Family Feud?

Sweet Jesus....So I throw that last self-righteous, pandering post up about how the Remix's family is being difficult, blah blah blah, thinking that all the holiday family drama is over, right. Whoops.

Out of nowhere, when I least expected it, LOOK! There in the sky! It's a bird, it's a plane, no, no, wait, it's...my mom going all Maury Povich about the division of time on Thanksgiving. Thanks ma. Appreciate it, there wasn't enough stress swirling around this holiday, let's have the easy part blow up in our faces too.

Here' s the story. The Remix's family event starts at 4. We are definitely too ancillary to the scheduling to request any changes, so that was the one we were going to have to work around. No problem, though--ma and pop are staying home on Thanksgiving, and they'll be happy to have us, whenever we can be there. Baby brother and his fiancee aren't a factor, they're not coming by until later. Hit the Remix deal at 3:30, jet around 5 or 5:30, make it to my parents' house for a 6pm dinner....So I e-mailed ma, laid this plan out, sat back with a self-satisfied smile and patted myself on the back for a job well done. For about five minutes, anyway. Then I got the e-mail.

You don't love us. You don't want to come over. Waah. Your dad's feelings will be hurt. Boo hoo hoo. When we're dead you'll hate yourself for not spending Thanksgiving with your family in a thirty-six hour festival atmosphere. Poor little me. *

*Portions of this program may have been paraphrased, edited, or totally fabricated, all in the interest of illustration.

Ok, so she's got reasons. I'll admit it. The ex-wife didn't like my family. Actually, it was less dislike and more like apathy. In a way, to my mom, that was worse. Not only did she not want to spend any time with my family at the holidays, she didn't particularly care whose feelings this would hurt, my own included. So for three years or so, I saw my family infrequently at best, and never at the good times. We'd stop by on Christmas Eve, sometime around one or two, and by six the ex would be sighing and checking her watch, anxious to get on our way (usually, so we could spend the night at her parents and open presents under the tree on Christmas morning, like ten year olds.) It was awful, and I feel bad.

Counterpoint, though. The Remix and I see my parents/family all the Goddamned time. Like, once every couple of weeks. The Remix loves my parents. She asks to go see them, goes out of her way to make time for them, etc.

I told my mom off. Good, too. I told her I wasn't going to feel guilty. I told her that we'd done everything we could to ensure that they got the most of the day, and if it wasn't good enough I would stay home and cook my own damn turkey. Hell if I'm going to get steamrolled by my mom, I'm no mama's boy...

I apologized by the next day. But she got the point. Everyone's ok now. No permanent damage, no guilty consciences, and no cloud over what should be an otherwise delightful day. When the dust cleared, I found myself still grateful for the family I have. They may be clingy and overbearing, but at least they want me around.

Is there something in the water?

Everyone is getting engaged. By everyone, I mean my brother, and the best friend. By engaged, I mean promising to someday (not too soon, of course) get married, have babies, and spend the rest of their lives sharing living quarters and laundry duties.

I have been engaged twice. Once, too young and too quickly, and with no idea what to do next. Once, still too quickly, and to the wrong person entirely. I intend to do it again at some point in the future, with I'll possibly even have a chance to rectify the disaster I made of the first one. Anyway, I'd have to consider myself an engagement expert at this point, seeing as how I've done it more than anyone else I know.

My brother has been dating the same girl since high school. The laugh at the same jokes, they have the same friends, they even look startlingly alike. From the get go, it's had all the makings of a storybook romance. The best friend took the BFGF to prom, back when she was just the Remix's best friend. It's been up and down, but they seem to love each other, and he has to know by now that no other girl is going to put up as gamely with his various eccentricities. They all seem happy together, faux nervousness and commitment-phobic posturing aside.

I have two bits of advice for these fairy tale couples. One, remember that the wedding is your day. If you want tuxes with hawaiian shirts, or chocolate cake with chocolate frosting, tell Modern Bride to go fuck itself and do it up right. It's a party, it's a celebration of your particular relationship, and if your relationship parties like Guns 'n' Roses on a three day bender, rock on.

The more serious bit of advice--storybook romance or no, "happily ever after" rarely means just that; and "The End" isn't anywhere near the page with the wedding picture. Nothing gets easier just because you got married. It's the real deal, all the way. You'll fight about things you never even thought about before. Money, sex, TV volume, air conditioning habits. You'll wonder some days how this raving lunatic you married ever conned you into saying "I do." Regardless of how happy, or how perfect, you seem, there's bound to be hiccups. Granted, with a young divorce already under my belt, I'm hardly the person to chide you to hang in there. I didn't. There's a difference, though. You guys have the right partners. There' s been no mistake, no greener grass to be found. I made the wrong choice to get married--I didn't start making the right ones until it was too late.

My next one will be the right one. My last one. I hope it's this one, obviously. (Somewhere, right now, the Remix is reading this and possibly fainting.) All told, though, the people I know who seem to have caught the marriage virus have got the pieces in place for a long happy life. They've got the right one, right now. That's worth hanging on to, and I'm ecstatic for everyone.

Recycling

This is reprinted from another blog I keep, but I like it, and I'd like it here. So.

So I'm a little confused....one of my good friends from college is getting married in two weeks, and she didn't invite me to the wedding. She says she didn't know my address, but let's be honest here....I think the real problem is that my ex-wife almost has to be there. Now, to be fair, I understand that when you get divorced, your friends have to come down on one side or the other at some point.The guys have mostly come down on my side of it, but this particular friend had thus far been fairly objective. Actually, she's the only one of the girls from our little gang at U of I who still talks to me at all.

I don't exactly blame her--who wants their wedding to be the setting for an incredibly awkward social scene, right? But they're nice couple, and I would have liked the opportunity to get together with some of the old crew. What really bothers me more than anything is that she won't shoot straight about it. I mean, she hasn't taken sides, and I really appreciate that. And I know she can't be fucking Switzerland with the wedding, it had to be one or the other of us. But she could have just told me, it wouldn't have broken my heart.

That's the worst thing about the divorce, really. I'm glad I got out of the marriage when I did, pre-kids and all. I'm not happy about the whole situation, but I don't regret it and I definitely have reached a point where I'm at peace with the whole thing. The earthquake was bad, but we're past that. It's the aftershocks that hurt. I miss some of those friends, and it stings a little to know that things will never be quite like they were, even if we all managed to get together.
I miss owning a house. I miss hanging out with my brothers-in-law, drinking beer and arguing about the kind of asinine things only close friends can discuss. I miss playing softball on Friday nights and then playing basketball hungover on Saturday mornings, reeking of booze and dragging ass all over the court with the guys. I miss my nieces and nephews. I miss all the innocent flirting with my sister-in-law. I miss playing bags on Sunday.

I don't miss the fights. I don't miss going to my in-laws four times a week. I don't miss the drama. I don't miss being broke. I don't miss the nagging, harping, constant browbeating about everything under the sun. I don't miss my ex-wife.

I take back my earlier comment. I have some regrets. I'm not sad that it turned out the way it did, I think it was inevitable. I don't regret the relationship, either. The good times were good, just not good enough to get us through. But I wish I'd made a better break with all the satellites that orbited our marriage. I wish I'd had a chance to say goodbye, man to man, to the guys that meant so much to me for the past four years. I wish I could have explained myself to my ex-wife's sister, because I can't stand the knowledge that she hates me now. I wish I could have kissed my nieces and nephews goodbye. I wish I'd told my father-in-law that he was a controlling, domineering ass. I wish I'd told my mother-in-law that half of what ruined my marriage stemmed directly from her fucked-up way of directing her daughter's every action.

But the one thing that can still make me tear up is a ridiculous little thing. So insignificant in the grand scheme of things, I'm almost embarassed to admit it. You all (yeah, sometimes I pretend someone reads this cathartic, self-indulgent shit) will probably think I'm nuts, and I can't say I blame you. But it just happens to be the one thing that still hurts. Judge me however you want, recommend me for psychoanalysis, never speak to me again. It's the simple truth.

I wish that bitch had let me keep my goddamn cats. I loved those fucking cats.