Some of you (that is, all three of my regular readers), may have noticed I deleted a post I wrote last week about how I see myself when it comes to marriage, children and second mortgages. Well, apparently, I really got myself thinking (self, you’re so inspiring!) and now I’m not so sure about anything I wrote.

On Balls…and Chains!

Do I eventually want to get married? The honest answer, I suppose, is yes, but it would have to be under very special (and I don’t mean “special”) circumstances and done very much on my terms, which, should work out because I can’t imagine marrying someone who thought about this institution differently than I do.

For one, it would have to be an agreement entered upon by both parties equally and not by one trying to contractually obligate the other from making it harder to leave in the future. For another, and this goes hand-in-hand with the first, it would have to be based solely on love. Not tax breaks, not societal expectations, and certainly not because either of us just wants a big wedding.

In fact, in the case that I do eventually get married, the ceremony would have to be tiny. I’d prefer it to be just me, my man and the Elvis impersonator, but would make concessions to my partner if he insisted on having an audience of family and very close friends. Or even a priest not dressed in a bedazzled jumpsuit. However, it has to be clear that I don’t want bridesmaids in matching colors; I don’t want a “destination wedding;” I don’t want a $5,000 dress; I don’t want a ring (fun fact: I have slightly webbed fingers that disallow jewelry anyway); really, I don’t really want anything. Knowing I’ll be able to wake up next to the love of my life through sickness and in health, for richer and for poorer, is enough. (Cue the collective “awww!”)

However, what I wouldn’t mind is a big party afterwards. Not the kind with rubbery chicken and chocolate swans filled with mousse, mind you, but the kind where you come as you are to drink a few libations and indulge in all the bean-dip you can eat. Hey, any excuse for a party, right? Maybe I’ll even spring for Tino and his jorts to perform.


Los jorts de Tino son muy guapos, pero donde está el sweet fringe?!

But don’t bring a gift. I would think about setting up an option to donate to a charity of my and my partner’s choosing in our names, but I would never want to burden anyone I care about to buy me a gravy boat from Williams&Sonoma. In fact, I think wedding registries are extremely tacky. Sounds cheesy, but it’s gift enough that my friends and family would show up to celebrate this happy event in my life. (Although I wouldn’t turn down a Beanzawave. There’s a different between gifts from the heart, like desktop bean-can microwaves, and, well, just more stuff.)

So, yeah. I guess I would get married. But, like I said, only out of true love, which strangely for a cynic like me is the only topic about which I’m a complete idealist. I believe in the kind of love that distance, sickness or other mostly uncontrollable circumstances can’t destroy. True love is a New York City cockroach — it lives forever.

On Spawning New Humans

As far as kids go (and I’m only talking about popping out my own and not adoption here — my views on adoption are a bit different), well, that’s more complicated for me. There’s only one person on Earth that I would ever even consider getting fat to have a child with. But even then, I’m not sure if that’s something I’d be up for and I’m not just talking about the getting fat part. Parenting is a big deal to me and something that I fear some people take too lightly. I think a lot of people have kids for selfish reasons. Either they think it will force a love that’s not there between them and their boyfriends, girlfriends or significant others, or they simply want to make sure a kid carries their genes into the next generation. I mean, it’d be comforting, I suppose, to spawn a person who you can guilt-trip into feeling obligated to take care of your senile old ass when the time comes (or at least make sure you get put in the good home), but should that be reason enough?

I don’t know. Maybe for some people, but not for me. If I ever have a kid, it would have to be very well thought out and done for the right reasons — reasons that I don’t know if I’ve discovered yet. I would have to have a man who I was not only in love with enough to possibly marry (see above), but one that I was convinced would be a proper parent for a new human. I myself, would have to change significantly and make sure I was ready to be a proper parent, which means, no more randomly hopping off to Chile to learn Spanish. At least through the kid’s formative years.

Let’s be honest, I’m sure it’s not hard to deduce that I’m not a planner. I’m not a list-maker. I’m a doer. (That’swhatshesaid!) But that’s because I’m usually the only one held accountable, so if I screw up, I’m the only one who suffers. (Hmm. Maybe I should start making a lists…) If I were to have a kid, though — no matter how great and great-looking of a partner I had one with — I would really have to sit down with a pen and paper. We’re talking pros and cons and a possible essay about WHY I would want this enormous responsibility in my life. Like I said, to make sure I don’t get dumped at Shady Pines in 50 years is not good enough.

So, yeah, on the kid front, I suppose I’m a little more wishy-washy than I originally thought.

On Idiotic Self-Inflicted Debt

Regarding the second-mortgage in the suburbs? That’s something I’m 100 percent sure is Never. Gonna. Happen.