Now, if this were 1950, the question might have some weight (dur hur, see whut I did thar. Weight journal, weight? OH HO I'm clever.). We certainly wouldn't have lived together for two years before getting married. And we most definitely wouldn't be bangin' each other's brains out on an almost daily basis (Honeymoon phase? HAH!). We also wouldn't have had the arguements we've had and gotten all of that awkward stuff out of the way, 'cause we'd be squared away in our respective family's house (complete with our very own Leave it to Beaver neighbor. Boy howdy!), only seeing each other either at school, the Sadie Hawkins Dance, or the occasional date where we'd drive up to Lover's Lane and he'd get to feel my fat rolls.
Oooh, now, if this were 1980, it'd be kinda different. People would pop that question at me and I could reply snarkily "It's the same when your brother married your mother!". Then me and Mike could laugh at them and turn to walk off to go to some snazzy club where I'd managed not to trip in my spikey heels and Mike'll get to show off his awesome MC Hammer pants.
Yeah, that's the life!
Hm. I wonder how important that question'll be in the future? In 2020, when people ask me that question, how would I reply? Perhaps people would've started to live together for decades before marrying? So then when they turn fifty and decide "Eh, might as well for some good tax cuts", it won't be such a big deal. I mean, sure, we can get ourselves RoboStegosaurus to officiate the wedding, but after the light saber duel and the epic cake that's two stories tall? And don't forget the tradition of having old-washed-out actors from Star Wars or Star Trek come to the wedding to rip the heart out of a chimpanzee, then implant the heart into a new cyborg monkey. Then the monkey becomes your little pet and you can take him for walks all over. But just make sure he doesn't fling his cyborg shit at the kids, that'd be mean. Yeah, after all of those festivities, married life would be the same as those decades of living together.
I want a RoboStegosaurus now.
So yeah. I like to smile to the people and reply "It's the same... just happier.". Which it is~ I have a pretty ring on my finger now, and Mike has an amazing ring on his that I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous.
Like, my ring is beautiful. It's thin, gold, and has a small row of tiny diamonds on it. It's to compliment the gorgeous engagement ring Mike got me (I love this ring more than anything in the world, dolls and cats included.). But part of me looks at his ring and thinks "Oooooh, it's so cool and silver and big and heavy and you can't even break it!! Spiffy!".
Ah well. Ce'le vie. ... Cie la vie? Say lah vee? ... *googles* HUH. C'est la vie. Never would've guessed there'd be a 'st' in it.
So yeah. Married life is the same but happier. And let me tell you... The woman has it rough if she decides to change her name. It's taken me three days and a shit ton of calling and driving to finally get it finalized. I'm actually about to head off to the local social security place to get my soc card changed and THEN to the DMV to get a new licsense. *throws up the horns* Yeah, complications, here we come! This will be my second attempt at this due to the DMV in Penn Hills being incompetent.
"DUR HUR. There's about fifty people here. Let's only have ONE person take care of them while two jokers over at the camera counter mill around and the other FOUR people here walk around with clipboards doing NOTHING constructive what-so-ever! Yeah, go us!"
Yeah, not so fun. Tickets done in the one hour I was there? Ten. TEN. And I still had FORTY more tickets before mine would've been called. Kthnx but no.
And now I'm off to play me some Tales of Vesperia before I go with my friend to wait s'more. More on this game later, as I'm still on the fence about it.
(Also? LOVE YOU BLOGGER. The post I just spent 45 minutes typing wouldn't post and when I hit 'back', the white box was blank. I was ready to kill things when I saw that a draft was saved. Blogger, you have saved lives today.)