions

A 1977 Princeton Alumna wrote a letter to the editor of the Princeton Daily about how the young ladies of Princeton should consider marrying young that is apparently twisting up the panties of twenty-something women everywhere.  Sadly, the letter was removed from Princeton’s website (apparently all those brilliant people can’t handle a little controversy? PUBLIC EDUCATION FTW) before I could read it, but I’ve read some mentions and some responses that are cropping up all over the web like daisies.  

I’ve got to admit – the responses are mostly so angry, petulant and self-absorbed that I can readily believe the women writing them are not mature enough for marriage – thus, the letter and its well-intentioned advice is probably not meant for them. What is frustrating, is that smart, young women are still so wrapped up in this myth of “having it all” that they don’t seem to realize that we’re still going to have to make sacrifices. The writer, Susan Patton, is using the benefit of her experience to remind them that the choices that shape our lives often take place long before we can understand their consequences. And instead of being thankful that someone is FINALLY telling driven, smart young women the truth about the choices we will have to make, we are FREAKING OUT and accusing her of pushing some mystical marriage agenda on us. As if that would somehow benefit her. As if. Ugh.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

Here is the thing: the wage gap exists. Our biological clocks exist. Sexism exists. There are a billion good statistics out there about how women work harder than men both in the office and at home and still get paid less that I will let PenelopeTrunk tell you about because she is better at it than me. And it’s true – as time goes on, the pool of suitable men dwindles, because their priorities are different. Haven’t any of these girls seen Sex and the City? Am I just OLD and out of touch now? I can’t believe that the party line for these young women is to ignore all those inconvenient truths and get angry at anyone who reminds us of them. It’s like yelling at your doctor for telling you that exercising will improve your health.

And then there is this snarky zinger of an argument: "Girls who are still in school don't want to be defined by the person that they might end up marrying," made by Nina Bahadur in an article over at HuffPo, where she is an assistant editor. In addition to blind anger, her comments made me think of an open thread full of smart, married/engaged ladies over at A Practical Wedding earlier this week. The thread is titled “The Surprise Good” and the resonating theme is that marriage gives many of these women (myself heartily included) the support, confidence and empowerment to reach higher, accomplish more, take more risks and push themselves harder. The Grige doesn’t define me, he pushes me to be my best me. And that open thread suggests that a lot of other good marriages do that too. In my world, having a good career is directly intertwined with the support I get from my husband, even if I do his laundry and clean the bathroom.

In my life, stuff like this doesn't happen without the Grige. Because TEAMWORK, you guys. 

I don’t think Patton is suggesting that ALL women should get married in college, or that we should marry the first guy we drunkenly make out with as freshman. I think she is suggesting that if marriage is something you think you want someday, it would be dumb to miss the opportunity to meet, seriously date, and perhaps even marry one of the plethora of like-minded, smart people that are available to you in college, because it just gets harder after that. I should know, I gave out my real, actual phone number on a rush hour train full of skeezy dudes to score a first date with the Grige. If that’s not desperation, I don’t know what is.

Patton is suggesting that we not all bury our heads in the sand and pretend that the perfect person will just show up on a white horse when we’re in our early thirties and totally ready for marriage. Many of us (myself included) will meet the right guy at the wrong time, and part of growing a relationship is figuring out how to deal with that. It’s MATH, ladies. There are outliers – you might even be one of them, so do what you think is right for you. But it’s pointless to ignore the trends. Maybe you won’t meet the right person until you are 50, and that’s fine. Obviously you, personally, should not get married in college. But pretending that’s going to work for everyone? It’s like saying that climate change is a myth because it snowed in April this year.  

So here I am, shaking my head slowly in disbelief. We plan the ever loving SHIT out of our career paths in college. We learn, and we experiment, and we scheme and dream. We have internships, we solicit letters of recommendation and then we go out into the work world and implement those ideas, sometimes before we quite feel ready. But we grow and change in our career paths and continue to learn and improve. And then someone suggests that we might give the same consideration to our personal lives, you know, what we do with the OTHER 16 hours a day, and we all go ballistic and accuse them of trying to stifle our success.

Beer brewing, and other home adventures.

No one wants to hear about the hard choices that we will all have to make. Choices between romance and career goals, between tacos or pasta, between east coast or west coast, between taking that promotion or spending more time at home with kids. But that doesn’t make them go away. At 22, I tore up about 5,000 pro/con lists between the Grige and the Peace Corps, and I finally chose the guy I had been dating for less than 6 months The last thing that I needed after that heart-wrenching decision was a bunch of self-righteous bitches telling me that I was an idiot to even consider compromising my career for a relationship. Well, life keeps right on happening whether you feel like making tough decisions or not. So let’s try to take Patton’s advice for what it is: advice. You can take it or leave it, but you are out of your damn mind if you think college isn’t statistically one of the best social opportunities you’ll have to meet someone to marry.

Exhausted

Disclaimer: I really want this post to be about my 12 mile long run yesterday. But I already know I'm going to get distracted. I want you to know that I have tried to calm down. I've tried wine, I've tried pranayama breathing, I tried talking to the Grige and my Mom, and I've reached the conclusion that if I am still this angry after 12 miles, or 2 hours and 17 minutes, of pounding pavement, I'm probably not going to relax for a while.

So let's start with the run, and see where we go. I wanted to start early, but let's be honest: I love staying in bed with the Grige for as long as he will let me. I'm building a whole life around that fact, because I am actually a morning person, but it's the only time I get to see him, so I take full advantage. So I dropped him off at studio around 8, and ran to the grocery store, and ate some peanut butter toast and a banana. I actually made it out the door by 10 a.m., which is quite a bit earlier than normal!

I really just want to let that paragraph be, but did you know that I am a horrible feminist because I let my husband's schedule dictate my plans? Do you know that that's what I was thinking about while we snuggled? That I am letting my gender down because I want to appreciate my husband. Yes, I let that stupid article in New York Magazine, which I will not link to on principle, get in my head BIG TIME.

I was actually excited to read it. I think it's so cool that we're approaching a time where women can chose to work, or stay home, or really do whatever they want without judgement. I was psyched to read about feminist housewives, who are devoting their educations and energy to raising responsible, kind, intelligent little humans and to providing care and assistance to those they love. Well, SURPRISE! Instead, I got to read a bunch of barely veiled snide commentary peppered with out of context quotes designed to make these women sound like simpering idiots and make me feel bad about pretty much every single choice I've ever made and will ever make.

And as my anger simmers, I realize that what is so wrong about this article is that it not only pits women against each other, but it pits women against their husbands, and it really makes you wonder what the hell kind of woman could actually win in the world the author paints. It made me feel like the fact that I cooked dinner for my husband last week is not because I love him and want to support him, or even because I like to cook, but actually because I'm participating in some patriarchal scheme that my husband and all the men everywhere have concocted. He wasn't working late, he was actually smoking cigars with all the other bros and laughing about it while I slaved over a hot stove.

You see, my marriage is not a microcosm for all gender roles everywhere. It's actually just a couple of fools trying to muddle through building a meaningful and enjoyable life together. As a team. And if I decided to stay home, or take a job as a CEO at a start up, it would be a team decision, and there would be pros and cons just like every other decision in life. Maybe it would work and maybe it wouldn't, our job is just to find what works for us, which is pretty damn feminist, if you ask me. I suspect we're not alone in this, and I'm tired of making a decision to do what's right for someone other than myself getting read as being a bad feminist. If I start believing that my husband is not on my team, and I'm out here alone fighting for an abstract construct or whatever just out of spite, that's a really sad life!

12 miles is a long time to think about something and not get any more clarity. Which is how I know that this is a big problem. And then last night, after inhaling a bunch of Persian food, our waiter overhead me bitching (and not for the last time) about what a horrible year for women 2013 is turning out to be. I was specifically complaining about the fact that a hotelier in Greece will only communicate with the Grige instead of me, even though we are paying him with MY CREDIT CARD. My tone was somewhere in between exhausted and "what the f*cking f*ck?!?!". And then, at the end of the meal, for the first time in my entire life (throughout most of which I have been either picking up or splitting bills), the waiter handed ME the check. So maybe there's hope. There was definitely a big-ass tip for him.

I think that feminism for me is a little bit like long distance running. It's a mental game, all about choice - how you let people make you feel, which way you turn, whether or not you can keep going. It always makes you hungry and tired, and sometimes, it gives you diarrhea. It's your race, but it's a lot more fun when you do it as part of a team. To win at running, it's pretty much useless to tear other people down. It's not a contact sport. And to be honest, the real win is just finishing for most of us. Maybe I'm reaching for that, but I think it rings true. I should know, I thought about it for 12 miles, or 2 hours and 17 minutes, yesterday.

A Displaced Person...

It's holiday card season! I love holiday cards, and our recent marriage means that the Grige and I have gotten a LOT of them for the first time on our own. It's very exciting. However, I have an observation to make:

There is a thing, with addresses, where people send things to us as "Mr. and Mrs. Grige E. Fisk". I would really like someone to explain this to me. Is it just a convention that has hung on for no real reason? Is there a good reason that we can't just abolish it? Why do sane and reasonable people whom I love still do this?

It doesn't make any sense. I'm perfectly comfortable receiving mail as "Mr. and Mrs. Fisk", that is a good way to shorten us to our married titles. I'm not going to get up on my high horse and complain about the fact that no one cares that I would prefer to use Ms. instead of Mrs. But, if there is room for the Grige's middle initial, there is sure as hell room for my first name.

I'm sure the people who address things this way don't mean to upset me. But if no one ever says anything about the passive subversion of women's worth - my worth - that it implies, they'll never know how much it offends me. Choosing to take the Grige's last name was a hard enough decision for me, and one I'm still not wholly comfortable with. Receiving mail addressed to me as "Mrs. Grige" is like getting slapped in the face. It makes me feel like I no longer exist.

At first, I wanted to justify my anger by saying that I am and always have been the higher earner in our household. Paired with the Grige's debt and my lack thereof, higher earner has been equivalent to "breadwinner" for the last few years, way before we were married. Ergo, I deserve to have my name on the envelope, and maybe people should just start sending things to us as "Mrs. and Mr. Emily Fisk"

However vindicated that argument might make me feel, it's just another layer on the problem cake. Any wife, no matter what form her contributions to the household come in, deserves to have her name on her mail. The end.

So, I'll be spending the remainder of my funemployment contemplating a good way to address (ha! pun.) this with my loved ones. You know, feminist baby steps. 

A Mystery Solved: Women's Health

Last weekend, I burst into tears over the fact that network TV (we use an antenna) was airing Notre Dame instead of Michigan for the second week in a row. Not, like a few frustrated sniffles. This was like full-on toddler tantrum tears. I also haven't worn real pants in 5 days, which has to be some kind of record. The waistbands were just not happening for me, which I couldn't figure out.

And then, this morning in a red flash of clarity, I realized what the problem was - I just started my first natural period in over 6 years. After the Grige and I got married, I decided that it was a good time to take a little hiatus from birth control. Mostly, I wanted to give my body a chance to function without hormones. Birth control has always been a little challenging for me, It impacts my appetite, usually resulting in weight gain, it gives me nasty migraines, and it obliterates my sex drive (no wonder it's so effective). All of which I can live with, if I must. I can't help wondering if there isn't a better way. I especially wanted to go au natural for a while to make sure that I am healthy - ovulating regularly and not showing any weird patterns or signs that might be early indicators of fertility problems.

The Grige and I definitely want a child, but we aren't planning to have him or her until I'm in my early to mid-thirties. Since fertility problems run in my family, I want to be actively involved in tracking and understanding my fertility as early as possible. If it seems likely that we might have problems, we want to avoid unknowingly waiting until the graceful evening of my primary childbearing years to start trying. Enter: Taking Charge of Your Fertility by Toni Weschler, a book on the fertility awareness method (FAM) of birth control. 

When I was in college, we had a guest speaker in one of my women's studies classes who said something that blew my mind: "Don't we all deserve the pleasure of unprotected sex without the woman having to deal with all of these complications? Shouldn't science be working on a better way??" It had never occurred to me that I deserved something more than migraines, a non-existent sex drive and weight gain in order to have the kind of sex I wanted with a trustworthy, monogamous partner. Which is stupid, because of course there is a better way. I still think that science owes us a contraceptive that allows skin-to-skin contact and protection from sexually transmitted infections, and FAM is not the answer to that. However, it's an ideal solution for someone like me - in a monogamous, trusting marriage. 

It was a little intimidating to purchase the book. Amazon now totally thinks that I'm trying to get knocked up and keeps suggesting all manner of baby crap for me to buy. However, it's not worse then the deluge of crap that was recommended after I bought The Hunger Games for my Kindle, and it will stop eventually, probably when I buy a bunch of hiking gear or beer brewing supplies. It was absolutely worth the ads for boppy pillows and breast pumps, because let me tell you - the female body is fascinating.

This is what a chart looks like - borrowed from www.tcoyf.com, check out the website for more cool tools and discussions.

Taking Charge of Your Fertility  and the FAM method offer an easy, 3-factor system to track your cycles and identify times when it is safe to have sex without a barrier method, like a condom. It hinges primarily on taking your temperature before you get out of bed in the morning and checking your cervical fluid several times a day and keeping track of everything on a chart. It's definitely something you need to get in the habit of, but it's pretty easy to just keep the thermometer next to your alarm and grab it after you hit snooze each morning. Checking your cervical fluid is very easy and becomes a habit quickly. The charting part is fun and easy to remember, because it's amazing and exciting to watch patterns emerge.

In short, I think this method is going to work great for the Grige and me, and I think it's worth a look for anyone who is also in a monogamous relationship and looking to get hormones and latex out of their daily diet. It's very empowering to know so much about what's going on with my body. It's also practical and useful to know exactly when to expect my period, when I'm at risk for pregnancy and why I'm in such a crabby mood sometimes. Knowledge is power.

The flip side of all that knowledge is that once we start charting, there will never be any uncertainty about getting pregnant for us, if and when we decide to try. I think it's really hard to definitively decide that you are "ready" to have kids, and I think a lot of couples dodge that certainty of readiness by simply stopping the use of contraceptives and "seeing what happens". Then you can assume that it's a sign from the universe that you're ready if you get pregnant.

Any couple who uses FAM won't be able to avoid knowing that they are fertile on a certain day. They will have a strong grasp of the likelihood of a pregnancy resulting from sex before they even get their pants off. Scary. Of course, it's not a guarantee or anything, but the decision to have unprotected sex on a fertile day is a conscious and deliberate one. Couples using FAM can even make an estimation based on some moderately controversial research as to the likelihood of conceiving a boy or a girl based on the day they have sex.

That is way more control than we're sensitized to having over the process of having a child. It's actually a great thing, but it's hard to get used to all that power and control when the myth of conception that we're all taught is so wrapped in mystery and fate instead of patterns and science. Luckily, starting now means that the Grige and I will have lots of time to get used to it before we start exercising our knowledge in order to have a child.

Fashion Win

Yesterday, I bought a black wrap dress to wear to.... everything.  Now, I am not what you would call a fashion expert, though I do often get complimented on my clothes. This is because I am willing to pay full price to replicate the looks on j.Crew's "looks we love" page and can tell when pants don't fit me right. Granted, those are pretty mad skills... there are lots of ladies out there who can't tell when pants don't fit them, it's practically an epidemic, even in the finely-coiffed capitol city. But I am far from what you might call a guru in the fashion department.

I've written about fashion and basics before, and we covered how paying a little more and taking care of your clothes, like getting them tailored and dry-cleaned is actually a really good investment. But I didn't really dive in to specifics. Today, that changes! Get ready for the top 10 reasons that a black wrap dress is the best wardrobe decision you can possibly make.

Photo: Old Navy's website.

1. Black always works. Don't even try to tell me that you can't wear it to a wedding, because you totally can. It looks good on all skin types, can be accessorized any way you want and looks good with all of your shoes. Yes, even the brown boots.

2. The size is adjustable. Worried about the zipper on your favorite sheath not quite making it around the killer tush you've acquired from eating too much unemployment cheese? Fear not - the wrap dress both grows and shrinks with you. The wrap style is also a super-cute maternity look, in my opinion.

3. The wrap is flattering. It always cinches at the smallest part of your waist, always highlights the exquisite curvature of your bust and always a-lines out to hide the food baby. It then goes on to suggest a front leg slit that just screams Jessica Rabbit. However, use caution in the wind and possibly wear a slip.

Here is one from polyvore.com. At first I didn't event think this was a plus size dress, that's how flattering  it is.

4. The wrap is truly an all-occasion look. You can put a blazer over it for work, a cardigan and boots for a casual dinner out, a plunging necklace and heels for parties and it's practically a bathrobe at home. There is nothing I love more than a hot dress that doubles as loafing loons, which leads me to...

5. The wrap is comfortable. Adjustable size aside, most wrap dresses are made from the kind of cotton-poly blend that handles warm and cool temperatures well, doesn't show sweat marks easily and falls to a length that means you don't have to think too hard when you sit down on the metro.

6. The wrap is cheap. I don't think I've ever seen a black wrap dress listed for more than $100.00, and most of them are more in the neighborhood of $50. That is not very much money for a dress you can probably wear twice a week. I just retired my first black wrap, which was a jersey knit number purchased from Old Navy for the low, low sale price of $15 back in 2005. The Grige told me that it was getting see-through from over-use, so I tossed it in the move. The replacement is a $48 find from Nordstrom Rack. The fabric is much nicer and I'm very excited to wear it to a rehearsal dinner this weekend. Banana Republic and Gap also do them well and sell them for reasonable prices.

7. The wrap is easy. Like, machine wash cold, tumble dry low, cool iron if needed easy. Being unemployed and no longer having 10 dry-cleaners within a 2 block radius has made me realize just how important this part is.

8. The wrap is sexy. It's kind of like the string bikini phenomenon (pull here and...), but less racy, more 1950's and infinitely more flattering. Also, if someone does "pull there", they'll likely only see half your bra because any good wrap dress has an internal tie to help keep everything in place.

9. The wrap let's your accessories be the star. If you want someone to notice your beautiful, new, jewel toned necklace, wear it with a black wrap dress. Or if you want to show off those elaborate chandelier earrings that you purchased ill-advisedly from express, wear them with a black wrap dress and you'll stay demure.

Like this necklace that I can't stop lusting after from j.Crew...

10. The wrap looks awesome with an apron over it. I know this is a reach, but I just adore fun aprons and the clothes that look good with them... like wide collared button-down shirts. Maybe this doesn't really count as a reason for you, but it is for me, and isn't 9 good reasons enough to go out and buy a dress you can wear everywhere? I thought so.

Don't worry, I'll be back with a picture of me, looking fly in my new dress this weekend.

Around the Wedding Corner

Things change after your wedding. Maybe not to you, but to other people, more specifically to the way they view you. I'm astounded by how people's perception of me, as a woman, has changed since I donned my wedding band.

Us, with our truly adorable niece, Audrey, last Christmas. Before people started telling me how natural I looked with children.

I always thought that the madonna and the whore complex was reserved for the couches of psychotherapists and Sex and the City episodes. But the moment I said "I do", in the eyes of the world, I aged 10 years and went from a person for whom pregnancy would be a career-ruining disaster to a person whose sole purpose in life should be to procreate. With my husband. Of course.

The curious thing, is that I'm not sure he's experiencing anything similar, and by Caitlin Moran's strategy for detecting sexism (is it happening to the dudes?), I'm smelling a rat.  While I get unsolicited pamphlets on conception from my OBGYN and comments on how natural I look with other people's babies - did I not look natural with babies before? Is there something awkward about an unwed woman bonding with a small child? Good heavens! What have teen-aged baby-sitters been doing all this time? And most importantly, how did they miss the terror in my eyes? - the Grige is just sort of rolling along with business as usual, as far as I can tell.

Me with my niece Emma, perhaps we look comfortable because I've been living with her for six weeks?

Now, I was somewhat prepared for the baby thing. For people of a certain generation, I believe it's even excusable to assume that I must have family on the brain. I don't need those people to know that I actually know more about the best aeration process for boxed wine than my ovaries right now, they're not prepared for that information. But it's more than just the baby thing, and it's more than just the elderly among us.

Being introduced as someone's "wife' is a lot more loaded than you would think, especially when those people are 23 years old. I know that's not that much younger than me, but if you had told me at 23 where I would be at 25, I probably would have fainted on the spot. The good news it that it still means something important, socially, to be someone's wife. However, I get the impression that everyone was expecting a harried looking woman in her mid-30's wearing mom-jeans and waxing on about her last ovulation when they met me. I'm proud to say that I did not deliver, but all the "newness" does sort of make me feel like I should buy a whole new wardrobe, cut my hair off and start speaking in a British accent.

How can I be old? I still drink too much boxed wine and play the  Crocodile Hunter  board game!

I think the most confusing and challenging part of my situation is that I actually want all the things I'm supposed to want. The idea of having a baby does not terrify me. And eating dinner that I cooked every night with the Grige at our real dining room table in our fully furnished home like "adults" makes me happy. I am following the "perfect" blueprint for a woman's life - married by 25 to a smart, handsome man, first baby most likely around the time I'm 30 - life is on track by conventional standards. But that doesn't mean that I let someone else make those choices for me, or that they're anyone's business but the Grige's and mine (and now yours, of course).

It's challenging to feel like a feminist when my well-reasoned life choices are so in line with conventional standards. I could just let it all go and let people tell me how good I look with a baby in my arms and ask when the Grige and I are planning to start a family... But I don't think that I can. Because what if we were trying for a baby and it wasn't going so well? Or what if we decided that kids aren't the right choice for us because we'd rather travel? Of what if, god forbid, we have a baby and decide to do a bunch of traveling anyway? I don't want to spend every minute between now and menopause talking about my body with people who don't know me well enough to get the answers to those questions unsolicited.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography
As it turns out, I really, really like being a wife.

So I'm asking, since when did the window into our private family decisions become open for viewing and since when did marriage make me old? I'm thinking that having a giant wedding where we did a bunch of conventional stuff is probably buried in the answer, but I'm going to unpack that another time. 

Never mess with a feminist with a power drill

That means you, exterior brick wall. Watch your mother flipping back.

Yesterday was not great. I started the day with a little run and then directed myself firmly to drive to the bank, because if I don't make myself drive the car, I will continue to be terrified of driving the car. Well, I had to parallel park, and I don't do well under pressure and there were tears, and honking. I did better with the rest of my errands, driving without GPS and enjoying the blessed joy of parking lots as opposed to street parking.

I came home and made my first ever attempt at hanging pictures that required more than a finishing nail.  And then I learned something very valuable about exterior walls: Don't hang anything on them. Ever. Especially if the screw hole you are trying to make is slightly above eye level when you are standing on the nightstand. I am so sore, all the yoga in the world cannot fix the muscles that ache right now.

Evil exterior walls

I went to be a little upset, not least because the Grige was in studio until 3:00 am and I am oh, so very lonely. So I finished reading How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran, went to sleep, and got up this morning ready for another try. A successful try, if you will...

It's odd, when the Grige and I first moved in together, I was a little sad that I never really had the chance to live on my own. I had lived with roommates, housemates, in dorms, on pull-out couches, but never truly by myself. It's not really a feasible option in a city like DC, and only ever regretted that opportunity a little bit.  But now, in my first year of marriage, I get my chance. No Grige to hang things, or hang out with me, and I am 100% in charge of dealing with the apartment.

So I fired up the old computer, and downloaded sketchup, took the first few tutorials and drew a mock-up of our kitchen wall. Three hours later I turned four crumbling nail holes into actual hanging pictures in our bedroom and our kitchen wall in to a montage of art that doesn't really work anywhere else. I'll share a better picture once I get one more frame delivered.

Fun Wall!

The thing is, I never expected to be dancing around to The Boss alone in my apartment with a bandana on my head, a beer in my hand and a hammer and a drill hanging off my belt. I thought my chance for this experience had passed my by when the Grige popped a ring on my finger. So yes, things aren't ideal right now. But so far, our marriage is the gift that keeps on giving, just so long as you can sort through the frustration to find them. 

From Double E to Double F: Name Changing De-Coded

Since I have described my life right now as "comically depressing", I don't feel in much of a position to be giving advice. Truth be told, I'm sitting on the pull-out bed that I slept on for 6 months when I first moved to DC 4 years ago. There are two litter boxes within spitting distance of said couch/bed and I can hear my adorable new niece squalling upstairs. You have been properly warned, my suggestions come from a den of less-than-desirable circumstances. Upside: cable TV for the first time in my life. If it is possible to overdose on HGTV, I will do it in the next month.

So: name changing. This will be a two-part post, because there are two big parts to changing your name; emotional and logistical. This is the emotional part.

I ran the gamut on name changing options. At first, I wanted both the Grige and I to hyphenate our names. Then I wanted him to take my last name as his middle name. Then I just wanted to keep my name because paperwork is scary and I hate the DMV. Then I wanted us to both change our last name to Grige (I love that you think I'm joking. I totally was not). Finally, I decided after much deliberation that I wanted to keep my full name, but add his last name to the end. And then we went to the county courthouse, and I was told that my only option was to hyphenate or die and that I couldn't have 4 names. There were tears, but I went from EEF to EFF and I don't think I will look back.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

The thing about name changes is that there are a lot of forces at work in the decision process. It's hard to keep track of all of them. Throughout the process, I was haunted by the fact that I might be making an "UN-feminist" decision. Every time someone assumed that I would take the Grige's name, I got all pissed-off and motivated to just keep my name, and demand that our kids take my name too. That didn't work out, because decisions that are motivated by spite (even if it is spite of ignorance), are generally bad decisions. So there is the spite/anger argument. As I described, I did not keep my last name because my in-laws needed some feminist schooling. I have my whole life to do that.

The rest of my arguments/frustrations were centered around the same main issue - family names. I wanted the family that the Grige and I are starting to have a name. Preferably one, non-hyphenated name. I want to share a name with my husband and kids, and it took me some time to figure out what I wanted that name to be. As an only grandchild, I felt very invested in keeping my last name. But I also love my middle name. And I hate hate hate mono-syllabic last names, which the Grige's is. I was also angry that the Grige didn't have to deal with any of this: the expectations of people who barely know me, the hassle of all the paperwork, feeling constantly uncomfortable with the way you are addressed, change in general....

He was a very good sport about all my drama, he actually didn't really say anything through the whole debate. He just listened to me, patiently. Finally, it occurred to me to ask what he wanted, and it turns out that he really wanted me to take his name. Oddly enough, that put a lot of my worry to rest. I felt so conflicted about the decision, it was sort of nice to have someone with a strong opinion take the reins and give me a reason to feel good about changing.I could have my cake, and eat it too - I would just have two middle names, I wouldn't have to give anything up and i would be giving my husband something he really wanted.

Photo: Megan Shiley and her phone

Then, 2 days before the wedding in the county clerk's office, I was told that 2 middle names was not allowed without going to family court. I finally showed my true, lazy colors and took the easy way out: I dropped my middle name and became EFF. While I was upset at the time, I realize now that this is the way I dealt with the whole wedding - I would prefer for things to be imperfect and easy than perfect and difficult. I am a pro at protecting myself from stress. 

It's not like the Grige and I are going to forget what my given name was. It's not like I can't still use Elisabeth if I want to. I just won't have to constantly run out of room in the middle-name space when I'm buying airline tickets or taking standardized tests. And I won't have to go to family court. WINNING. So for me, this is what worked. I'm still annoyed that I have to spend all my spare time running around to the social security office and arguing with credit card companies over my middle initial and the Grige doesn't, but he's being as supportive as he can be from 1000 miles away.

I think the big lesson here is that it really doesn't matter what you decide to do, and that it's okay to not be sure what you want to do. There is no rule that says you have to make a decision right now, or that you have to stick to the decision you make, or even that you have to go by the name on your social security card (hello, Madonna). So if you are stuck on this decision, just table it for a while. If you cut off the obsessing, things might just fall into place. 

A Case for "Traditional"* Weddings

There is an episode of Sex and the City where Carrie & co. are Sunday brunching and Carrie discovers Big and Natasha’s wedding announcement in the “Single Woman’s Sports Section” of the NY Times. When Carrie first begins to read, she brushes it off. “Nothing in there sounds like Big. It’s all her..” Until she hears that a saxophone played When a Man Loves a Woman as they walked down the aisle. She promptly loses it (with the kind of desperate dignity that only Carrie Bradshaw can), because that’s the moment that the Times reporter describes that really reminds her of Big, and who he is.

I can say with 100% confidence that our wedding announcement will never appear in the Grey Lady, and I’m even more certain that, if it did, no one would be weeping over the fact that the Grige or I am off the market during a delightful looking Sunday brunch. However, the scene has sort of haunted me through wedding planning. Mostly because I wonder what about our wedding will make my guests think:  “Oh! That’s so ‘Emily’”.

Probably nothing. I mean, let’s be honest. How many of us actually find decent ways to express our personalities through details at our weddings? And even if we did, who would get it besides us? None of my guests are going to set there and think “awwwww this quirky 80’s song by David Byrn that they are walking down the aisle to is so totally Emily!” They’re going to think: “what on earth possessed them to choose such a weird song? I wonder if the person with the iPod is pulling our legs…”

 A wedding is supposed to be a fairly universal right of passage, so homogeneity should be part of the deal, right? “My special day”, my ass. That’s what makes it a wedding, and that’s what guides people to understand what you’re trying to signify by doing it at all. If a tree falls in the woods and only the Grige and I are there to hear it…….. You get the idea. We’ve seen trees fall in the woods. And we both watched the Grige hand me this pretty ring half-way down an empty ski run. And if we did my version of a perfect wedding, it wouldn’t be that different from those events. In fact, it would probably take place on a fallen tree in the woods near a ski run and there would only be a handful of people there to hear it. What’s more, most of those people would have already know how committed the Grige and I are. We don’t’ need to declare anything to them. They’ve seen us snark at each other, and comfort each other, and blame each other, and forgive each other. They’re the people who will be standing right up next to us when we say our vows, supporting our relationship with their presence for all the world to see, the way they always have.

Trees fell, the world turned, the view was amazing...

So why am I so obsessed with my individuality and my privacy when it comes to this wedding thing. It’s clearly a social construct designed to show our community, in a way they will easily recognize, that the Grige and I are becoming a family. We deliberately chose not to elope because we wanted to share our love with our community in a meaningful way, which meant throwing a rather large and scary feeling wedding. But we will be up there, doing the same things that millions of other couples do: galavanting in a white dress, exchanging rings, saying time-worn vows….

I think it’s probably the millennial thing. If there are two things that people my age are obsessed with, it’s individuality and privacy. We live online double lives with our blogs and facebooks and twitters, constantly “brand managing” ourselves into identifiable boxes through writing and photography and consumption of goods. At the same time we assert that we are so different from everyone else. We must shout our very important individual-ness from the internet mountaintops. And we are different, and that is good, but it is not really what a wedding is about.

Woods.
Photo: Chad Fisk

At the same time, we vehemently defend our right to re-claim our privacy at any given moment. To live public lives on the internet and then suddenly pull back – “you shall not see my honeymoon pictures” and “our wedding will be a private affair that will masquerade as a birthday party until the last possible moment”. Not that we aren’t entitled, but it’s a little confusing that I would be so willing to write about my wedding experience to a faceless internet audience on this blog, but hulk out whenever my mom wants to invite someone I don’t know well.

I think the difference is that I don’t really want to brand my our wedding. I’m going be a very human person that day, and it feels vulnerable. So I try to loose myself in details that will remind everyone constantly of how special and well branded and individual we are as a couple. Even though the whole point of the day is something that is such a common and shared experience that it almost seems too sacred to pepper with “individuality”. It’s not about me. It almost makes me think that cotillions and coming out parties should be more common, so that we can all just express ourselves already and let weddings be about the features that hold common meaning for our community.

Instant Anonymity..

I’m not suggesting that there isn’t more than one way to skin a cat. People have wonderful, unique weddings that work for them all the time. What I’m suggesting is that a wedding will always be unique to the two people getting married, and that a wedding will almost always hold some key, recognizable maybe even (gasp, clutches indie beaded necklace) generic features that make people of all ages point and say “hey! look! a wedding!”. Some people are crafty, and design-minded and enjoy visual stuff. I might even be marrying one of them, but no one is going to look at those leaf punch cut-outs and think “oh, Emily (sniff sniff sniff)”. They’re going to think that when I show up in a white dress and do all the “traditional” crap they expect me to do. You know, the stuff that they did too. Duh.

So I am going to stop trying to convince myself that the color scheme and cake flavor will tell people something about how different and interesting we are. The song I walk down the aisle is not going to fill their eyes with tears. They weren’t there that first fall we were together. The fact is that people don’t want to know how you are different from them. They want to know how you are the same.

* By Traditional, I don't mean that you have to spend a gazillion dollars and have all the things, I mean that you are probably going to wear a fancy dress/pantsuit/tie/whatever, exchange rings, make some promises, sign some stuff, and take some posed photos.

A Bug of Uncertain Size and Intentions

I hate moving. Everybody hates moving. One of the things I hate most about moving is the fact that all the stuff shuffling sometimes awakens creatures better left undisturbed, in places like "under the bed" and "behind the couch". This morning, about 5 minutes before my alarm went off,  I heard a bang and the Grige let out a barbaric yawp the like of which I have never heard from him. I assumed he was injured and immediately leaped up to rescue him!

"Stay over there!" He shouted. "Don't even look."

Filled with terror, I asked if he was bleeding that badly, wondering how this could have happened while simply getting dressed in the morning. "No, it's a huge bug. Just stay over there and don't look."

He tackles food like he tackles bugs.
Photo: Megan Shiley

He did not have to tell me twice! I stayed curled up in the far corner of the bed and watched him thump around on the floor looking around for this "giant bug" which he apparently didn't kill with his first strike. Not. Scary. At. All. He also kept making these alarmed and frightened noises that were even scarier. I've never seen the Grige loose his cool before. Bears in Yosemite? No problem. Snake in the Water? What are you worried about? Giant, man-eating cockroach in the kitchen? Quit your whining, you silly woman. But this bug, that he would not let me even look at, was reducing him to whimpers and yells while he whacked at it with his bare hands and feet. Serious man points were awarded.

I am Mighty Grige! I fear NOTHING! Except the bug under our bed!
Photo: Me

He finally must have killed it, because he looked up at me with mixed fear and disgust and said "I got it, just don't look yet." After cleaning it up with a massive handfull of papertowels and carrying it to the kitchen (apparently, it was a matter too great for the mere bedroom waste basket), he allowed me to get out of bed and said he needed a hug and a back scratch. I obliged, and asked him how big it was.

" You don't want to know. I'll tell you after we are all moved out. I can't wait to get out of here."

Whaaaaaa? He wouldn't even confirm if it was larger or smaller than a mouse. My imagination is running WILD. This creature has probably been living under our bed for 2 years, feeding on dust mites and wrapping paper, waiting for me to disturb it's hibernation by packing up the Grige's side of the bed last week. I wonder what other horrors await us under there?

I suppose there is always the option of getting my mean face on and dealing with it, but why?
Photo: EE's personal collection

Needless to say, the Grige is now officially in charge of all "under the bed" packing. I'm not even sure if I can sleep in there tonight. I'm also instituting a very strict "no bare feet in the bedroom" policy while we're packing up. I will be armed with closed toes shoes from the moment I cross the threshold moving forward. Flip-flops need not apply.

So, how was your Monday morning?

Today, I am a Woman

Happy 4th of July!

Tonight, the Grige and I are going on a very fancy cruise on the Potomac to watch the fireworks. It's my first (and probably only) Independence day in D.C., since the crowds are so bad, I usually skip town. I'm really excited - this is definitely the only way to do DC on this holiday, and I've never had the funds. Fortunately, Chad's Aunt's got us these amazing tickets as a wedding gift, so I get to live the high life tonight!

Seriously, just thinking of this cruise got me through all my extremely stabby episodes on the metro yesterday. I understand that people want to visit their nation's capitol. It's beautiful, and they should see all it has to offer. However, stay off the f*cking metro during rush hour. And if you must ride, stand right, walk left, and keep your kids the hell out of my way if you value their lives. K? Thanks. PSA over.

So, our fancy cruise tonight gave me the perfect opportunity to try out my newly acquired wedding makeup skills. I also have a few very lady-like tips for preparing for a fabulous evening:

Makeup + Wine

1. Spend the whole day battling dust bunnies under your bed while you try to pack up your very small apartment. Wonder how the hell that much crap fit under your bed.

2. Shower. You are covered in dust bunnies.

3. Demand that your handsome fiance press your cocktail dress for you. You are crap with an iron, and he knows it. Revel in the fact that it took him longer to press your dress than it took you to apply 30 lbs. of makeup.

4. Laugh at your fiance when he cannot figure out the pleats on the dress. And takes that failure really, really seriously.

5. Pour yourself a rocktail

6. Clean the toothpaste crap off your mirror.

7. Apply concealer, foundation, blush, bronzer, eyeshadow, eyeliner, eyebrow filler, eyebrow holder gel, mascara and lipstick. That wasn't so bad, was it? Sip your rocktail in between each application.

8. Blow a fuse while you try to blow dry your hair. Discover that the refrigerator in the kitchen and the hairdryer in the bathroom are on the same fuse. Wonder why. Realize you are only learning this after 2 years in this apartment because you never blowdry your hair. Be glad you are moving.

9. Ask your husband to be if he would marry this face. Kiss your lipstick off all over his face when he says yes.

10. Re-fill your rocktail and sit around in your underwear until it's time to leave. Today, you are a woman.

11. (optional) make yourselves late while you write a blog post about it. Get yelled at.

xox,
EE

Bridal Gowns, Weddings and Body Image Revisited



It’s a good thing that I had such a good long run this weekend, because there were definitely some big confidence hits as well. We've discussed body image and wedding gowns before. I guess this is the scary side...

Friday began at 3:30 am after a fairly sleepless night. Does anyone else get nervous and have trouble sleeping before travelling? I do. Especially before flying. I had no problem making my 6:00 am flight to Chicago, where I got whammied with an epic delay. Normally, I’m pretty good at rolling with the punches, but I had optimistically scheduled my bridal gown fitting for less than 2 hours after I was originally scheduled to land and then packed the rest of the day with back-to-back appointments for makeup and hair trials. I made it, but missed my opportunity to go home and pull myself together.

Before I continue, just let me say that what I described above is a horrible idea. One should never put that many aspects of their personal appearance up to scrutiny in one day, and certainly not right after a 3:30 am wakeup call and eight hours of airports and airplanes. It’s a miserable experience and no one should do it. Ever. I’m serious. Also, never fly through O’Hare if you can avoid it. The place is death to your schedule.

So I got off the plane and hopped in the car for 45 minutes with my Mom, who was chipper and brought food, which helped. We arrived about 30 minutes early for the fitting, and I promptly showed my lack of sleep by making back-to-back bad decisions

Oh, Oberon... Why did I let your crisp beckon derail me?

       1.       I stupidly suggested we wait next door at a restaurant and grab a beer

2.       When we returned and the bride ahead of me was running late, I agreed to have my fitting in the un-air-conditioned, stuffy back room with only one mirror.

MISTAKESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! ROOKIE MISTAKESSSSSSSSS!

What followed can only be described as emotionally overwrought and hellacious. I stood there dripping sweat becoming increasingly horrified at how hot, heavy, tight, too-short and overwhelmingly uncomfortable and unflattering the dress was and tried desperately to keep it together while my mom wept over how beautiful I looked and snapped photos with my phone’s camera.

I’m not exactly a boss at standing up for myself, and I completely let this experience get away from me. So please, learn from my mistakes. I went along with everything the seamstress told me, and allowed the major concerns I was having to either go unmentioned or be brushed aside by the seamstress and consultant (both of whom were really nice, just not picking up on my nearly un-detectable clues that I was not happy). I now have a great deal of respect for the ladies on Say Yes to the Dress who cry and stomp and holler in the fitting rooms of Kleinfeld’s until their dresses look exactly the way they want them. Watch them. Learn from them. You don’t have to be rude, but you do have to be pointed. This is your wedding dress. And Double E, meek and mild, has been crying herself to sleep for a week and banned bread and cheese in her home. Don’t do what I’m doing. Say something. Loudly. And if they tell you it can’t be let out in the hips, tell them to try harder, because you’re not going to make it to the alter without bourbon and pepper jack cheese. Those guys are practically your bridesmaids. Repeat after me: change your dress, not your body.

Photo: Kleinfeld's Website
Also, this lucky bitch doesn't look like she needs to change her dress OR her body. Oh media, why must you TAUNT me??

I’m sure you can now imagine the state I was in – exhausted, disappointed, filled with self-loathing that only the combination of sticky sweat and skin-tight chiffon can elicit – and there I was telling everyone how much I loved it and how happy I was and hopping in the car for my makeup appointment….

Here, zero makeup

Makeup is wonderful stuff. I don’t wear a lot of it normally, because I never really thought I needed to. I have never been self-conscious about my face. And yes, I know how lucky I am to feel that way.  However, the (again, VERY NICE, just kind of clueless) woman who did my makeup found more wrong with me in 10 minutes than I’ve been able to detect in my whole life. I told her very specifically that I don’t wear much makeup and just wanted to look “fresh” on my wedding day. I thought she would slap some blush and a pretty eye shadow on me and call it good. Oh, how wrong I was. 45 minutes later, I looked fantastic. However, I also had a list of the gazillion things that were “wrong” with my looks running through my head to join the cacophony of shame leftover from the dress fitting: “bushy eyebrows, no cheekbones, circles so dark they actually need two colors to be successfully hidden…” on and on the list went.

So here - "lots" of makeup (for me). See a difference from the pic above? I don't....

To my great credit, I kept it totally together until we were half way to the hairdresser’s house before I tested just how water-proof the mascara actually was. It’s safe to say that I’ll survive my wedding day without any mascara running, but I will need to blend in the tear-tracks through my blush.

The hair trial was definitely the least brutal of the appointments. My stylist has been doing my hair since I could walk and has created every gorgeous up-do I’ve ever worn for me. She is a genius, and a storyteller, and always makes you feel good. So I can state with 100% confidence that this is not her fault…. As we’re fiddling with a way to balance my hair and long face with my grandmother’s beautiful lace pillbox hat that I’ll be sporting for the wedding, she announces “girlfriend, we’re going to have to get you some more hair”. And she’s right. My hair is thin, and to pull of that hat, I’m going to need more of it. So she told me to buy a 10” ponytail and bring it in to add to my locks. It will look fantastic.

So now I am spending my lunch hour avoiding food, so that I can feel good in that stupid dress and searching amazon.com for 10 inches of someone else’s hair with the dark circles under my eyes clearly exposed because I could not afford two colors of concealer on top of all the other corrective paint I had to buy. And I am the girl who went into this thing totally accepting that I would not look “the best I’ve ever looked” at my wedding, and that I just wanted to look and feel like myself while I said vows of forever to the Grige. That tight, heavy, beautiful dress, 10 pounds of makeup and someone else’s hair are making me feel more detached from the person I am when I’m running, or reading, or curled up in bed next to the Grige than I ever have before. I wish we had eloped. But maybe this is why we have weddings? To force me to confront expectations and figure out what makes me who I am and how to show it? Well, it’s hard, anyhow. Hopefully I’ll be able to answer that question better on August 11.

Because I Wasn't Busy Enough

On Monday, Mighty Girl wrote about dithering over decisions. To be fair, she wrote about it because O Magazine wrote about it, but I like the passage from The Bell Jar that Maggie quoted best:

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

I feel quite a bit like this right now, not that it isn’t typical of folks my age. To be fair to myself, I have made some decisions. When I met the Grige, three years ago, I pulled the plug on my Peace Corps application. I knew when I looked at him that I wanted to marry him and that was the fig I was going to focus on. Hopefully the others would follow. So here we are, planning a wedding and a life together, and some of the other figs are within reach – We’re moving west, not quite far enough for my taste, but it’s progress; It’s likely that we’ll spend a semester abroad next year; He supports my ambitions to run my own business and constantly challenges me intellectually. I don’t regret my choice to pursue the Grige fig first.

I chose this path

However, it’s a little challenging to do everything on his schedule. I feel a bit more like a piece of complaining luggage than an equal partner given the way his career plans are driving every bit of our lives right now. We’re having the wedding on a tight schedule and skipping the honeymoon to accommodate his grad school start date, we’re moving to a city that was last on my wish list because a great architecture school is there, where and when we live abroad will be determined by his school requirements – I’m constantly molding my life and expectations to accommodate his and frankly, I’m fed up. Even if it is fairly in line with my goals as well, I’m sick and tired of not having any control (and doing all the dishes).

There it is....

Which brings me to a decision I may soon regret: I’m going to run a marathon. Let me correct that – I’m going to try to run a marathon. I’ve chosen the Grand Rapids Marathon (www.grandrapidsmarathon.com) on Sunday, October 21. The timing coincides perfectly with my plans to leave my job and move, while giving me 18 weeks to train. I’ll be attending a memorial for my Grandfather in MI the weekend before and was then planning to officially take up residence in St. Louis. I’ll spend the week after the memorial with my parents, run the race, and then hop on the train with a few bags of ice to begin my new life as a marathoner.

So, I’m sure you’re thinking that I’m nuts and wondering how on earth I ever convinced myself that this was even do-able, let alone a good idea. I’ll walk you through it:

1.       You have your own wedding, a move and another wedding that you are a bridesmaid in during training. You will have no time for this:

Fair points. However, I specifically set up my “step back” weeks to fall on big events. I’ll be stepping back during my bachelorette party, my wedding week, and moving week as well as several big work weekends. I’ll be tapering by the time Jess’ wedding rolls around. My longer runs will be a great way to say goodbye to DC and get to know St. Louis during the move.

2.       The whole reason you are staying in DC is to work through the busy season. Won’t you be too busy for marathon training?

Possibly, but I don’t think so. My weekday runs are definitely short enough to fit in before work, and will probably even ease my commute by getting me out the door early. We have a nice gym in the basement of my office building, so it will be possible to fit my runs in at other times as well. I won’t have the Grige to run home to, and it will be nice to have something else to look forward to. Also, I find that having physical goals to focus on helps me deal with mental stress. Zoning out on a 15 mile long run is a great way to leave work stress behind.

3.       Wait – Aren’t you always talking about how you don’t really like running and how you aren’t very good at it?

Yes! The thing is, I’ve always dreamed of doing a marathon, precisely because it seems so impossible. It’s the ultimate way to boost my self-confidence and break down my mental barriers. Also, marathon training isn’t about speed. The marathon I signed up for doesn’t have a time-limit, and even offers an early start for anyone who is worried about needing more than 6 hours. Training will be all about “time on my feet”, and running slowly, but steadily. Walking breaks will be part of the deal on all my long runs, and my overall goal is to finish the marathon on my own two legs with a smile on my face.

4.       How is training for a marathon going to help you feel more in control of your life?

First of all, running a marathon is on my life list, so it signifies progress for me personally. Second of all, it’s something that is only about me, nobody else. Meeting that weekly physical goal should keep me motivated and confident, since every single week of training will be a personal distance record (PDR) for me, so it will be hard to get down on myself if I have a bad run – I won’t have anything to compare to. Finally, The marathon I’ve chosen is pretty laid back about dropping down to the ½ marathon if I change my mind. Even a ½ would still be a huge accomplishment for me, but since I have time I’m going to go for the full.

So I’ll be sure to keep you updated as training goes along. Wish me luck!