16,425.

I haven't posted in forever, because I am not quite sure what I want to post about. Some stuff has happened, some big, most of it small, but I haven't really felt like sharing. Wait, let me back up. I have felt like sharing, but I have lost a bit of courage in sharing something in particular, because it involves a serious topic, one that is frequently the center of vicious, passionate debate, mostly by people who aren't even involved in the issue at hand.

Oh, hell. Let's talk. It's a Friday, I got paid, and tonight I'm having pizza and red wine for dinner. All in all, a pretty good day, so whatever, right? Let's do this.

What I'm talking about is same sex marriage and the reason that I hesitated to mention it on here is because it isn't my story to tell, not really, just like it's really not anyone's business what grown ups do in their bedrooms or at the court house or at the altar. I guess you can tell where I stand on this issue, and let me tell you, my rainbow flag flies high and proud.

It's the story of my godfathers, Bob and Jeff, and my family and I were lucky enough and honored and blessed to attend their wedding. It was a beautiful wedding, on the rooftop of an old hotel under a breezy San Diego sky before sunset. And that sunset struck me, in a bittersweet way, because Bob and Jeff are in their seventies. They had to wait this long, close to the sunset of life, to get to marry one another. That makes me want to cry.

I am, however, immensely proud that my daughter was a flower girl, the only one that walked down the aisle aside from my godfathers. I'm so proud she was part of, in my opinion, a little sliver of history, part of this union that took 45 years before it could come to fruition. Bob and Jeff, hands clasped, vows on their lips, friends and family behind them. Two partners standing in dappled sunlight that shone on the silver of their hair, the silver that should not have been there on their wedding day. Theirs should have been dark heads of hair above strong, youthful shoulders that had yet to carry the weight of the world upon them. They should have been married nearly half a century ago, but for some ridiculous reason it has been denied them until now.

I don't care how you feel about gay marriage. Get your own blog if you want to complain about it. I just wanted to put my thoughts out there, share my happiness that they were finally wed after so many decades, my sorrow that it took that many decades, and pride that I was there, that I saw it, that my kid danced to disco with family and friends, and with a bunch of amazing gay men who dressed much better than I and I don't care how stereotypical that sounds, because I did NOT match a rhinestone brooch to my burgundy suit jacket.

So, 16,425 toasts to you, Bob and Jeff, one for every day of your 45 years together.

Do You Remember When 21 Was Old?

Apparently I've been inspired by music lately. I'm listening to Phoenix's "Countdown" and in it is the line above: Do you remember when 21 was old?

And so much of me responded instantly. My emotions, my heart, my memories, my wistful smile. Because I DO remember when 21 felt So Grown Up. So OLD. My GOD I'm 21, I'm so old, how did I live this long? And it's not even medieval times.

I'm 34 now and I know everyone older, even by a year, will be all "OH BUT YOU ARE SO YOUNG" and I know that, I feel that way. I've been the person I am my whole life, so I still identify as a 10 year old, 15 year old, 20 year old and so on. Luckily for me, I will always feel young. Anyone else, or is that just me? I mean, the root of my name means youthful, so maybe I'm one of the lucky ones, who knows.

I hate, though, how people are so eager to over-age themselves, to edge themselves out of the game, so to speak, by claiming old age, even though they're only 28, 32, 45 or so on. I hear from a lot of 65 year olds how they wish they could be 50 again. So if a 50 year old ever tells me "Oh well, I am too old for that sort of thing," then I am going to be like, "Girl, there are a ton of 60 year olds that want to slap the shit out of you."
But then here's another thing, I do tend to look back on my 20s wistfully. I miss those years because my God man, they were fun and they flew by way too quickly. Sure, they were tumultuous and full of emotion because that is what youth is for. Remember your first crush? I LOVE HIM FOREVER MOMMY I WILL NEVER WANT TO LET HIM hey what's on Nickelodeon right now?

So, my point is, I'm already looking back on the first chunk of my 30s with some nostalgia and... not sorrow but perhaps regret that I lived it too quickly, always waiting for the weekend to roll around, for summer, for Christmas, for a party, for my pregnancy to end so I could meet my child, for the newborn stage to finish up already so I can just fucking GO TO SLEEP, and so on and so forth.

Todd and I joke around about how by Tuesday evening, the week is over. I stay home Wednesdays and Thursdays, so those days fly by for both of us: Todd works those days so they're jam packed. Mine are busy with chores and spending quality time for Alex, and that makes them sweep along all too quickly for me, as well. And then it's Friday. And then we take a deep breath, and suddenly it's 2014, my child will be in preschool soon and will be four years old in as many months.

I'll be 40 before I know it, then 50, 60, 70 and so forth. I just hope I'm not constantly looking backwards, being nostalgic, wishing I could go back. I want to look forward too, but also make sure I look around, appreciate every little minute of my life, and appreciate that right there on THAT DAY, whatever day it is, is the youngest I'll ever be for the rest of my life, that I am in the sunrise of the rest of my life, the spring, never the summer, never the autumn, never sunset, and not think about growing older, time passing by so damn quickly, as it is wont to do. I will always be the most vigorous version of myself, for however much more time I'm awarded.

I wish I could live forever, I do. Sounds immature, lacking in wisdom? Remember, my name means youthful! But since I can't, I guess I can just try to live it as much in the present as I can, with as much enthusiasm as I had when I was a baby of 21, but with better skin and a better credit rating.

We'll Always Have Paris.

There's this great song I heard the other day, driving Todd's truck since he took the Child Friendly Vehicle to Alexandra's dance class. It's called Paris, by Magic Man.

I sat in the driveway, transfixed by its beauty, engine off because Todd's truck is so cool that the radio still plays when you shut the truck off. Finally I memorized the name of both song and artist (GOD JIL IT IS THREE WORDS) and then enthusiastically ran into the house to share with Todd my new found musical treasure.

"Babe, I just heard the coolest song and I have to buy it!" I say, putting my sunglasses on the mantle by the door, kicking off my flats because UGH THEY HURT MY FEET SO BAD GOD FLATS UGH.

"Oh yeah? What's the song?" he says from the kitchen, where he is enjoying a quick snack before teaching Kung Fu.

"It's this song by Magic Man, called "Paris" and I wanna buy it," I say, rounding the corner right into the kitchen, where I come face to face with a grinning husband.

"Too late, because I already bought that song two weeks ago."

And then we high five, because love and awesomeness and we are perfect together, and because that's not even the first time that's happened.

I'm sure loads of people will be all "we love the same stuff too," and that's great. But for me, I think about how my favorite band will always be Pixies and Todd's will always be Metallica; I know that those dudes do from time to time scream on the same intensity level, but they're still pretty different. I mean, has James Hetfield ever sung about how birds dream of the Olympus Mons? (Did I lose you yet, mom?) Anyways, taking that into consideration, and simultaneously considering the overwhelming amount of music out there, especially when you have Sirius and Pandora to explore instead of the singular playlist of 10 songs that every goddamn radio station seems to glance off of, it feels pretty spectacular when it happens to us.

The first time this sort of thing occurred, Todd and I were pretty new to iTunes. We also had yet to buy Sirius, which we have on Todd's truck, which has an option to hit "info," which tells you the name of the band and of the song. WHICH WHICH WHICH

 So we're Googling away on a Saturday night, trying to remember lyrics of songs we'd heard on the radio. I wanted one song, he, another.

Me: "It's like, "baby cause I'm yelling at you, it's not your fault, it's not your fault, yeah"

And

Todd: "I don't know, it's just sort of slow and dark and I think he says "sail!" a lot."

Well, we Googled it, and for those who know, well, you know, but those who aren't, not only did both songs happen to be by the band Awolnation, but they also happened to be on the same album. They sound so different, those songs, but our interest in one band dovetailed, unbeknownst to us, during that search.

We did a high five that night, too.

I don't know, I just love those moments, however simple and arbitrary, where God or the universe or both take over in order to say, "Hey, it's a good thing y'all met on that sidewalk eight years ago. Because you're perfect for each other. It took us some time, but we moved your worlds so they'd collide. Enjoy the soundtrack."