Sunday, October 26, 2008

love & marriage

I remember my mom preparing me for it as a child, into teenagedom, twentydom; she finally gave up with the talks of security in finding some doctor or lawyer to marry about three years ago, when she realized, after my step-dad passed, how unhappy she'd been spending the last eight years with him.

Once when she was giving me "the talk" on how a husband was necessary to obtain while I was a nubile naive princess at about 23 or so, me completely rejecting the notion enough to date the biggest losers I could find, the same step-dad actually stepped up for me, saying something like, "Now Cha (my mom), I distinctly remember Sabra saying when she was 13, that she wouldn't marry anyone until she was 31. I think she knows what she's doing, leave her alone, she'll know when she finds the right guy."

That was cool, since at the time I hadn't remembered saying that, but now that I'm 31, I've had crazy feelings that I might be ready for my first husband, and contrary to popular belief--these notions, I'm sure, have nothing to do with love as much as dating doesn't have to have anything to do with it.

Love is a word, a concept, some fairy tale expression--especially romantic love, and all that it's ever really resembled for me are: obsession, possession, and ideology wrapped into a neat four-letter word. But maybe I'm being overly cynical again, a bad habit I've been trying to break for years.

I know I sometimes crave the company of boys I want to, and have, shared intimate moments with, and appreciate the convenience of some warm tight body embracing any sporadic notion of being seduced dependably, but that's more luxury than love any day to me--a person whose freedom's been known to scream compromise and obligation in reciprocated monogamy.

Marriage to me is more about sharing stuff, looking good together walking down the street, in pictures, saying--I found this cool person that I might make babies with one day because they don't seem to piss me off like most people and I'm proud to be associated with this buddy of mine that I sex now but would still get along with if we stopped sexing and maybe we'll combine families for the holidays and go on trips together and call each other honey, husband/wife, or daddy/mommy.

I've had so much time and fun with (way too) young, gorgeous men, artists, musicians, adonis cherubs, alabaster skinned perfect penis'd vagina worshipping playtoys--I think I knew then these thoughts of settling would come.

That's why I've never even considered being serious about marriage until now; and even now I'm only halfway serious--still even occasionally getting caught up in said fun situations when I've let myself get heavy on the boozy, AND too frisky feeling for optimum health levels of self-esteem and sexual confidence, but that's more a maintenance issue.

How necessary is it, to experience marriage, to officially declare it as either lame or great depending on whatever rock star sweeps me off my feet? I don't know yet.

And with a January 26, 09 deadline to boot (since by then I'll be 32 and very proud of myself having resisted some precocious childhood urge of matrimonial compromise) I'd better not get too desperate aka husband happy.

If it happens, it happens. Even I have to remind myself of this from time-to-time, and I treat life like it's one big party.

To be cont'd...

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