The Wedding that Was

Today I'm playing along with Shelley over at My Shoebox Life about weddings.

'Cos she's about to be a bride. And I remember that feeling. And it was awesome.

I stupidly got married in the middle of uni exam week four years ago, and therefore never got to take off any time beforehand to just chill... like Penny did... and as such, it went way too fast.

I hand-made all my invitations, scored my dress for a bargain $150, borrowed my veil and used clip-on vintage earrings to decorate my shoes. I did my wedding my way and it was the best thing I ever did.

I walked down the aisle to Jimmy Eat World, played punk music for my mingling guests and boogied on the dance floor to the Wu-Tang Clan.

I made my own bouquet.

I reserved the right to do things I wouldn't remember doing later, nor why I would do them.

I made my sister my Maid of Honour, even though she's hotter than me.

I listened to the whims of my incredibly talented photographer and was glad I did.

My dad walked me down the aisle, and then I filmed a Macleans ad. Ok that was a lie.

I had a cathedral-length veil for a backyard wedding. Oh yes I did.

I annoyed the celebrant by only having one chair at the signing table. I also annoyed him by changing my vows to "I do", not "I will". I also did not tell my husband to do this... he just did.

I had two dresses, just because.

I loved my wedding day. I married an incredible man and we've made an incredible life. I had the best ladies' night before, and a day that was without fault.

Except my 18-year-old brother didn't get drunk and dance to The Thong Song like he did at my sister's wedding. I'm not sure I'll ever get over the disappointment.

It topped off a beautiful romance, a quirky, thoughtful and totally amazing proposal, and started a lifetime of love.

Which is exactly what I wish Shelley. All the best, gorgeous.

Wanderlust

Ah Wanderlust. I has it.

I has it real bad.

I can't sit still. I can't concentrate. I feel like I'm wasting time.

My brother-in-law is coming home from Canada in two months, and he's lived there the last two years. He's coming home via Mexico and Thailand. He's just done what I have wanted to do my whole life - live somewhere other than here.

Sometimes I joke with Kristin about homeswapping... my Sunshine Coast abode for her Kansas lodgings. Sometimes it's only half a joke.

I often wonder why I never made it to the other side of the world to set up camp. Life hasn't been easy and I was at uni and I never had enough money, excuses excuses. I tell myself if I wanted it that badly, I would have made it happen somehow. Anyhow.

But I didn't and I haven't. But that's not to say I won't. I haven't travelled much, but I want to so bad. I can feel it pulling in my chest, the deep longing of something you need to complete you as a human, but is always just out of reach.

And it's making me twitchy. Unsettled.

I want to be in places I've only ever seen pictures of before.

And even though I've been, I feel as though it's not enough.

I can't tell you how excited I was to be here. I still don't know why I have such a crush on American politics.  It can't be normal. It's all your fault, Bill Clinton.

I used to have a picture of this castle on my wall for inspiration when I got up every day and slaved 9 hours at a job I loathed. I knew that if I worked hard and saved hard, I'd get there one day. I did, but it was long after I left that job.

When the baby was just born, and I was overwhelmed with the baby blues, I used to sit in the bath and think of New York City. And how much it felt like home. And how sad I was that I wasn't there and I wasn't going back for a very, very long time. oh god, how MAUDLIN!

I want to ride my bike in Vancouver again, and hopefully not fall off this time. Thanks very much, person taking up the entire footpath so I had to navigate a gutter and completely lose my shit trying to re-mount it.

I want to ride along the desert highways of California and Nevada again, Fear and Loathing style. Only without the traffic jam and the too-long bus ride and the pushy lady in the seat in front of me making me pull the shades down so I couldn't see the view and she could watch her 1998 rom-com in peace.

I want to see what mundane life is like in other cultures. I want my toilet seats warmed, and I want them to spray pretty smells and play pretty music to cover up any embarrassing noises I might be making (but that never happens 'cos girls don't poo). 

I want to walk into a restaurant where I can only speak Year 8 Japanese and order something I've never eaten before and have it be the best thing I've ever tasted.

I want my environment to be something completely different to home. Something totally the opposite. I want to be in awe.

I want to be on a tropical island with my love, without a care in the world. And this time I'd like somebody else to pick up the room charges... eep.

Looking over these, I feel so fortunate. And so guilty. I am incredibly lucky to have experienced what I have, and to have these pictures and memories. Not everybody has that.

I feel guilty that this isn't enough for me.

So I need to turn my head around. I have an incredible job, that I love and am excited about. For that reason I won't move.

I have an incredible, amazing family and brand new baby and way-cute kitten. While I could take them anywhere in the world with me, we seem to belong here.

Here, where the sun is like the air that I breathe and makes me happier than just about anything else could. 

Here, where we play backyard cricket, and have barbecues and hang out with our friends and are near our families.

I can't complain. And I know how lucky I am. But sometimes... London really does call.

Where do you want to be?

When the waiter is rude.

Do you say something? When the waiter is rude, the cashier is snappy or your barista is nasty?

I don't. At least I can't remember when I have. But I'd sure like to.

Recently I was reading over my old blog (2009 represent!) and I came across this post I wrote, after at least the tenth time a lady working at my university coffee shop made the whole experience awkward and awful. And it reminded me of a time when I saw Miss Edenland do something I always wish I had the guts to do...

I’m a little bit of a chicken. And by little bit, I mean huge. 
Occasionally, I go to a cafe on campus to buy coffee (cos that’s what collegiates do, apparently), and the same woman serves me nearly every time. The exchange goes a little something like this: 

Act 1, Scene 1 

It is a bright, sunshiny day. Captain is feeling pleasant and motivated to write. All is well with the world. She steps up to the cafe counter to be served. 
INCREDIBLY SCRAWNY OLD BIRDLIKE WOMAN WEARING RED LIPSTICK: (silence, staring at Captain) 

CAPTAIN: Hi 

INCREDIBLY SCRAWNY OLD BIRDLIKE WOMAN WEARING RED LIPSTICK: (still silent, still staring) 

CAPTAIN: .....Can I have large flat white please? 

Incredibly scrawny old birdlike woman wearing red lipstick holds out her hand, completely silent. 

Money exchanges hands, Incredibly scrawny old birdlike woman wearing red lipstick hands Captain her order number. 

Incredibly scrawny old birdlike woman wearing red lipstick disappears into the caverns of the cafe. CAPTAIN: (To no-one) Uh, thanks? 

Captain walks off feeling dejected. 

Every time this happens I want to stare back, completely silent also, hopefully forcing her to actually speak to me first. 

And although I hate this repeated exchange, and feel slightly rejected by the silent food service worker, I never say or do anything about it. Such is the way of the nerd.