Music, Relationships

In which I suddenly wish I were getting married..

I’ve only ever once really desired to get married. I’ve quite often felt that I ought.. that I should get hitched one day. And maybe (okay, hopefully) I will. But if I’m completely honest with myself, I have only really ever had one driving desire to get married: that is, to register for a KitchenAid Mixer. More than china or a salad spinner or one of those super cool Dyson vacuums that I once giddily test drove at Costco, I really, really wanted a KitchenAid Artisan Mixer.

Now I recognize I could’ve purchased one myself. That’s not lost on me. And I eventually did. But it was the principle of the matter. Something about the KitchenAid Mixer (in some variation of 1950’s Vespa color) just screamed pick up that scan gun and passive aggressively hint to your besties and now-working brother to buy me already!

It’s not that I don’t want to get married. I do. I just can’t imagine how that could possibly happen to a non-college student who binge watches 3 seasons of Veronica Mars (64 hour long episodes) and subsists off of Toblerone bars for two weeks straight, whose preferred waking hour ends in the letters P and M. Yeah.. not gonna happen anytime soon.

And so, I was content being single.

Until now.



Holy crap. Kindly pretend to ignore me while I hyperventilate for three-and-a-half minutes and lament the fact that I’m nowhere close to getting engaged right now. And not just any song, one of my all time favs, the live version of which you must listen to because Miss B’s unadulterated voice is that much better than the studio version:

It’s no secret that I’m a huge Sara Bareilles fan and have been for over a decade now. As I recently told an amazingly talented aspiring songstress friend of mine (when I asked if I could work her merch table when she starts gigging), I’m really really good at supporting people I freaking adore. And I fracking heart her.

The numbers are a little fuzzy, but let’s do some fuzzy math here: ~10 years, 8 or 9 concerts (+ the 20-30 people I’ve dragged along with me to said concerts), something like 284 replays of the ‘Beautiful Girl’ and Manderley Bar ‘I Choose You’ YouTube videos, roughly 12-17 copies of various albums and EPs purchased over the years = some serious solidarity. Multiple copies of Careful Confessions purchased during the pre-record contract years to hand out to friends. From the UCLA days to the record deal to Grammy nominated album of the year (hell yeah!), it’s been an amazing journey, and I’m just watching proudly from the sidelines.

Luckily, I have a friend who is equally as obsessed. Except she’s all legit and stuff and appreciates the lyricism of songwriting and the composition aspects. (Or whatever it is that singer-songwriters do.) Meanwhile, I just lip sync the words off-key, which despite the inherent contradiction, is indeed possible. Being single too, she understood my pain. Until.. during a car ride to dinner.. epiphany..

“We should get married!”
“We should tooootally get married.”
“We can propose to each other – that’ll be our hook.”
“She has to choose us. How can she not?”

.. as we continued to extrapolate on what exactly our lifelong love letter of a relationship would entail:

“You could move back to the city!”
“I could move into your apartment and live one block from Tartine! And eat Croque Monsieurs and Dandelion chocolates every other morning! Your three roommates wouldn’t mind, right? We could work out shower schedules.”
“Shall we change our statuses on Facebook?”
“And then cite ‘it’s complicated’ a month later, leading up to our annulment?”
“And then you can have Manhattan, I’ll settle for the beach..”

And it just continued to devolve from there. I’ll spare you the rest.

But that is all to say, Sara, pick me! Choose me! (Just a little later down the line if I miraculously end up getting married.)

(P.S. And my friend Jane too.)


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