Last night while making dinner Zach and I started goofing of, teasing each other and generally horsing around. It started with a teasing comment here, a tickle there, and eventually escalated to me threateningly with a small glass of water.
Z- "You won't do that."
G - "What makes you so sure?"
Z - "Because if you do that, I won't get the chicken ready, and I know you well enough to know that one emotion will always win - laziness."
G - That's what we get for being one of those couples that talks to each other, shares things and gets to know each other."
Z - "Yes. It leads to nothing but emotional blackmail and manipulation. No positive repercussions whatsoever."
G - "That's it. No more namby pamby emotional sharing stuff for us."
Z- "I love you too, dear."
Showing posts with label zach. Show all posts
Showing posts with label zach. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
That one time I got engaged on Int'l Womens Day
Happy International Women's Day everyone! Women are awesome. I'm awesome. I'd say more, but I've already fulfilled my feminist quota for the week here, so hey, did I ever tell you about that one time I got engaged on Int'l women's day? Well I did.
Zach and I started dating in mid-February 2007; by March 8, 2008 we had been dating for over a year aka nearly an eternity in BYU terms. Really, even if it had "felt right" or an angel had come down with a flaming sword, or whatever the reason is people jump into an eternal commitment after a few weeks of chastely dry humping, I don't think our pride would have let us seal the deal any sooner. As previously evidenced, I engage in a little "friendly" mocking of quicky engagements. The hypocrisy of being one myself would have eaten me alive. In fairness we actually hadn't been living in the same place during the summer and fall, as I had abandoned him for summer employment and then an internship in DC, but come winter term we were finally reunited in good old Provo.
Ah, and what grand times we had. I think we had been mildly terrified of actually dating in person after 8 months of cell-phone and IM courtship. Surprisingly, everything just sort of fell into place, and we became a nauseatingly cute, attached at the hip couple in no time flat.
Not being entirely immune to the BYU matrimonial pheromones, and facing imminent graduation, we started broaching the "M" subject with increasing frequency. About a month in, "should" or "if" started to be replaced by "when."
Well, at least for me. Zach seemed positively inclined, but in general he's the type that like to think things over forever, and will not make any decisions until he has been 100% certain for a really long time. I'm a little more, well lets just call it "intuitive." I'd like to say that I patiently waited for him to be sure. That I realized that it would be best if he was as sure as I was, and pushing him would be stupid. I did, mostly. The only time I really lost my cool was when he started discussing grad school plans, and how maybe we could live together sexlessly if "we" decided not to get married quite yet. I think I was justified for a minor blow up over that. Well and the time we went out for a fancy symphony date for our anniversary, and he only went to one knee to tie his shoe. I was great for the date, but the next day I was a little bitchy. But, I got over it, and recommitted to being patient, respectful and less of a crazy person.
I was trying to be a good, sane girlfriend/human being, when Zach asked me if I wanted to go walk around Provo canyon Saturday morning. I had a hunch of what his real motivation might be, partially because I'm not stupid, but mostly because we only went to Provo canyon to make out more intensely and privately than was possible in our respective apartments. (My former roommates may not believe it, but we honestly did try to not be overly obnoxious lust bunnies. I swear.) Still, as part of my non-crazy vow, I tried to avoid fixating.
When he came to pick me up on Saturday he had a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates for my roommates and I in celebration of our womeness for Int'l womens day/because he is a smart man. A few chocolates latter and we headed off to the canyon. Where we walked around. And walked some more. What we did not do was stop in any nice pretty spot. What he did not do was propose. We just walked, until we started walking back to the car, thereby killing my hopes and my dreams for one more day ( I sound like one of those crazy, Gollumlike must get a ring girls, don't I? Does it help that it wasn't so much a must get married as it was a being crazy about Zach and wanting to marry him now? Maybe? A little?)
A little before the parking lot he pulled me into a little grove of trees, got down on one knee, and said something. I'm sure I was listening intently at the time, but I have no idea now. I remember it being very sweet, and the phrase "Will you marry me?" was used at some point, but actual words, eh, not so much.
But the feeling, oh that I remember. It was like an explosion and a stillness all it once. Where all of my emotions were flooding and overpowering me with the force of it all, while I just stood there in perfect serenity. It was powerful and scary and perfect and right all at once.
While I don't remember his words, I do remember mine. I first responded with an exuberant "of course I'll marry you!" grabbing him into an embrace by his coat. While we were wrapped in each others arms, I tenderly whispered in his ear that if he was joking, I would "rip his spine out," because that's just the kind of sweet mood killing girl I am. And with that we were engaged.
We laughed and teared up, called family (My Dad's response upon answering the phone? "What do you want? When he finally let me share what was going on, after initial congratulations, he started talking about how he was so glad I didn't marry my ex. Which I suppose is kind of like giving approval.), began weeks of overly careful and analytical ring shopping, and just tried to take it all in for the rest of the day.
Best women's day ever. So far it's turned out to be a decent decision.
Zach and I started dating in mid-February 2007; by March 8, 2008 we had been dating for over a year aka nearly an eternity in BYU terms. Really, even if it had "felt right" or an angel had come down with a flaming sword, or whatever the reason is people jump into an eternal commitment after a few weeks of chastely dry humping, I don't think our pride would have let us seal the deal any sooner. As previously evidenced, I engage in a little "friendly" mocking of quicky engagements. The hypocrisy of being one myself would have eaten me alive. In fairness we actually hadn't been living in the same place during the summer and fall, as I had abandoned him for summer employment and then an internship in DC, but come winter term we were finally reunited in good old Provo.
Ah, and what grand times we had. I think we had been mildly terrified of actually dating in person after 8 months of cell-phone and IM courtship. Surprisingly, everything just sort of fell into place, and we became a nauseatingly cute, attached at the hip couple in no time flat.
Not being entirely immune to the BYU matrimonial pheromones, and facing imminent graduation, we started broaching the "M" subject with increasing frequency. About a month in, "should" or "if" started to be replaced by "when."
Well, at least for me. Zach seemed positively inclined, but in general he's the type that like to think things over forever, and will not make any decisions until he has been 100% certain for a really long time. I'm a little more, well lets just call it "intuitive." I'd like to say that I patiently waited for him to be sure. That I realized that it would be best if he was as sure as I was, and pushing him would be stupid. I did, mostly. The only time I really lost my cool was when he started discussing grad school plans, and how maybe we could live together sexlessly if "we" decided not to get married quite yet. I think I was justified for a minor blow up over that. Well and the time we went out for a fancy symphony date for our anniversary, and he only went to one knee to tie his shoe. I was great for the date, but the next day I was a little bitchy. But, I got over it, and recommitted to being patient, respectful and less of a crazy person.
I was trying to be a good, sane girlfriend/human being, when Zach asked me if I wanted to go walk around Provo canyon Saturday morning. I had a hunch of what his real motivation might be, partially because I'm not stupid, but mostly because we only went to Provo canyon to make out more intensely and privately than was possible in our respective apartments. (My former roommates may not believe it, but we honestly did try to not be overly obnoxious lust bunnies. I swear.) Still, as part of my non-crazy vow, I tried to avoid fixating.
When he came to pick me up on Saturday he had a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates for my roommates and I in celebration of our womeness for Int'l womens day/because he is a smart man. A few chocolates latter and we headed off to the canyon. Where we walked around. And walked some more. What we did not do was stop in any nice pretty spot. What he did not do was propose. We just walked, until we started walking back to the car, thereby killing my hopes and my dreams for one more day ( I sound like one of those crazy, Gollumlike must get a ring girls, don't I? Does it help that it wasn't so much a must get married as it was a being crazy about Zach and wanting to marry him now? Maybe? A little?)
A little before the parking lot he pulled me into a little grove of trees, got down on one knee, and said something. I'm sure I was listening intently at the time, but I have no idea now. I remember it being very sweet, and the phrase "Will you marry me?" was used at some point, but actual words, eh, not so much.
But the feeling, oh that I remember. It was like an explosion and a stillness all it once. Where all of my emotions were flooding and overpowering me with the force of it all, while I just stood there in perfect serenity. It was powerful and scary and perfect and right all at once.
While I don't remember his words, I do remember mine. I first responded with an exuberant "of course I'll marry you!" grabbing him into an embrace by his coat. While we were wrapped in each others arms, I tenderly whispered in his ear that if he was joking, I would "rip his spine out," because that's just the kind of sweet mood killing girl I am. And with that we were engaged.
We laughed and teared up, called family (My Dad's response upon answering the phone? "What do you want? When he finally let me share what was going on, after initial congratulations, he started talking about how he was so glad I didn't marry my ex. Which I suppose is kind of like giving approval.), began weeks of overly careful and analytical ring shopping, and just tried to take it all in for the rest of the day.
Best women's day ever. So far it's turned out to be a decent decision.
(Us, today)
Saturday, January 16, 2010
The price of a good nap
Zach really, really wants us to live in a foreign country someday. Really, really, really. Whenever it comes up, I generally give him one of my oh so expressive looks and wryly comment that of course he does, he already speaks 5 languages, and if we moved anywhere, it would be because he had some sort of employment. Meanwhile I would get to wander about a strange country, trying to communicate with strangers in a sad version of charades. I suppose I could try to learn another language, but a wasted 3 years of high school french has left be a bit skeptical of my abilities. Zach is freakishly gifted at languages, and does not understand how anyone could take that many language classes and still know nothing. Occasionally he'll ask me a question about a french word and then looks at me in amazement when I irritably remind him how little french is actually in my head. As a special bonus, I would also get to try to convince employers that the stupid American with the foreign law degree really would be an asset and is well worth hiring and giving money to so that she can pay her student loans.
Recently Zach has begun to introduce an argument that could actually sway me. Apparently in many countries, it is customary to take a decent sized break in the afternoon to come home and unwind for a bit. In other words, they have a guaranteed nap time. And if we happened to live there, so would we.
Naps are a compelling incentive. I love my naps. Love them. It's a little harder to do in a studio when the bed is within 15ft of everything (including a less than cat like Zach), but even so I relish the times I can shut the blinds, put on some Schubert and sink into a pile of blankets and drift away from it all. The added advantage of being able to stretch out across the whole bed just makes it all the better.* I'll do almost anything for a good nap. I've put off studying, cleaning and even shopping in favor of a little extra sleep. I've taken naps in public places - yes I was one of those annoying people who would sleep in the halls at BYU. I've certainly taken naps in class, although those weren't exactly planned. So when Zach promises me nap time if I agree to move, I have to take that seriously.
It sounds to good to be true, but I think I've been willing to risk important things like grades and pride in favor of possible naps in the past and I've never regretted it. I think a move to a foreign country would be a price I'd be willing to pay for a guaranteed nap time. If he can figure out a way to get us someplace foreign, exotic and most importantly with a nap time, I think I just might be willing to go with him. Probably.
*Zach claims that I take up the whole bed regardless of whether or not he's in it. I find this a ridiculous accusation. I've seen him nap. He doesn't spread out at all. He sleeps like a straight wooden plank, he doesn't need any extra room. I on the other hand need the ability to stretch out and move around when I sleep. And yes, I suppose I do technically take up the space that is required by my needs, which is somewhat larger than the space plank man needs. But I do not sleep diagonally across the bed at night, so clearly I do adjust myself based upon his presence. It's not my fault he needs so little bed space.
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Grad School v. Law School
Zach and I are both engaged in fairly demanding programs right now- he's working on a masters degree in history and is immersed in the often narcissistic realm of academia, while my time in law school has me engaged in a self-important professional program. With both of us knee deep in upper level degrees, and with both of us having considered pursuing the track chosen by the other, I often find myself wondering who is in the most demanding program.
Most of the time I'm inclined to think that the law program is by far the harder of the two. I think the concepts are harder to grasp, the intricacies make less rational sense, and many of the cases feel like they were written by egotistical monkeys on typewriters. And I almost always take more credits than he does, and spend much more time in class. Plus if I don't learn my stuff I can potentially ruin the lives of my future clients. I'm not sure what harm a slightly off analysis of old events that will mostly be read and criticized by other academics can really cause. I'm not saying its not important, but the stakes are slightly different.
However, then there are weeks like this one. Weeks where Zach has barely slept as he pumps out paper after paper. And reads book after book after book. This is what his desk has looked like for the past month. And he's read pretty much all of those. Not to mention the books scattered in other places throughout the apartment. Outlining is its own kind of hell, and the encyclopedia sized law books are nothing to scoff at, but at least I have some desk space.
Of course, I still have a week left of finals and he's scott free until next semester. So, we'll see how long my sympathy for his program lasts (I'll give it 36 hours, tops).
Most of the time I'm inclined to think that the law program is by far the harder of the two. I think the concepts are harder to grasp, the intricacies make less rational sense, and many of the cases feel like they were written by egotistical monkeys on typewriters. And I almost always take more credits than he does, and spend much more time in class. Plus if I don't learn my stuff I can potentially ruin the lives of my future clients. I'm not sure what harm a slightly off analysis of old events that will mostly be read and criticized by other academics can really cause. I'm not saying its not important, but the stakes are slightly different.
However, then there are weeks like this one. Weeks where Zach has barely slept as he pumps out paper after paper. And reads book after book after book. This is what his desk has looked like for the past month. And he's read pretty much all of those. Not to mention the books scattered in other places throughout the apartment. Outlining is its own kind of hell, and the encyclopedia sized law books are nothing to scoff at, but at least I have some desk space.
Of course, I still have a week left of finals and he's scott free until next semester. So, we'll see how long my sympathy for his program lasts (I'll give it 36 hours, tops).
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
My desire to divorce people may be scaring my husband
So, I really really love family law. It has everything I'm looking for in a field of law - crazy stories brimming with human drama, personal lives intertwined with the political process, principles and public policy, social values and tons of feminist goodness. I actually occasionally have an odd desire to look up and read articles and other tidbits on my own free time and of my own free will. Now tell me, is there any greater love than that?
The only downside? Whenever I find something that just seems like the coolest thing ever, I like to share it with Zach. And law is so much easier to explain with hypothetical situations. And well, family law is pretty much all about marriage and divorce. And hey, we're married and explaining things using us as an example is just a great way to make things more relatable. Which is how almost every discusion about my cool new family law thing eventually involves the phrase "So if we got divorced..."
I think this may freak him out just a teeny tiny bit. Can't imagine why.
The only downside? Whenever I find something that just seems like the coolest thing ever, I like to share it with Zach. And law is so much easier to explain with hypothetical situations. And well, family law is pretty much all about marriage and divorce. And hey, we're married and explaining things using us as an example is just a great way to make things more relatable. Which is how almost every discusion about my cool new family law thing eventually involves the phrase "So if we got divorced..."
I think this may freak him out just a teeny tiny bit. Can't imagine why.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
1 Year Down
So Zach and I got married a year ago (plus one month*). At least that's what the calendar claims, and I suppose it's accurate. Really, I'm having a hard time deciding if it feels like everything just happened yesterday, or if we've been cohabitating in the shoebox since the dawn of time. Being with Zach is just such a big part of what my life is now that sometimes its hard to remember that it wasn't always this way, and yet its still such a big thing that its almost hard to fathom that yes, we are actually married.
At this point, I feel like I should go off on some syrupy sweet ode to the utter perfection and sunshine that is married life and how I'm so grateful that my white night rode in and saved me from the treachery of singledom (at the horrifically spinster age of 21). Maybe even go all out and profess my love in a sonnet or a haiku. But really, that's not what its all about, and I feel like pretending our marriage is something it isn't would do it a disservice.
Because really, being married is pretty much the same as being single. Life is always just life. Sometimes it really, really sucks. Other times are filled with rainbows and unicorns. Most of the time it's just ok. Marriage is still just life, but with another person in it. All the time.
And if I'm going to be sharing all the goop that life can throw at you with someone, I want to do it with Zach. I want to come home from a crappy day and whine about it with him, and watch his forehead get all crinkly as he tries to think of how to make it better. I want to stay up way too late and be exhausted and useless the next day because we just couldn't stop talking at bedtime. I want to laugh so hard it hurts with him. If I'm going to be crying and screaming at someone because I'm just so mad, I want it to be with him, because I know that we always care enough about each other to (eventually) put aside our hurt and selfishness and make things right again. When I have yet another seizure, I want his arms around me. He's the first person I want to share things with, good news and bad. All the ups and downs, the dreams and plans, its all better together. I just want to live life with him, every bit of it.
And with that being said, here are some pretty pictures. I know its more than a little cliche, but so is doing an anniversary post. And I'm ok with that.
*Uhm, I kindo of started writing this on our actual anniversary and got distracted byhaving lots and lots of hot, passionate sex having a sweet anniversary dinner with Zach. But I like what I managed to write, and figured it was still worth posting, even if it is late.
At this point, I feel like I should go off on some syrupy sweet ode to the utter perfection and sunshine that is married life and how I'm so grateful that my white night rode in and saved me from the treachery of singledom (at the horrifically spinster age of 21). Maybe even go all out and profess my love in a sonnet or a haiku. But really, that's not what its all about, and I feel like pretending our marriage is something it isn't would do it a disservice.
Because really, being married is pretty much the same as being single. Life is always just life. Sometimes it really, really sucks. Other times are filled with rainbows and unicorns. Most of the time it's just ok. Marriage is still just life, but with another person in it. All the time.
And if I'm going to be sharing all the goop that life can throw at you with someone, I want to do it with Zach. I want to come home from a crappy day and whine about it with him, and watch his forehead get all crinkly as he tries to think of how to make it better. I want to stay up way too late and be exhausted and useless the next day because we just couldn't stop talking at bedtime. I want to laugh so hard it hurts with him. If I'm going to be crying and screaming at someone because I'm just so mad, I want it to be with him, because I know that we always care enough about each other to (eventually) put aside our hurt and selfishness and make things right again. When I have yet another seizure, I want his arms around me. He's the first person I want to share things with, good news and bad. All the ups and downs, the dreams and plans, its all better together. I just want to live life with him, every bit of it.
And with that being said, here are some pretty pictures. I know its more than a little cliche, but so is doing an anniversary post. And I'm ok with that.
*Uhm, I kindo of started writing this on our actual anniversary and got distracted by
Monday, February 23, 2009
Love of Mine, some day you will die
Zach was deathly ill for part of the weekend. Neither of us is generally the healthiest person ever, but this was different. Watching him, and knowing that all I could really do was little things like get medicine and applesauce, little things that can help him be slightly more comfortable, but won't really fix whats really wrong. Being so helpless and worried isn't the funnest thing ever. Really, I was a little scared - silly, but true. Of course things were considerably worse for Zach, what with being the actual sick person and all - but I'm the one writing so this is about me me me.
It's more than a little disconcerting to think that yes, eventually one of us will probably die. Personally I hope I go first. I just don't want to ever have to deal with any of that. Plus, I've made Zach promise that he can't remarry unless I specifically appear to him and give him permission - messages spelled out in alphabits or other such ambiguos signs don't count. No way am I meeting him and Mrs. Number 2 who i do not approve of in heaven and having him say "But I thought you told me it was ok through this random occurance that could be just a coincidece and coudl mean anything!" It's me appearing or nothing. I'm selfish like that. (Ok, I would want him to be happy and if he meets someone who makes him happy, I suppose I could deal. I'd just rather he was happy with just me.)
Of course in my ideal scenario we live nice, happy healthy lives together. We have kids together and work together and have adventures together, and then have a happy semi-retirement where we enjoy doing whatever we want and just generally being awesome. Maybe we travel teh world or start some foundation that helps educate blind girls in Uzbechistan or something. And then in our late eighties or so, one of us just sort of slips away in their sleep, and the other follows close behind. One of those adorable old couple things.
But what if it doesn't work like that? Zach could be hit by a car in the next five minutes. Which actually wouldn't be that surprising - the man darts into streets with very clear red lights all the time. It's terrifying. I usually follow him when he engages in such reckless behavior when we're together specifically in the hopes that I'll be hit to, so we won't have to deal with this. But that's hardly the only possibility. There could be some horrible flesh eating disease. Or our stove could fatally explode. Or the roof could cave in. Or a million other things. (apparently I'm more than a little unsure about the quality and safety of our apartment)
I just can't imagine what I would do if something were to happen. How do people handle that? How do you find out? How do you tell people? How do you even begin planning for, paying for a funeral, especially so far from either of our homes? What about when its done? How do you keep living, just pretending to have a normal life again? Do you forget? Do you even want to? What do you do? I don't know, and frankly I never want to.
None of this is terribly likely of course. I'm still counting on nice long lives for both of us, growing old together. But every now and again the "what ifs' seem a little to close for comfort.
It's more than a little disconcerting to think that yes, eventually one of us will probably die. Personally I hope I go first. I just don't want to ever have to deal with any of that. Plus, I've made Zach promise that he can't remarry unless I specifically appear to him and give him permission - messages spelled out in alphabits or other such ambiguos signs don't count. No way am I meeting him and Mrs. Number 2 who i do not approve of in heaven and having him say "But I thought you told me it was ok through this random occurance that could be just a coincidece and coudl mean anything!" It's me appearing or nothing. I'm selfish like that. (Ok, I would want him to be happy and if he meets someone who makes him happy, I suppose I could deal. I'd just rather he was happy with just me.)
Of course in my ideal scenario we live nice, happy healthy lives together. We have kids together and work together and have adventures together, and then have a happy semi-retirement where we enjoy doing whatever we want and just generally being awesome. Maybe we travel teh world or start some foundation that helps educate blind girls in Uzbechistan or something. And then in our late eighties or so, one of us just sort of slips away in their sleep, and the other follows close behind. One of those adorable old couple things.
But what if it doesn't work like that? Zach could be hit by a car in the next five minutes. Which actually wouldn't be that surprising - the man darts into streets with very clear red lights all the time. It's terrifying. I usually follow him when he engages in such reckless behavior when we're together specifically in the hopes that I'll be hit to, so we won't have to deal with this. But that's hardly the only possibility. There could be some horrible flesh eating disease. Or our stove could fatally explode. Or the roof could cave in. Or a million other things. (apparently I'm more than a little unsure about the quality and safety of our apartment)
I just can't imagine what I would do if something were to happen. How do people handle that? How do you find out? How do you tell people? How do you even begin planning for, paying for a funeral, especially so far from either of our homes? What about when its done? How do you keep living, just pretending to have a normal life again? Do you forget? Do you even want to? What do you do? I don't know, and frankly I never want to.
None of this is terribly likely of course. I'm still counting on nice long lives for both of us, growing old together. But every now and again the "what ifs' seem a little to close for comfort.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sleeping Together
I have a tendency to get up at least once after I've gone to bed. Water, something really important that just has to be written down right now, whatever. Usually I'm fairly lucid, but even on my best nights I usually just grunt and stumble around to wherever I'm going, and then absentmindedly crawl back into my side of the bed.
One night I was particularly tired, so after my stumbling and moaning, I returned, felt around for where Zach was, hopped up onto my side, and promptly fell flat on the floor. Dear sweet Zach had moved over to my side.
Ours is a loving, healthy relationship.
One night I was particularly tired, so after my stumbling and moaning, I returned, felt around for where Zach was, hopped up onto my side, and promptly fell flat on the floor. Dear sweet Zach had moved over to my side.
Ours is a loving, healthy relationship.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Polar Bear
When Zach and I were first married (all of five months ago) he told me that in Alaska (where he grew up) the polar bears wcover their nose with their paw so they can blend into the snow and sneak up on their unsuspecting prey. To this day I think he's full of it. However, now Zach and I will frequently cover our noses and giggle as the other person looks around anxiously going "oh no! where did Genavee go? I can't see her anywhere!" We showed this to my four year old sister over Christmas, and she loved it. Which just proves that the maturity level in this marriage is. But hey, we have fun.
On a slightly related note - polar bears are adorable. As proof I offer an adorable slideshow of a polar bear playing with dogs.
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