don't bother reading this edition 895b

Blogs are so romantic this time of year.
Engagements, anniversaries, family trips, backyardy stuff full of sweatshirts and skinned knees and fireflies.

Swoon, swoon, swoon.

Dave told me that a friend of his is proposing to his girlfriend today, and the guy needed Dave's help.

Really?

Is a dude supposed to help another dude ask his chick to marry him?

Turns out Dave just needed to hold on to some Asti and flutes. Champagne glasses. Not musical instruments. That would be over the top. Not that champagne isn't ridiculously corny in itself, but whatever, says the girl who only likes whiskey straight and neat.

Excuse me, barkeep? There is something floating in my whiskey and it makes it taste funny.
Yes, Lora. That's ice. That's how people generally like things.

Long time listeners know that I am anti-romantic, so no one should be surprised when I say that this kind of stuff makes me want to puke in my mouth a little bit.

Do you know what I think is disgusting and archaic and sexist?
Here we go...
Surprise engagements.
The kind where the girl has no clue about anything and then all of a sudden there is a ring that she has never seen before shoved in her face like it's some type of County Fair Blue Ribbon and she is the Prize Pig.

As if an engagement is always timely, as long as it's convenient for the man.
As if every female over the age of consent is just biding her time waiting for a ring.
As if that is the most important thing in her life, above education, above career, above self.
As if she has zero say in any of it.
As if she may not have a preference in metals and stone size, shape, type, style, and setting.
As if of course the answer is yes! I'm just a girl! What else could I possibly want out of life?
As if it's cute and funny and manly to just string a girl along and make her drop hints while she waits and waits and waits and waits for that ring, and assume that she will do so forever because you are such a great catch.
As if it's cute and funny and manly to prematurely ask her to marry you and assume that she will do so because you are such a great catch.

As if.

And the thing about asking her dad?
Don't get me started.

When I got engaged I was a growedassed adult.
My dad had no say in what I did by then.
He certainly didn't have the authority to tell my boyfriend that he could marry me before I even knew there was an intention to ask ME if I wanted to get married.
My dad never had a say in what Dave does.
Have you ever tried to tell Dave what to do? Try it.
Let me know how that turns out for you.

Such billshut.
I'm such an angry little person.
I don't know why.
But I do love telling you about it.

I feel like I should apologize, but I just get really riled up when I think that someone is getting the short end of the stick. And unfortunately in our twisty weird society, I think that women get that short end way too often.
And when we don't want the June Cleaver life? We are discriminated against.
And when we do? We are discriminated against.
And when we aren't sure? Well, how can you not be sure? This is the second half of 2009. Get with it.

Can someone please tell me a very romantic, very even-keeled engagement story so I can get the half dozen that I've heard lately out of my head? So I can replace the image of a recently-engaged co-worker's face who admits that she isn't ready for marriage but she will do it anyway because everyone expects her to replaced by something loopier? And erase from my corneas the screen of the computers here that are permanently set to bluenile.com because she can't wait for him to finally ask her but she doesn't have the tits to ask him to marry her or even bring up talks of it so she just designs dreamrings for herself all day with her co-workers? I am so tired of smelling the desperation over there.

My engagement story?
We moved in together junior year of school because we were total bffs and it would be stupid and fiscally irresponsible to have two apartments or live with our dirty trippy college friends in substandard off campus housing.
We figured we would probably get married someday, so there was talk of an engagement.

I wanted an engagement dog.

I got a diamond ring.

I wonder if that dog would've been dead by now? It's been quite awhile, and I only like big dogs but they only live but so long.

I still have the ring, but it's too big. The band part. There is no such thing as a too big diamond, am I right ladies? Hello? Blood diamonds. Child labor. Sparkley.

We told our parents a few weeks later, at Christmastime.

We got married a couple years later.

There was much discussion and debate before a ring was purchased and a wedding date was set between two consenting adults so we were both happy and all wishes and hopes and dreams and swoony stuff was respected and honored.

That's how I like things in my house.

Now tell me about how you like things in yours.

Maybe next time I'll tell you my opinion on using the word fiance/fiancee.