Scenes from a Marriage

"You know what I'm gonna do when we get home," J says excitedly as we're heading west on 76 . We've just come from the King of Prussia mall, where we "completed our registry". We are now the proud parents of one monstrous Dyson vacuum, affectionately christened, R2-D2.

"What are you gonna do, babe?" I ask slowly, still groggy from my trek throughout Brooklyn, Manhattan, and White Plains today.

"Vacuum!" J grins.

"Tonight?"

"I've got to test it out!"

"Yeah," I begin seriously. "I think I'm more excited about the attachments. I don't think our old attachments worked that well at all."

I pause.

"Holy shit - do you hear us? Did you just hear this conversation?" I sputter, alarmed.

J laughs and shakes his head. "This is what happens when you get old..."

"I mean, can you imagine if someone had heard us?" I giggle. "We're talking vacuums, for Christ's sake!"

And so it begins.

Introducing: Mrs. HomeValley Ft. Lauderdale! Part 1 of 2

Where do I begin to tell this tale?

Friends, it was magical.

Shall I start with airport arrival? Even the security line was a happy dream for me, as I buzzed along with a white rose attached to my shirt (thanks, Mama) and more plastic leis than you could shake a stick at, for real. I was slightly perturbed that we were unable to upgrade to first class (because I am a princess), but got over that quickly enough over bloody marys at the Cibo Wine Bar with all of our closest friends and family. (Lo, beginning drinking at 8:30 AM is certainly not for the faint of heart. Or HV, for that matter.)

Soon, it was time to board. (Or, was it time to meander about the airport looking for bottled water and magazines and hopping on the plane last?) On the jetway, Judd's parents (the Ft. Lauderdales) met us with two first class tickets in exchange for our coach seats. Bless them. Just bless them.

And the wine flowed, and the good times rolled, and before I knew it, we had landed in the Dominican Republic. It was 578 degrees, and I was a wee bit tipsy, but it was glorious. Every one of the 30 wedding guests found their bags in no time, and we boarded a bus bound for Dreams Punta Cana.

But wait! First we stopped at a roadside market, where we purchased giant bottles of Presidente beer, in which HV sealed her night 1 fate of having to go to sleep at 9 PM. Regret, thy name is "Presidente."

Upon arrival at Dreams, we were greeted with champagne (Lord, what were they trying to do to me?) and had a smooth and painless check-in. J and I settled into our honeymoon suite and immediately changed into our swimsuits. Wedding week had begun.

Hmm... I am a bit fuzzy on the rest of night 1... I know we ate at the World Cafe, which was an enormous buffet filled with every cuisine imaginable. I know J took me back to the room for a shower. I know I changed into a black cotton jersey dress, and made it out to the bar (henceforth: Cav's). I also know that within minutes I was too sleepy to stand. Alas, I missed one hell of a night at the club:

Two of these boy-banders are my brothers.

And then, Day 2, in which HV wakes rested and rejuvenated.

(Wait, this actually wasn't Day 2, as on Day 2, Grace and Allie came to my room in the AM to assist with gift bag assembly, at which time Grace and I discovered we were both wearing this adorable Victoria's Secret bikini. I changed. )

Still, you get the gist? Sunny skies, fruity drinks, swim-up bar, gorgeous blue green sea?

*author bangs head on laptop, longs for Punta Cana*

More to come.

Committed.

So remember that time when I told you I was going to really concentrate on my writing?



And then do you remember that time all those times when I procrastinated and watched Beverly Hills 90210 reruns instead?



Well, I am recommitting myself. (Do I hear angels singing? I know you are all so pleased.)



And this evening, I am reviewing my slightly outdated copy of Writer's Market and scouring this blog for print-worthy materials.



*Crickets chirping*



And um, unfortunately, whilst I have a plethora of three good topics here, there is nothing that is actually ready for publication. Most of the eloquent prose on this domain is of the ya sorta had to be there variety.



And so I am freaking out, but only a little. Also, I am putting many, many good thoughts out into the universe.



But gracious! Suddenly I feel as if there is no time - I'll never get into Stanford and I'll let everyone down and I'm so confused.



I shall not falter, nor will I be lured into watching this new-fangled 90210 spin-off, even if you are reprising your role as Brenda Walsh, Doherty.



And tomorrow, I will regale you with the tale of our exquisite wedding, from first class to the Sammy Sosas to my brief appearances at "The Club" to the gorgeous ceremony on the beach to the sweatiest reception ever to aqua gym, and everything in between. And here's a little preview:

And Just Like That...

Somebody's wife.

One Day More!

Over and over in my brain, flash the words: ONE DAY MORE. Then, I inevitably start singing Les Miserables, because I am, at the very core of me, a huge theatre geek. (And absolutely pretentious enough to spell it "theatre".)

Yesterday, I watched Jesse and Rebecca get married on Full House, and I cried when Uncle J sang "Forever" to Becky, then briefly considered changing our wedding song.

(Forever! Forever! I've been so happy loving you.)

(Dudes! There was a gospel choir!)

So, we're all packed. We're ready for the trip.

And we're ready for the road ahead.

It's somewhat startling how vocal people are about the perils of marriage. Don't do it, they tell us jokingly, everywhere we turn. And we chuckle, and we look at each other, and communicate silently. We'll be different. We won't turn out like them.

Folks, have I ever shared with you how many times my mother has been married? We're at four (and hopeful we will remain firmly at four). And if you think that hasn't given HomeValley pause about marriage at many points throughout her life, you'd be wrong.

Yet I am not cynical. I am hopeful. Because I have learned that it takes work. I have learned that both parties have to be willing to put in the man hours. I have learned that when you are happy, you don't just rest on your laurels, and merely revel in your current joy. Happiness is something that you need to cultivate. It is sustainable; but it takes work. And love. And patience. And understanding. A whole lot of understanding. And forgiveness. And optimism.

Oh, and also - and here might be HomeValley's main prescription for a happy marriage - Laughter.

The good news is, I am pretty sure J chuckles when I hit an empty stage with a Miller Lite and pretend to play the keyboard.

Yup.

We're ready.

Let the Countdown Begin...

Friends, we've only got a week to go.

The W is upon us, and man, I thought it would never come. I sure will miss talking about the wedding plans to every human I come across EVER, even perfect strangers; but I suppose after the actual wedding, you get inundated with questions about the actual wedding, so I will still be able to make small talk with people on the street for at least another, oh, three months?

So to fill you guys in on the W minutiae, today I am finishing up place cards, and welcome letters, and also going for a bikini wax. Squee! It's all very thrilling, and yet, really, it is thrilling. Seeing this thing come together in the 11th hour is terribly exciting.

And also? This past Saturday was my own bachelorette party, and lo, it was a good one:

More to come on this. Beware if I actually learn to link video. If you ever wanted to see ole HV riding on a middle-aged man's back around a dive bar, shouting, "WHY AM I GETTING MARRIED?!?!" Well, let's just say you are in for a real treat.