In a cruel twist of fate, I received a text message this morning. From France.

Be still, heart. Be still.

And it wasn’t cruel. I dramatize. But my heart felt something along the lines of cruelty.

Said message was confirming my 39 night stay beginning June 29th. 39 nights and 40 days in Paris? Sign me the hell up! Yes please and thank you.

Just as I was feeling like I had turned the Paris Page — not entirely, mind you, Paris will always continue to live on in me — but I had gotten to the point where I wasn’t thinking about it every damn day and then this.

That’s some Universal timing. Naturally, I take this as The Universe telling me I need to go to Paris. Immediately. For a minimum of 39 nights. I have already contacted Maman and TC. You know, give them a heads up that one of them better accompany me.

Reality wise, I don’t think Paris is happening this summer. I had visions of spending July into August there but guess what! Because I haven’t made the official announcement!

The BF and I are getting married in August. Le 31. Labor Day Weekend. Some three-ish months away. Omg : Three!

Shit is about to go down and get real real. I am getting married. Let me type that again. I am getting married. Married, People!

Marriage.

Lawdy, my heart rate just increased ten fold. That’s nothing against The BF — this is me having to come to terms with what marriage means. I didn’t even have half a clue that I held all these beliefs of what marriage is until I became engaged.

I’ve had to work through some bullshit. This is also nothing against Maman and TC. They did the best they could given the place they were at. And I don’t think any marriage is all candy colored roses at all times. How could it be? Where would the growth happen then?

Truthfully, I wondered for a while if I ever even wanted to get married. Just another aspect of my non-traditional, traditional Self here coming into play.

Then. The BF happened. And I knew. Higher Self knew. I knew with that unwavering, crystal clearness of absolute certainty. For the love of Jesus, we met a damn Zen Center. I guess I should have said, for the love of Buddha. Anyway, if that’s not divine enlightenment, then I don’t know what is.

Flash forward a couple years and serious drama/trauma — again, all a necessary part of relationships, I think … at some point, shit just explodes. Shit exploding can actually be good stuff as it turns out. Who knew. We should really be clued in a lot earlier about that important piece of shit info.

Here we are. About to go legit. Now. The other thing. Which I’ve said a few times before … I’m just not a wedding person. I’ll happily attend your wedding but in terms of my own?

Never really wanted one. Never understood my friends who would marry their Barbies in elaborate ceremonies to Ken. It always seemed utterly irrelevant for some reason.

The other thing about me. I hate being the center of attention. Heart rate increaser! That’s the other thing I’ve never gotten in terms of wedding … the whole, it’s your day thing.

I don’t want a whole day about me. The mere thought of that makes me want to run for the hills and hide. I’m also way too practical to drop 40K or so on a wedding.

To each their own — I understand that to some, it is very important. It isn’t to me. And I get that some of you might think I’m the loco one here. I very well might be. That’s the great thing, we all get to decide what we want and don’t want and it’s all good! This is why I will never understand people shit blasting their fellow People … about anything.

I’ve said shit an awful lot today, haven’t I?

So, despite my cringing at the thought of a wedding, I did realize that I wanted a ceremony. I thought it would be nice to have a certain specialness to us uniting our families and joining together as husband and wife.

I couldn’t pick a more perfect place for us to get married than Douglas Lake. We’ve had such great times there the past couple summers and I love that this is a family spot for us, with much meaning and significance.

It represents many things The BF and I are together. Especially our love of nature and simplicity.

Our wedding is going to be just immediate family, plus Comm and C, because they are family to me. We’ll be getting married on the dock early evening with our family in Pontoon boats.

No attendants. No hoopola. Just us. And damnit, I want a Carvel Ice Cream Cake. TC keeps telling me it’s not possible, and it will melt. But forget that. I want a damn Carvel Cake. I know otherwise I will just be disappointed in any other cake we do get.

Since when are wedding cakes like $500? I know this is on the cheaper end. One of my friends in L.A. spent $5,000 on hers … I’m just a little lost at what makes a cake that pricey? If I was going to blow thousands of Benjamin’s on a cake, I’d expect it to be an ice cream cake to last me at least two years … at least.

Even though we’re keeping things simple for the wedding, I still find myself having to make way too many decisions. I’d much prefer someone else to make decisions for me.

Like the wedding dinner. I talked to the caterer and she started asking me all these questions and I just got so overwhelmed that I couldn’t think of anything I like to eat, except baked spaghetti, which she thought was a joke, so I said, come up with a menu. Otherwise I will never be able to figure something out. I can’t even properly go Krogering.

My decision making plan is such: make it so someone else makes a decision for me and then all I have to say is, yes! I love it! How perfect!

And I really will mean it. I’m very low maintenance on the pleasing factor.

There we have it. A little more than three months to go. If I was really motivated I’d be on some crazed exercise routine. But that’s the old me. This me is still riding the wave of self love and acceptance.

Speaking of. I had another doctor’s appointment yesterday about The IVY. It was productive. I mean, I totally felt like the poster child for a ProActiv late night informercial, except in my case, it’d be for Poison Ivy.

When the nurse asked me to step on the scale, I said, truly this is 1000% unnecessary! I was just here three weeks ago. I think we can go ahead and bypass this.

She gave me her best, sista-ain’t-playing look. I sighed, took off my shoes {never step on a scale with shoes on!} and stepped on. I stood there with my eyes closed and asked that, under no circumstances speak my weight aloud.

And what she said f-ing floored me. You know in that shocking way when you never could have prepared yourself to hear the words, I’d love to weigh what you weigh.

At first I thought it was a sarcastic joke, but what girl would do such a thing to her fellow female? Right. No one. That’s unspoken Girl Code Rule #1 right there. We are each other’s weight supporters! Always.

Her comment put me in serious check seriously quickly. Where the hell was my self love? Oh yeah, it was non existent yesterday. Actually, it’s non existent way too frequently.

Another reminder, that loving myself, requires work and practice. I need to be kinder, gentler to me.

So yeah, with three pre wedding months to go … to hell with doing any form of exercise I don’t really want to do. I will stick to my yoga and long deep breathing.

And love the shit out of myself for it.

Shit. There I go, again.