Grad School, Semester 1: Check!

After 16 weeks of classes, group projects, slacking, email sending, proofreading, working, studying, and complaining, I am pleased to announce that I took my last final yesterday.

At only one point during it did I want to kick the professor in the face (hate it when they ask questions that were not in the homework). I'll call it a success. Or at least over.

Now all that's left to do is kick back, wait for the grades, and hope that I kept the scholarships.

I have so much free time now. It's delightful.

This is Nice...

I woke up about half an hour ago. Made myself some breakfast: two eggs (the same thing Nate made for breakfast - judging by the perfectly washed fry pan and spatula drying on the stove) and some yogurt with blueberries and cornflakes.

It's quiet in the apartment. Except for the hum of the air conditioner and my clicking keyboard keys, there are literally no noises. A no-noise state is still a novelty to me. I love the peace and quiet, and enjoy it now, since I'm sure quiet stretches like this will become more and more rare as life goes on.

I have to leave for work in about an hour and a half, so I have just enough free time to enjoy, without having the day stretch before me. It's going to be good.

I'm curious to see how the huzb is doing. This is the first day that he has worked first shift in quite some time. He is giddy because: a) he only has a 10 hour day to work, instead of a 12 b) he will be finished with work during daylight hours so c) he can go for a swim/bike/run. Delightful, I'm sure. I just get stuck on the fact that he had to wake up at 4:00 A.M. for this delightful mere 10 hour shift. Ewww. How he does it is beyond me. I simply could not function, but he somehow does. He is pretty awesome!

Time to make the bed and wash the egg pan.

Guess What?

Hey Terribly-Neglected Blog!

Guess what I did 51 days ago?

I got married! Woo Hoo!!

Crazy stuff.


P.S. This wasn't a huge surprise. When I titled you, blog, I purposely didn't call you "mderaedt525," which is my usual go-to username, since I knew the "DeRaedt" would soon be defunct. A pity, since I love that last name. I ain't used to my new one yet. It isn't quite as cool and it doesn't have a capital R. Still, it does have that one guy that I love lots, and that's pretty good.


Love,
Meaghan

Today has been a roughish day. But I just found something that amused me greatly.

An old Xanga post, dated November 6, 2007 features this great sentence.
"I need a new excuse, guys. "I'm still in high school" has ceased to give me social leprosy."

Now, this was a few years back, so I can't say with total certainty who it refers to, but it's either:

a.) Frat Boy 2

or

b.) Almost husband


Awesome

Why is it that I can have so many coherent thoughts in my head, but when I come to write them down, they vanish? It's most perplexing.

So I'll talk wedding instead.

I got several wedding planning books out of the library recently. One, I brought with me to work today. It's the Bridal Bargain Wedding Planner by Denise and Alan Fields. I was paging through all 300 pages of it, seeing pages and pages of stuff that I (the bride) need to accomplish.

Oye.

One, I am the bride. (Last thing I remember, I was 11 and getting my ears pierced, so, personally, I regard my bridal state as highly suspect.) How the heck did that happen?! Ok, I'm not a moron. I understand that I am the bride because an awesome man dropped to one knee and asked me to walk with him through life and I said yes. So, technically he asked me to be a wife. Now, the wife business, I'm all on board with. I even understand that I can't be a wife without being a bride, and I'm quite happy with being a bride - as far as it goes.

It's the bridey bride part I can't handle. Books such as the afore mentioned planner create in me a bizarre cocktail of emotions. So far, such ingredients as panic, apathy, dread, and disgust have been identified. I get panicky when I realize all the stuff that I'm expected to do. Case in point, checklists.

Now, two points about checklists.

• I happen to adore making lists of things I have to do. It focuses me and actually helps me get a lot done. Plus, crossing things off is unspeakably satisfying to me.
  
• Checklists in books oppress my very soul.
  

Checklists where you detail who your bridesmaids are, what they're wearing, where they live, everything short of a SSN, cause my eyes to glaze over. Checklists with questions to ask videographers, photographers, florists, bakers, and who knows what other kinds of folk I'm obliged to coordinate, dizzy me. Everywhere I turn, it seems, is a wedding checklist, purporting to be helpful.

To some people, I'm willing to assume this lists are, in fact, useful and assuage stress. However, they suck the life from me. See, I think my problem is that, when I see 8,610 checklists, I freeze up and don't know which way to attack the situation first. I am a problem solver at heart (my inheritance from my father, I suspect), but I solve things by keeping track of them in my head or by writing them out. I can't vomit my ideas onto a pre-written checklist and expect it to remind me of anything. It's carefully controlled insanity within my brain.

For example, there are many decisions that have already been made that I no longer need to worry about. I know what I have to think about and get nailed down soon. Guest list and invites. See? That's very simple and manageable. I don't need an oppressive lavender printed checklist to tell me this. After that, other stuff. I'll figure it out after the guest list is done.

Favors? Not going to make an appearance. If any of my gentle readers attend the blessed event, please do not be disappointed in the lack of individual bags of Jordan almonds, or a mini soap, or bubbles, or bells. Don't get me wrong, such things can be delightful touches - but I haven't the mental capacity to handle them. A quick cost-benefit analysis shows the rationality of this. Meaghan stressed and ready to scrap the whole thing and run down to the courthouse over mini bells? Or. Meaghan happy and looking forward to a less cookie-cutter day where people can clink their forks against their drinking glasses if they want to watch the newlyweds smooch? The bride's peace of mind or bags of Jordan almonds? Granted, I have a severe conflict of interest in making this assessment - but I think it's safe to say that favors won't be missed much.

I have a hard time explaining this to people. I am very excited for my wedding. I'm excited to have a big party and wear a gorgeous dress and marry the man I love. But. The thought that the wedding might be, "wedding-y" - to the point where it can't be distinguished from any other wedding, is the polar opposite of what I'd like. I'm not going to have 5 bridesmaids. My hair will not be in an updo. There will be neither programs nor favors. My wonderful groom may purchase his attire - it probably will not be a tux because he doesn't like them.

Don't get me wrong. Updos, a bridal party of ten, tux rentals, and programs are not really a huge issue. They're good, wedding-y things that work very well for most people. They just don't work for me.

And when I see checklists detailing how to execute a cookie cutter wedding that just ain't for me - oye.

My brothers did something really cool the other day.

I got my wedding dress back from the seamstress, and it was hanging from the bookcase in my room - a white robed white robe of an albatross.

Clearly it couldn't stay there for the next four months. I tried to think of free closet spaces, and was drawing a blank. I posed this question to my brothers, did they know of a spot where this behemoth could be kept safely?

The looks on their faces were awesome.

"Yeah!!! We totally have room in our closet! Off to the side! We don't hang anything over on that side! It should totally fit!!"

Once I got it next door, they flung their closet doors open to reveal the space. They shoved aside "stupid pants that Charlie is waiting to grow into" and pushed the paintball guns and sundry weaponry aside.

Zack expressed concern about the suitability of the space, "Ohhh, I'm not sure if it will fit. It's going to drag and touch the guns! It can't get dirty! Is it ok because it's in a bag?"

I decided to put my faith in the protective qualities of the garment bag, and lobbed the rest of the skirt over the pile of ammunition boxes to rest on the instruments used to hurl small objects quickly across long distances.

And Z and Charlie beamed like crazy to be able to help out and guard something of such importance.

......

It's perfect.

I love my brothers. They are the coolest.