Friday, July 20, 2012


Friday, July 20, 2012
I've seen the same article pop up on my friends' facebook feeds several times this week, all about how hard it is to make friends after 30.

This isn't earth-shattering news to anyone who has done any combination of finishing school, mating, moving cities, procreating or starting a career. Making friends can be hard, this is true. New friends are especially hard to come by, and I'd agree with the article (go ahead, read it, I'll give you time...) - most, if not all, of the friends I've made since finishing university have been situational. Work friends. Friends-of-work friends. Book club friends. Couple friends.

But that's ok. 

This past weekend, we got hitched, and it was freaking awesome. And it was freaking awesome because we were surrounded by our friends.

The friends who stood up for me are 3 of my oldest friends in Calgary, the people I met when I was a tender green shoot of small-town Saskatchewan. For a decade they've been the three people I've turned to when I need to be slapped back to sense, told that my new haircut isn't actually that flattering, and the people who listened to me cry. 

But I've also made some new friends in my late-twenties, these so-called situational friends, and they've turned out to be some of the best people I know.

I've deepened friendships with acquaintances I made in University, I've gracefully exited friendships that were really just a drag. I've been lucky enough to have a mostly email-based "hey, we have the same career!" correspondence bloom into a full-fledged friendship of confidence and support. I have truly incredible friends, and as I flip through photos from last Saturday night, I can see how lucky I am.

Friends are important. I'm someone's wife now, and I can see how it can be so easy to smugly cleave together, ignoring the world, one united front of we-have-the-same-last-name. But I've gotta tell you, it's the friends that, after 3 bottles of wine and a whole schwack of cheese, that confess that they too have to poo every.single.time they go to Chapters - those are special relationships. And they're worth the "inconvenience" of getting off the couch, pressing pause on the Covert Affairs marathon and putting on some outside-the-house pants.

Friends are great. I sincerely hope I can work very, very hard to cherish and maintain them, even after I ride out the turbulent changes of the next decade. You with me, buddies?

And seriously, you have no idea how relieved (ba-dum-ch!) I was to learn that I'm not the only one who can't spend more than 7 minutes in a book store without hearing the call of nature.

Monday, July 02, 2012

not quite single digits, less than a fortnight

Monday, July 02, 2012
Whoa. This is a totally behind-the-scenes observation, but I haven't blogged in so long that the whole Blogger interface has changed and it's a whole new world going on back here.

I woke up this morning and realized that the epic wedding countdown I've been running in my head for a year and a half has reached 12. Twelve days.

 I swing from being completely ecstatic to all-out mad panic.

Yesterday I was making dinner and couldn't get the pizza I made off the back of the cookie sheet onto the 500 degree pizza stone in the oven. I ended up burning myself, sticking the pizza completely to the stone, slamming two doors and throwing a full-on 10 minute hyperventilating tantrum.

 Not even an hour later I was gleefully practicing my new signature with my soon-to-be new last name.

 It's a wild ride, honestly, and I can't wait to party it up and wear my pretty dress and see everyone I love and celebrate our relationship and never, ever do this again.

 I don't know what's going to happen to this blog. I disappeared mostly because I hate reading wedding planning blogs, and I'm pretty sure that if I'd blogged honestly about my feelings and the last 6 months, I would have been taken away in a windowless van to somewhere safe and quiet, and you never would have heard from me again.

 But maybe I'll blog about random newly-wed adventures. But do you really want to read about how depressed I am that we finished the last episode of Sherlock and an analysis of Benedict Cumberbatch's cheekbones? Maybe you do. Who am I to judge?

 I started blogging so long ago, before blogs were a commodity filled with perfect photoshop masterpieces and bright shiny ideals of home and wife and fitness and family and crafting.

 I take shitty photos with my cellphone.

 I'm not sure where I fit in anymore.

 But I guess I'll keep going - because I know that Carolyn and Frank check here often, and if there's one thing I've learned lately, it's that friends are important, because few people will listen to an hour-long rant about imported cornmeal and resumes and colour-matching red tissue to red napkins, so when you find those people, HOLD ON TO THEM.

 So for now, I'm going to go clean my bathroom, ready for the impending arrival of my father-in-law (who is staying with us in our one-bedroom condo for far more days than my usual overnight-guest policy allows), continue my search for the perfect non-transferable, non-whorish lipstick, and then I'm going to go see that movie about the male strippers.

 That's how I'm spending my last days as Ms. Bailey. See you on the other side...