Freaks and Other Friends

My five year college reunion is this June. I know, five years, big deal. But my college is very big on togetherness and I suppose a lot of my friends from school will be there. The Object of My Affection and I will probably go. Rock Starr will want to hang out with his former roommates while I'll probably want to hide from mine.

My Best Friend of the Ever Changing Name (Eva for short) and I will probably drink a lot and make fun of people. My fear of going to reunion, however, is that I'll run into someone who might make me pretty uncomfortable.

My freshman year I met a girl who became my best friend. We were inseparable. We did everything together. We disliked the same people, had stupid nicknames for each other, had a lot of the same interests. Then I met Omar. And she didn't like that. She did, however, decide she liked Omar. Clearly, Omar stuck with me. I mean, hello, we're getting married. I don't think dating Former Best Friend ever occurred to him. But while all my other friends, including Eva, knew that FBF was on a mission to break Omar and I up, Omar and I remained oblivious and unhappy. Omar and I would have an argument and I would go tell FBF. FBF would pretend to take my side and cluck at me sympathetically, but as soon as I left her house, she'd go see Omar and tell him that she was there for him and that I could be difficult but she understood him.

Omar is a good man. Always has been. Always will be. When he's friends with someone, he's friends with them forever. You could never ask for a better person to have on your team than Omar. And that fucking girl took advantage of his friendship to try and worm her way between us. Every time Omar and I had problems she was there encouraging me to think twice about staying with him or encouraging him to consider whether or not he was being fair to me and himself by staying together. Clearly, she was not nearly as good as it as she thought was and she was in no way successful.

The only reason I found out about most of this was because she tried to do the same thing to Eva, except Eva caught on a hell of a lot faster than I did. While I was defending some of FBF's actions to Eva one night (because I was still in the dark and naively believed that Eva was misinterpreting FBF's behavior), Eva finally told me the whole story (this was after we had graduated). I cried for three hours after I got off the phone with her. When I asked Eva why no one had told me (and like I said, everyone had known), Eva said it was because no one wanted to hurt my feelings or alienate me because they felt sorry for me that my best friend was such a fucking bitch.

Because of the shit FBF had pulled, Eva and I became closer and I can now say that she's my closest female friend. So in some ways, I'm grateful for all that because I wouldn't trade Eva's friendship for anything. But the thought of FBF both enrages me and saddens me because I spent some of the best times of my life with her. We traveled all through Europe together when we were exchange students, did crazy shit in college that sounds stupid now but was funny at the time (tag in the quad, hide and seek in the library, midnight margaritas, Bruce Willis movie marathons, dying hair while drunk), and took road trips that we would shriek with laughter about for days afterwards.

After all this shit with Eva happened, we heard from other friends from school that FBF had some emotional problems none of us had known about and that those had probably been a huge factor in her fixations on the boyfriends of her friends. So when I heard she was sick, I was pretty relieved because it meant that most, if not all, of the times we'd been so close in college had been real. It would have sucked to think back on all those times and think that they were fake for her because they were very real for me. For three years, I felt closer to her than Baby Sis in some ways. I talked to her about stuff I didn't talk to anyone about. Finding out that she had badmouthed me around campus in the last couple months before graduation had been devastating and humiliating and infuriating. So finding out she was borderline crazy was actually a relief.

So now here's my question. If she comes to reunion, how the hell do I treat her if I see her? Do I acknowledge the fact she fucked me over or do I just greet her politely like an acquaintance? I haven't spoken to her in four and a half years. To be perfectly honest, there are days I do miss her. She made me laugh more than anyone else except Omar and Baby Sis. Part of me doesn't believe she'll come to reunion. And part of me has a feeling she'll show up to make trouble.

Omar has counseled forgiveness here. But Omar, while affected by her nefarious plot and angered by it (he hates being manipulated), didn't grieve over that lost friendship like I did. Eva says to hell with her and moved on. If she's still hurt by FBF's behavior, she keeps it to herself. There are some things Eva and I do not discuss and FBF is at the top of that list (so is the fact Omar had a serious crush on her once, but that was before he ever met me). So I can't really talk to Eva about this except to say do you think she'll be there?

I don't know. I do know I'll hang out with Eva and Omar's roommates and a couple of my old roommates and friends and we'll get drunk and reminisce (which we do every time we all see each other at weddings and at our annual camping trip in July that we all go on) and we'll probably have a great time. But I know that whole weekend I'll wonder if she came to reunion and if she didn't I'll wonder if it was because she was embarrassed to face us or if she just didn't care enough to come. And if she doesn't come, I'll be really, really relieved.

Is that petty?

Dear JJ Abrams

Dear JJ Abrams,

Please stop making Sydney and Vaughn boring. This is the only t.v. show I watch and I used to genuinely enjoy it. If you could bring them back to second half of season 2 Syd and Vaughn (the ones who couldn't keep their hands off each other and had interesting conversations), I'd be very grateful.

Love, Lucy

PS - Nadia is annoying. Make her go away. While I give you points for not making her nearly as annoying as Lauren was, she's still annoying. And boring. Get back to Sydney trying to take down evil people.

The Bumpy Ride Begins

Looking at reception sites, knowing that your first choice is already booked, is depressing. I wanted to get married in this beautiful hotel near my hometown, but it was booked for both days of the weekend we picked. And I don't want to change my date because I've already changed it twice to accommodate people I don't even like that much.

So we looked at one place first. It took all of ten minutes. The woman who showed us the place had no personality, was rude, and gave no sense that she had any interest in booking the place for us. The outside of the building is shabby and the landscape didn't look great (it was also covered by three feet of snow that will not melt until the Apocolypse. Just a tip to those considering moving to the northeast: go to Hawaii instead). We drove off liking the price and the convenience, but not the attitude or the look.

The second place we looked at was the complete opposite. We spent over an hour and a half with the sales rep, were walked through both the room and every detail we could possibly think of for the reception. We left there convinced that's where we were going to book. Until we got home, did the math, realized it was incredibly expensive and that the two hour gap between the end of the service and the start of the reception was seriously an issue.

So I fell apart. Completely. Got whiny and upset. I didn't realize this was going to be so hard or this expensive. Rock Starr and I were just blown away by all the things we hadn't thought about. Mom was great, totally supportive and positive. Stayed upbeat and wouldn't let me get down. Daddy-O told me I was overreacting and to stop it. Needless to say, we didn't stay long after dinner was over since my father had kind of made me feel even worse about myself.

We got home and both of us headed straight for the advil and the chocolate cake in the fridge. Both were restorative. Then the Object of My Affection did something that made me feel both simultaneously better and worse. He went online and found seven more sites to possibly hold a reception. He took notes and had phone numbers. Omar has an evil job where he sometimes doesn't even get a lunch break, and yet tomorrow he will take time out from the evil job to call those places because he wants me to have a day to relax and not think about the wedding.

When he found all those places, I will confess I got very upset. I started blubbering and feeling totally inadequate as a bride to be. Omar had previously expressed zero interest in wedding planning until I screwed it up. In a half an hour, he got further than I did in a week. And Omar was fabulous about it. He told me I was the best girlfriend in ten states (after six years of calling me girlfriend, he has a hard time with fiancee. It's okay with me, though). (BTW: Jay Leno is not funny. I hate March Madness because it preempts Letterman. I'd watch the Daily Show, but we don't get cable in the room with the computer.) I think he could tell how totally overwhelmed I was feeling after just one failure. I hate to fail. I hate being wrong and I hate not getting my way. Omar is the best man I've ever met. He found seven places that he'll call on his lunch break because he feels bad that I feel bad. How did I get so lucky?

Okay, seriously, Jay Leno sucks. But Dennis Lehane does not. Read Shutter Island. One of the best books I've read this year. I read Ben Affleck was going to direct a film adaptation of Gone Baby Gone. I will not go see it if he casts bad actors in those films. I love the Kenzie/Gennaro series and if he casts Jennifer Garner or Leonardo DiCaprio or someone like that in the film I'll scream. Not that I don't love Jennifer Garner, because Alias is my favorite t.v. show, the only one I never, ever miss. But she is so wrong for Angie. Jay Leno, you are not funny. Shut. Up.

Easter is Sunday. Omar and I are spending it with the Extended Family, including Oldest Uncle and Youngest Uncle. Middle Uncle can't come. It should be an interesting weekend. I am particularly looking forward to spending time with Baby Sis. She's one of my most favorite people, ever.

So I wasn't cut out to be a wedding planner. Maybe I can be a film critic or a book reviewer instead. Maybe Omar should quit his Evil Job and be a wedding planner. Maybe I should just go to bed and try not to obsess about my wedding.

Truth Universally Acknowledged

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman who decides to have a wedding has completely lost her sanity.

Let me tell you two things about me: I'm getting married and it's making me crazy.

I got engaged on my twenty-seventh birthday, which coincidentally fell on the same night as Game One of the ALCS. So I got one of the two things I wanted for my birthday: my engagement ring (the less said about Game One the better, although I suppose since my beloved Red Sox came back and slaughtered the Yankees later on that week, I have absolutely nothing to be bitter over).

Anyway, I got engaged on my birthday. Unlike most brides to be, I didn't immediately set a date and start planning my future with the Object of My Affection. No, I work in the wonderful world known as Retail. And October through February is my busiest time of year as a manager for one of the better known retailers in the world. You can just refer to my job as corporate slavery. Don't get me wrong, I adore my job. I love the people I work with, I love my co-managers and my district manager and all the managers who work in my district, except for the Ghetto Whore. But I believe Randall said it best in Clerks when he said, "This job would be great if it weren't for the fuckin' customers."

So I had to wait to set my date and start looking for reception sites, etc. So now, here it is, almost six months later, and I haven't booked my reception. Or my photograper. Or my DJ. Or my florist. I haven't even conclusively settled a date with the priest yet. The Object of My Affection (Rock Starr) has an evil job that requires him to wear a cell phone twenty four hours a day and cut short his vacations. So we've done NOTHING. And I refuse to make any decisions by myself because Omar will fucking bitch for the rest of our lives if I make the wrong one.

Don't get me wrong: Omar generally lets me do whatever the hell I want. But we're paying for the wedding mostly by ourselves. So we need to do this together. Tomorrow we're going to look at two receptions sites, as long as the snow doesn't keep us stuck here. We're getting married in a different state, at the church where I was baptized, which means a lot of driving back and forth. And since my parents live in the same town as the church, we're going to be spending a lot of time with them.

I love my parents. My dad is one of the coolest human beings alive. Totally laid back and gentlemanly and well-read and intelligent and funny. My mom is the best mom anyone could ever have. She's smart and funny, loves to travel and watch sports and read. She is the best person to call when you have a bad day because she always knows the best thing to say to make you feel better about yourself. Growing up the three of us had our issues. And when you bring Baby Sis into the mix, that place could be pretty loud sometimes. But generally, it's a household of cool, funny, happy people who genuinely enjoy each other's company.

Until I told my mom I was getting married.

She calls me. Every day. Every day. I am twenty-seven years old. I have not lived at home in five years. I paid off my car by myself, got a great job on my own, remember (most of the time) to pay my bills in an orderly fashion. And yet she calls. Every day. Did I call the priest about the date? Did I set a date? Have I looked at wedding dresses? Who's going to be in the wedding? How many people are Omar's parents inviting? Did I remember to put So and So on the guest list? Her friend Martha's daughter got married six years ago and her videographer only charged them $400. Have I called around? Did I set up my retirement fund? Did I call the doctor yet? You know, tax is season is almost over. Have I done my taxes?

She is driving me crazy.

My dad is the other extreme. He never talks about the wedding. As far as I can tell, his oldest daughter getting married is just another Saturday errand he's going to have to run next May. Not that my dad seems to mind my getting married; he and Omar get along pretty well. But it seems to bore him.

Of course, I don't live at home anymore. For all I know, he hears about the wedding twenty-four/seven. He may be as sick of it as I am. And I'm the one getting married.

I'm not afraid of marriage. The Object of My Affection (whom I occasionally call Rock Starr because of his adorable habit of dancing around and singing when he wants to make me smile) and I have been together for over six years. We've known for the last four that we were eventually going to make this committment together. We've spoken intelligently about career goals, kids, money, where we'd like to live. But the goddamn wedding may make both us insane. The money is the biggest part of the insanity. Weddings cost a lot of money. We don't have a lot of money. Today we opened a joint bank account. For the wedding. It seems like everything we do these days revolves around the wedding. When did I let one event take over my life?

Oh, I remember. When I got engaged.

I know complaining about all this makes me sound ungrateful. Truly, I'm not. I love Rock Starr and I want to spend my whole life with him. And there is this secret girly part of me that desperately wants this big fiasco. So hold on and fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy ride.