I don't believe in the one.

I don't.

And yet, here I am, 2 1/2 years into a relationship, wondering where I, he, we are going. If I lived in a vacuum, I probably wouldn't be this anxious.

But I don't.

It's wedding season on Facebook. Smiling faces that I only partly recognize, some not at all anymore, accost me with every log in. White finery, bundles of flowers, oh look, their signature cocktail was in a mason jar. Am I some sort of curmudgeon, scowling at the computer screen? 

I don't think so.

Quite the opposite, actually. I'm just a romantic with a bad sense of visioning. Because, deep down, I want it all - the white finery, bundles of flowers, quirky accent-piece. And I'm squee-elated, ecstatic, enthusiastic, when dear ones, like our M and D, decide to commit to each other. I know just how much they care for each other, how much they look forward to seeing each other at the end of the day, how they challenge each other and share inside jokes. I'm blessed to know them and even more honored that they asked me to share their day with them. But when it comes to me, my life, and my choices -

I don't know how to decide.

"It's a romantic weather report."

The ordinary can be extraordinary.

Date of Execution

Growing up, and even in my 20s, I had very few straight guy friends. I spent most of my time in dance and theater, where guys are few and far between or, although it is a stereotype, gay. My heterosexual male friends were kept close and valued for the advice they gave and the offers they extended to pummel any guy who treated me poorly.

R. is one of those incredible, reliable guy friends that I’ve stuck close to since high school. He is a serial monogamist and, not surprisingly, proposed to his longtime girlfriend last year. They set a date for August and sent out ‘Save the Date’ cards soon after. I wrote the date in my planner: August 21. But something inside of me knew that I wouldn’t be attending.

R. is marrying B., who has a drinking problem. At one point, her problem got so bad, that R. and B. split up. “I can’t handle her when she gets blackout drunk,” R. said once. And every time B. drank, she binged to the point of blackout. During their split, she worked on “giving up hard liquor” and once she did, they got back together. “It’s only hard liquor that makes her black out,” R. said. This past January, on B.’s 25th birthday, she got blackout drunk off of beer (what happened to that hard liquor rule?) and kissed another guy. She never told R.

Up until this point, I have been elated for all of my friends who have gotten married or engaged. Everyone has seemed to fit so perfectly together, to complement each other, and really benefit from their unions. Except for R. and B. I can not go to a wedding and pretend to be happy for my dear friend and the woman he is settling for.

That little RSVP card sits on my dresser, asking far bigger questions than “Yes” or “No.”

What's your "perfect" day going to look like?

So this has been bothering me for the past couple of weeks. Three, to be exact. Ever since my sister's wedding. That beautiful wedding, on a beach, full of laughter and fun. Because I was asked what kind of wedding I would like. And I could not, honestly, or at all, come up with an answer.

I know all little girls everywhere are supposed to have dreamt up this fantasy wedding from the time they were, I don't know, teething or something, or the time they first tasted cake or whatever. If movies are anything to go by (and movies always tell the truth!) five-year-old girls everywhere are enacting their fantasy weddings even as they con their six-year-old neighbor boy into acting like the groom (and the small boy always grows up to BE a groom, which means I've lost my chance oh no). Your wedding day is supposed to be "your" day where everything has to be "perfect" and in the effort to make it so you can become a monstrous bridezilla and make everyone dance to your tune. What's not to like and imagine and fantasize about?! No wonder little girls everywhere are bent on imagining up their wedding days instead of making mud pies and playing with dolls (trucks? sacrilege!).

Apparently I missed that memo.

If ever I thought of weddings as a kid it was in the context of barbies or on the rare occasion that I actually accompanied my parents to a wedding reception (there are only one or two in my memory...apparently nobody we knew got married between the time I was 2 and 12) all I registered was the fact that you got dressed up and ate food from buffet tables and in my little world that revolved around mommy and daddy and my sister, the bride and groom barely even made an appearance, but I inevitably spilled something on new clothes (sigh...I guess I should be thankful there were not more weddings, for how many more clothes I would have ruined!).

And so here I am, on the cusp of a quarter century, apparently of an age where I should have already picked out my wedding "theme" whatever that is and imagined up a fantasy "perfect" dress (besides, of course, the fantasy "perfect" groom) and decided upon what cake I'd have on "my" day. And I find myself without a clue.

I know what I don't want: a religious ceremony, a white dress, my parents giving me away.

And isn't that how it has always been? I knew I didn't want to do math or science, and so I found myself reading books and discussing politics. I knew I didn't want to work at a think tank and so I found myself applying to law school. I have always known what I didn't want. Knowing what I want, on the other hand, is the eternal and unanswerable question.

Well, I suppose I could start thinking about "my perfect day" now that I'm clued in about the fact that I'm supposed to have one and am supposed to have it all planned out before it even becomes a real possibility.

Or I could go save the world.

With the unfortunate yet complete and certain knowledge that if and when it happens, on this most perfect of all days I shall, without a doubt, inevitably and unremovably, spill something on my new clothes (have I mentioned I love Devil's food cake and curry of all sorts?).

In the meanwhile, I'd love to know...what would your wedding day look like? Or am I not alone in not having imagined it down to every last detail?