I rang in the new millennium at a monumentally lame party thrown by friends of my roommate/boyfriend/mouth-breathing loser. They were nice enough people, but they weren't people I'd call my friends. For fun they had their very own War of 1812 regiment. On weekends this crowd pretended to kill each other whilst wearing realistic costumes and sleeping in vintage tents on the wet ground. Like I said, nice people, but I like to keep my costume wearing confined to the play acting/ Halloween party milieu.
Anywho, the whole ushering in of the 2000s was a bit underwhelming. None of the computers failed. Money was in my checking account the next day and a meteor did not collide with the earth to put me out of my lingering 90s misery. The disappointment I felt as the ball dropped us into a new century shook me into reevaluating my life and where I wanted it to go. I looked at my drunk mouth-breather and thought, "Nope. Not the direction I'm looking for."
By June I made it clear to my boyfriend that I would be leaving Toledo (without him) and he should conduct himself accordingly. I resigned from my job and accepted my aunt's offer of shelter in Dayton.
I was 23. Sigh.
As I was unemployed and virtually without responsibility for a few weeks, I spent some time taking up space at a Borders bookstore. One afternoon, a well-known local psychic was giving readings in the cafe. A dramatic shift in one's life tends to open the flood gates to the contemplation of fate and what-will-become-of-me, so I plunked down $5 to buy a glimpse into my future.
I am not a believer in God, or true love or unalterable fate, but ESP and telepathy and all that super-natural hogwash fascinates me. I love it. I have a set of tarot cards in my bedside drawer. Now you know.
In short, the psychic predicted that children would be very important in my life and that I would have some soon. Ha! With what sperm donor, kind lady? The man I was to marry would turn up shortly, but there would be some confusion for me. Apparently, two men were to come into my life at about the same time and I would have to choose. The psychic assured me that the right choice was going to be obvious. Then she said some eerily accurate stuff about my dead grandmother and great-grandmothers and freaked me out enough to think she might be onto something with this husband business.
In July, I got a job at a different bookstore (the venerable, no longer independent Books & Co.) and swiftly began dating the staff Casanova (super nerdy bookstore version). It was fun, but awkward. Our conversations seem to sputter to halt when we weren't making out. No one, including myself, thought it would develop into anything serious because it was sort of a rite of passage for new girls to take their turn with this guy.
In August, Casanova left town to visit friends and I felt weird about it. No other way to put it. That's when I met Aaron. He was sloppy and tired and sad and I knew immediately that I should stay away from him. Yet, he drew me to him. During our first conversation he asked me if I had a husband or boyfriend or illegitimate children. I reluctantly agreed to go out with him, right after he admitted to me that he was lonely because his fiance left him a month before their wedding. I know. A giant red-flag sprout from his head and I said yes anyway. The psychic made me do it. I had to figure out which guy was the obvious choice. I sorta thought the date with Aaron was going to confirm my suspicion that Casanova was the best choice. I was 6 weeks out from 24th birthday.
The rest is history. I married Aaron on my birthday and never broke up with the other guy (the gossip took care of that for me). Ahem.
This whole post was just a bloated introduction to my favorite photo, as requested by MrsW. She thought for sure it would be a picture of Violet, but I'm nothing if not unpredictable (actually I'm totally predictable, usually).
Newlywed and looking forward to a great adventure. We were naive and blissfully unaware of how tough and wonderful and shitty and spectacular the aughts would be... and our hair matched. This photo is our beginning in a neat, tidy little package. It makes my heart flutter.
What is your favorite photo? Preferably it is one taken by yourself or a member of your immediate family, but I suppose if an Ansel Adams still makes you weak despite all the gorgeous pictures of your loved ones, then whatever, I'm not here to judge.
Show me, with or without a lengthy exposition. I love to see what you love. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy, like I do right after my second Pomegranate Martini.
