I mentioned some weeks ago that Malaya was getting married. "Got" is now the operative verb. The event was this past weekend, and she was hitched without a hitch, so to speak. I could write a fascinating blog post about the whole thing, but Malaya liked to be kept private and anonymous when we were together, and that urge hasn't changed now that we're apart. And since we're still friends, and she (and the new Mr. Malaya) both read this blog, I shan't indulge my faux-journalistic interests.
I will say that attending the wedding was an interesting experience for me. I encouraged her (and she me) to date and go on with her life after we broke up two years ago, I knew she was eager to get married, I knew she'd been seriously dating since earlier this year and living with the guy for the past few months. So it wasn't a real surprise when I got the wedding invite, and obviously the wedding wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise to me was how the event touched me. Not the ceremony or the guests or the clothing, but I could not look at them standing up in front, doing that deep eye contact "we're in love" thing. I wasn't jealous (though I was envious, not having anyone to do that with myself), and I didn't begrudge either of them their happiness... I just couldn't watch. Too many memories of Malaya looking up at me in just that way, and emotional conversations about how we'd always be together and how she'd always love me and that I must promise never to leave her.
And yes, this is the chorus of every sad love song ever written. But see, it's amazing and unique when it happens to me! Since my emotions and romantic history and feelings are so much different than those of everyone else! *cough*
Anyway, from my seat at the dinner/reception I couldn't see the little two-person table the bride and groom were sitting at, so whenever the "everyone taps on their glasses so the couple will kiss" ritual broke out, I didn't have to avert my eyes. However, neither could I watch to see if I still felt that I had to, or if that surprising bit of sentiment had passed as quickly as it arose. It's not a big deal; I'm not digging up and digitally defacing old photos of Malaya/Flux, and I think everyone finds it difficult to watch their ex engaging in loving behavior with someone else. But it was interesting to find that urge/emotion/abhorrence in myself.
Of more fun at the wedding was my date. The IG eagerly volunteered to accompany me, when I mentioned the wedding to her last month. She did not waver from that, and since I didn't find a new/real girlfriend in the interim, and since the IG is excellent company, off we went. The IG doesn't dress up much, but she's got a lot more ability to wear "real" clothing than your average clueless "
I can has flip flops for all occasions?" coed, so she was eager to get a (sexy) new gown and matching heels and do her hair and makeup for the event. I approved of the results, which you can (partially) see in the attached image.
IG would like to maintain her semi-anonymity (or at least not think about anyone other than me faffing to her graven image), and I'd like to remain clear of
HCwDb for a while yet, so her face has been pixeled out. It's pretty enough to match the rest of her though, trust you me. And yes, the view
down of her dress was even better from my vantage point than from the camera's. It was freezing during the reception, and my peripheral vision was regularly amazed at just how clearly goose bumps can stand out on the hairless flesh of a woman's upper chest.
So now Malaya's married and um... yeah. I don't know that this changes anything. Life goes on, etc. I'm not feeling more or less motivated to get into a serious relationship myself, and while I felt a bit dislocated and out of it the evening after the wedding, (I did 90 minutes at the gym, cardio and then weights, without ever realizing I had not turned on the ipod I was wearing around my neck.) the effects weren't lasting. I didn't have the urge to get laid or drunk or crazy, and in fact, I found myself very full of energy and in a somewhat euphoric mood late that night. I played happy music and danced while washing dishes and making nachos, and while I chipped another of the cheap Ikea plates I've been steadily destroying (and occasionally replenishing) over the past 2 years, I felt fine. Life, as they say, goes on.
Labels: malaya, relationships, the I.G.
