…at least according to my mother, who, by the way, I love dearly. Not sure you could find a more loving, open, and friendly human on the planet. Uh, other than that little belief that only Mormons have the true church thingie. And you really can’t blame her for that. I mean, who wants to think they are completely alone in this chaotic universe, with no recourse for an afterlife? Well, except maybe me. I mean, I really, really miss the people I loved who have died. But I don’t want to have to be married to one man with six million other wives to get to see them again. And what if they aren’t even THERE? I mean, what if they opt out of the celestial kingdom thingie? Because God knows I probably will. Terrestial is good enough for me. As long as the wine is cold and the music hot.
Frankly, there are days I am not so fond of THIS life, so I’m damned sure not all that convinced I want another one, but hey, some people need more to hang on to. I mean, look at the Twilight phenomenon. Eternal life. Just like the Mormons teach. I really don’t want to live forever. Yeah, teach it all you want, but how many times can you WATCH Twilight before you say, “Damn, Belle, you whiny bitch. SHUT UP. He’s coming back. She wrote it that way. It’s eternal love/life/loathing. Whatever you want to call it. Just deal for a few months.”
Because honestly, love is not really like that. Your mate will never sparkle. Trust me on this. Unless you invest in some serious glitter lotion there will be NO SPARKLING. Because aside from some of my beloved gay friends, men do not CARE to sparkle. In fact, they have NO DESIRE To sparkle. Sparkling is against the man code. Sorry, but true.
Hmm. Somehow I got off on a Twilight tangent. No surprise to anyone who reads my blog. Tangents are my thing. But BACK to my mother.
I’m getting married. In about a week and a half, in fact. And this is NOT my first marriage. Oh no. I am not one of those faithful and flightless creatures. Instead, I have fancies and whims, and want to treated with love and respect and dignity. (No dis on those of you who are married to your life mate and have been forever. I am just made differently.) This is my THIRD marriage, and my THIRD husband. The first one was a fluke. He had cute kids, and somehow I found myself living with him, and then my parents pressured me to do the marriage thing, and even though I tried to leave him, he did the same. It was a short one, but I still love his cute kids.
The second one is the father of my children, and the first night I met him (even though we went to high school together, I didn’t hang out with him), I officially met him, I did not like him. He kept grabbing my butt. Then he kept grabbing other women’s butts. This was not a good thing.
But the next day, when he was not drunk, he was cute and attentive, and I somehow found myself sucked in and married within two months. Wow. I tried to make it work. Sixteen years. There were some alcohol and abuse issues (surprisingly, not mine), and I finally escaped. And yes it was an escape.
And then I reconnected with Birdman. Whom, by the way, I did not know all that well, even though we lived in such a close proximity. I remember one time his brother tried to walk me home from Mutual (Mormon teen thingie), and my dad said HELL NO. Or something like that. But Birdman I did not know. While other boys his age were drinking and drugging, he was doing the nasty with the girls. It had more allure to him. (Don’t you love him already?) But, he got his young girlfriend pregnant, and they married and then divorced, because they were WAAAAYYYY to young to be married. And then he married a closet lesbian who hung around his girlfriends (he might deny this to the end, but COME ON. I have a good gaydar. And she will be happier when she comes out. Don’t be mad.)
And now, more than 20 years later, he is marrying me.
Not, of course, without drama, because i have teenagers, who have DRAMA as their middle names. Or at least if I had an ounce of sense I would have NAMED them with the middle name of DRAMA.
Amusingly enough, Birdman’s middle daughter is ALSO DRAMA. Why are people so attracted to drama? Would it not be easier to be addicted to naps? Or possibly fishing, as long as someone puts the worm or bait on the hook for you? I just don’t get it.
But, drama it is.
So, our wedding is not going off without any HITCHES. In fact, these are the KINGS OF HITCHES. Two drama queens who are striving to make our lives miserable, at least for a few weeks. Two fairly steady children (one in her 30s, and one only 15) and one who is far away and has no intention of returning.
I spent the better part of the day today, after visiting with the neurologist, trying to convince Birdman we should elope. He was not playing. There is money spent. Okay, yeah, I get it, but we could STILL have a reception, right? Anyway, the neurologist confirmed I had Meniere’s Disease, which should be good news. I mean, if they are going to give you a diagnosis, surely one does not want to hear MS or Brain Tumor, or something like that, and yet the news really upset me.
My world spins constantly. It’s not fun. I want it to stop. I can’t even drive by Lagoon without yelling “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP THE SPINNING.” Yeah.
But the older daughter, Chatter Child, is not so happy with the marriage and the move, and all that, and so she has now tortured me with the “I’m going to live with my dad” card. I tried to explain that I played along with that card, and tried to live with her dad, and found it quite impossible,” but hey, when has a teenager ever listened to their mother? Even when she is making sense.
So, we are at odds right now. And I called my mom to tell her I wanted to call the whole “wedding” off (not the marriage folks, because i love him, but just the wedding), and she proceeded to spend 20 minutes telling me about my patriarchal blessing. She said she always knew I would never marry in the temple, but my PB said I would bring my husband to the temple. And she said she always knew that AH (hereby known as Alcoholic husband) would not take me there. But she believed this one would be different.
Okay, first of all, GOOD GOD. If she met Birdman, and spent more than twenty minutes with him, she might realize he is more likely to participate in Mayan Virgin Sacrifices than temple rites, but hey, she was hanging out with HIS mom, who also sees the temple in our future, at a Relief Society conference not so long ago.
I should make clear that you will not get me inside a Mormon temple unless you chase me in there with a gun, and even then it might be iffy.
So where does this come from? Where did this crap manifest itself? Gotta be the water. Or the Sunday school lessons.
So my mom