It's hard to rant when you're so darn happy.

Life has been so good to me lately.

Take last night for example.  It was the perfect evening, as far as I'm concerned; exactly the kind of night that brings me the maximum amount of joy.  Good friends over for dinner consisting of a roasted starch with lots of olive oil, some kind of veggie drenched in homemade-from-scratch cheesesauce and steak, followed by wii and good-natured rivalry.  That's all it takes to make me really happy.  That's it.  People.  Food.  Games.

I love a dinner party.  Whether it be two couples or ten.  There's something about the gathering of interesting people with big hearts (a very apt way to describe all of my friends) mingling over tasty vittles and stories, then top it all off with a chance to play together, whether it be wii or boardgames or old-fashioned Victorian parlour games.  How often do we get a chance to take an evening to play anymore?  Always so busy and so tired... when the opportunity presents itself, it begins to feel like magic to me.

My bachelorette was last Saturday.  Not your typical bachelorette, but more of an extended dinner party like I described above.  Lots of gin and charades.  And those aforementioned friends with big hearts.  It was such a wonderful night.  It's been such a wonderful week.

I have such a wonderful life.

I thought this moment would never arrive.

It's planned.  The whole shebang, top to bottom, is planned.  Still a few little things to do here and there, but, organizationally speaking, the entire wedding has been constructed.  Flowers ordered, makeup lady booked, chinese takeout boxes purchased and monogrammed...  It's a relief.  I'm sure not everyone feels this way, but it was actually kind of fun.  I enjoyed tracking down all the pieces.  Going through all the options with the hubby.  Finding the little details that will make it our special day.  I am pretty convinced that it's going to be the most fun party that ever was.  At least I hope so.  I hope it's not the wedding that everyone remembers because the salmon mousse had turned and the downtown core had a toilet paper shortage.

I had a chance to reconnect with a dear, dear, dear friend on Tuesday.  The kind that you might only speak to twice a year, but it feels like home when you do get together.  It's so easy.  Our friendship is so easy to be a member of.  There's no guilt that you've gotten busy and haven't had a chance to call.  There's no awkwardness that you're asking questions that seem like the most basic kind of thing that you should know about your friend like where they're working and what their partner's last name is.  It's just friend with whom you can be yourself, and trust that they'll be themselves, and you can just relax and be.  I'm a pretty darn lucky girl.  In many ways, but definitely in the quality of friendships that I've been blessed with.

And I'm lucky in that this whole bloody wedding is arranged!

Crucial Discussions and Negotiations

My hubby and I held a critical war council yesterday.  It's been a year and a half in discussion, but it all came to a head yesterday.  The issue: sweaty, stinky inside-out socks.  His argument: Laundry is my responsibility, therefore I should have to deal with his socks.  My argument: they're his socks.  And they're gross.  Why should I have to handle them any more than I already have to?  His counter: What's the problem with just washing them inside out and turning them right side out once they're clean.  My rebuttal: because the soles get covered in kitty litter than won't wash away, and then when you turn them right side out, the kitty litter scatters all over everywhere and everything.  The verdict: My utter brilliance and ultimately superior logic wins the day.

But don't be led astray by my whimsical tone, this was a serious issue.  One that has been grating on my nerves for a long, long time.  But with the wedding looming just around the corner there are some details of life that need to be addressed.  Dealbreakers, as it were.  Cigars outside only.  No cats in the bedroom.  Deal  with your own stinky socks.

Kate 1, Rest of Toronto 0

Today I rented myself a zipcar to do a big grocery shop.  (Side note: I got the last box of freezies.  Booyeah!  Fifty giant frozen sticks of sugar and food colouring! It means my freezer door won't stay closed, but that's a tiny inconsequential detail.)  Shopping solo, unfortunately, which I hate.  Not because I am desperate to be attached to the fiance at all times, but rather because it means I can make him push the cart and carry all the heavy stuff.  Why else get married?  I was talking to a friend this afternoon and we were discussing what should really be in our wedding vows.

Baby, I promise to make you eat at least one vegetable a day for as long as we both shall live.  I'll let you push the cart at the grocery store, and I swear that I won't put all the tin cans and jars of spaghetti sauce into one bag.  And I know, in return, that you'll download my episodes of True Blood before you download your Brian Ferry concert videos.

I don't think the hubby will go for it.  But a girl can dream.... of Vampire Eric?

My bedtime is 9:30. You gotta problem with that?

I may be 29, but I have the soul of a 90 year old grandmother.

A recently acquired penchant for arts and crafts, melba toast and phrases such as "I have a penchant for" have only confirmed this deep-seated side of my psyche.  I love nothing better than a night at home watching television with my sweetie.  Wearing sensible shoes.  Freaking out over the health of my tomato plants as if they were my children.  Heaven.

However, the other day I looked in the mirror and realized for the first time, that I no longer look like like I did when I was 24.  Not bad, not wrong, just... older.  I look like I'm pushing thirty, which I am.  So why is this weird?  And when it's so inevitable, and even somewhat welcome, why is it so unexpected?

I'm sure some of it has to do with the fact I'm getting married in six weeks, and my fiance and I have spent a large amount of money on a professional photographer.  I'll admit, I'm a little paranoid that I'm going to end up looking like the elephant man in the pictures.  No real reason, just fears that for some reason, although I'm sure I'll look fine on the day in person, the pictures will end up looking like Jabba the Hut in a cute little tea length lace dress.  (Though I have much nicer legs than Jabba.)  Totally irrational, I know.  I'm sure the pictures will look like me, I'm just not sure that I have a realistic picture of what I look like right now, and I guess I'm afraid of what I'll see when we open up those pictures a couple of months from now.

But, I'm not afraid of getting older.  I only like myself more the older I get.  I'm prouder of myself, and more confident in my choices.  I like who I am, if maybe I would like myself more 30 pounds lighter, but I like who I am.  And if I like who I am than that will shine through in the pictures, and I need to not stress over it.  There.  Decision made.  Well, that was easy enough....