Detroit Rock City, Baby

Well, my dear crickets, it has come to my attention that some of you are not pleased with my posting schedule…or lack thereof. For that, I really have no apology. Take heart! Instead, I have an update.

Thursday night, best friend from college, Amber, arrived with her child. Now, I have mentioned before that I inhabit the tiniest apartment ever. So small that, when I saw the “All of This Fits in 520 Square Feet” display at Ikea, I marveled at that set-up’s relative spaciousness. I would like to make an amendment. I thought it was the tiniest apartment ever, but until I spent a day and a half there with a 16-month old and her mother, I did not appreciate the definition of tiny. Poor Amber and child. Bumping into walls and what not. Child had to play with plastic coasters on my coffee table for fun and sit in her little chair on the floor to eat. Amber and I sprung for the boxed set of Felicity: Senior Year (try asking for that at Wal-Mart in the ga-heht-to. No, really, just try it). That show is glorious. I feel like I grew up with Felicity. And I still really can’t pick between Ben and Noel. Why can’t I have a combination of BOTH?

So, quality time (if not luxury accommodations) was had had by all. Saturday we had lunch in the harbor with Amber, so that The Boy could try to redeem himself from the horrendous first impression he made at the child’s first birthday party. When we decide we’d like to have children, I think I’m going to start sending him to nursery school once a week, then perhaps more often. He needs to get acclimated slowly, methinks.

That night we did a dinner-and-Broken-Flowers double date that resulted in my acting like a typical woman about wanting to get married yesterday. Now, I realize I have been hesitant to write about this part of my crazy life in this publication, but it was out of respect to the prospective proposer.

Contrary to what public opinion would be if it were derived from my postings on this blog, we have actually been consumed in, “when we get married,” and, “are you sure you prefer that setting?” and “really, you don’t have ANY available Saturdays in April?” and, “BigJohn, I’d like to ask your blessing to ask Christina to marry me,” conversations for quite some time now. But I made a promise to myself not to discuss it much until it was “official,” so that a proposal and engagement would not become formalities, even though I’m aware that that’s exactly what they are. Now. Like a scud missile in 1991, I am engaged. And Lord willing, I’m not planning on ever … uhh … disengaging. So, hooray! I’ve been glassy-eyed all day, distracted by the brilliance of my left hand. My mom tells me she’s jealous of it. Which, really, I would be too. You know, if it weren’t mine. Yesterday, I kept commenting on the ring, then feeling guilty and saying, “But, you know, it’s you that I want and love and am excited about. I don’t need this. But, umm…oh my God.” It’s stunning. I am ecstatic. All day yesterday I announced “firsts,” par exemple:

“This is the first time I’ve walked into my apartment since I got engaged!”
“This is the first time I’ve had to run back into my apartment because I forgot something since I got engaged!”
“Sorry if I didn’t do a great job parking, but it’s the first time I’ve done it since I got engaged.”
And so on.

Now begins the planning. Fneh. I know you might not believe this, but I just don’t care. I mean, I want it to be a nice day, replete with mermaid dress and sunflowers and what have you, but I just don’t care about very many things. The biggie is trying to nail down a way to do it all where and when we want, but the venue formerly known as “our building” isn’t being very accommodating. And they sent us a contract with a price $900 higher than it was the last time. We are working on some alternative ideas and should have a date nailed down in the near future, and I am trying to remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, 7 months is not forever. And, if everything goes the way we’d like, that’s about how far away it will be. We need to get on it, though, because our Pastor is about to verry busy. If the busy-bodies who frequent this blog had blogs of their own, well … you’d know that apparently it’s the time to get married. Ordinarily, for me, this might be reason enough not to do it. But I can’t wait to be married to this boy. (I know, you can remind me I said that when I’m complaining about picking up his dirty socks for the 47th time.)

Pictures of Dwayne Johnson (aka, THE ROCK) will be forthcoming!