4:22 p.m. - 2005-10-11
Undignified Proposal.

I am forever receiving half-proposals of marriage.

I'm presently up to 4 half-proposals and 1 whole, for a total of 3. These and three dollars will get me a cappucino.

One of the halves occured on the weekend.

I was to meet Alex at a house party last weekend, but I pushed the definition of "meet", arriving 2 hours later than I'd estimated, because none of my clothes seemed right. I've been struggling with the balance of dignity and youth in my clothing lately, and it's augmented by unusually high anxiety. Over everything. Everything! And the party had a mild costume theme, which I was trying to observe without trying too hard, in case everyone bailed on the costume idea.

Before leaving my apartment, I tried on about a dozen skirts and pairs of trousers, half a dozen shirts, two pairs of boots, three pairs of heels. I'm still not sure whether my frantic indecision means I need more clothes, or some sort of medication. My bedroom looked so wild with clothing that I put half the mess away at lightning speed before my departure, as Alex had planned to come back to my apartment later and I didn't want to look like a crazy person.

Eventually I was dressed and out of the house.

I regretted the shoes immediately.

...Pretty though.

The party was huge and spilled out the large townhouse onto the sidewalk on an otherwise quiet street. I was shy as I always am when I first arrive somewhere and hurriedly navigated through a pack of sidewalk smokers without looking left or right for acquaintances. I hate it when I look around for friendly faces and see only strange eyes looking back.

I got inside, found Alex, to my relief, then a place to lay my coat. Next, a drink and a vantage point. It was crowded and the music was extremely loud. I liked the lighting--intimate and warm. A club DJ was set up in the living room, and perhaps 100 people circulated through the house; talking, dancing, laughing. A lot of people knew my name; some of them only know my boss, and have extrapolated from there. I knew I would spend half of the evening whispering to half the occupants of any given room to acquire the names of the other half. I have not yet fully accepted that I am bad with names. Mnemonic devices and "how do you spell that?" and "Is that a family name?" help me somewhat, and the rest I achieve through subterfuge, implying to the person helping me that is just the one name I have forgotten. No one ever forgives me when I admit to forgetting.

Alex wasn't cross with me over my ostentatious tardiness, but he was also half in the bag, which was annoying. He rarely drinks to excess, but is a bad judge of House Party Mystery Punch, and it had been almost a year since we'd had any.

I was quick to spot my former nemesis Divorced Man, dancing around shirtless in cut-off jean shorts and a bathrobe. It was part of a costume, but frankly it also served as a warning to others.

Fortunately, Dean's cheese-powered seduction and general smarm have been gently weakened by the Kryptonite of Life & its disappointments. It also helps that I'm aware that he'll put a hand on my knee if I am particularly nice to him. (Information? = power). But he's fun to talk to. And somehow, I still like to make him laugh. His is a ringing, delighted laugh that tugs at the social centers of my brain.

He's also unemployed, unwillingly behind on his child support payments, sleeping alone (and inclined to complain about it) and living with friends. He could use a laugh.

It is not a noble pursuit on my part; I like doing it.

Dean revealed--with a flourish--our mutual friend Liam, whom I swooped down upon and hugged. Liam and Dean are childhood friends, and I've known both of them since college.

I've missed Liam immensely. He's witty and quick, and can tell a story like no one else I've ever met. Everything that's ever happened to him becomes fascinating when he tells it. He doesn't even seem to exaggerate--it's all in his delivery. He's a natural storyteller.

I used to see Liam once or twice a week, but it's only been once or twice a year since I broke up with my Ex. Liam's favorite thing was to drop by unannounced and visit everyone at once. After I moved out, seeing him frequently was a little awkward, 'cause Liam was closer with my ex than with me. He'd had his misgivings about my ex's behavior, but...they were chums. Also, I was single and Liam was (and still is) married to a very quiet woman. If Liam & his wife had visited me, I would have spent the entire time bullshitting with Liam while his wife sat silently on the couch thinking mysterious thoughts. Not the end of the world--but still.

I asked Dean for the basic scoop on Liam's life before I sat down and unknowingly raised difficult subjects.

(The last time I'd asked [another] friend "How's your darling wife?" said friend asked me if I'd read his blog that very day. I hadn't. He'd announced they were getting a divorce. Oops).

"She's still wanting kids all of a sudden, and he's in therapy," Dean whispered. Jesus Christ.

Well, at least I wouldn't ask totally insensitive questions.

But we did talk at length.

Liam's wife is indeed currently fiending for a baby, off and on, but is currently choosing her marriage over phantom children.

He's flattered by this. And I understand why, but my heart hurt on his behalf. One day she might not choose him anymore. And--by this line of thinking--he will be devastated that he is no longer "worth it", rather than focusing on how irrepressible the urge to propagate can be. Of course--he would be devastated at the end of a marriage anyway, for whatever reason.

I felt confessional, and told Liam that--years ago--when he had made a fairly irreversible decision not to have children, I'd been sad for a time, thinking "Now, there will never be another Liam."

"But," I told him, "I realized that there could never be another Liam anyway, even if you did have children."

He seemed surprised, and pleased.

If there's anything that I'd ever wanted to say to him, it was that.

Liam asked me how I've been.

I'm okay, I told him. Still working two jobs. Still with Alex.

"You've been together a long time," he said, approving.

"Four years..." I said.

I told him that it actually feels extremely weird that all my friends and acquaintances are getting engaged or married. There had been a new engagement in my social circle just that week, and I've a separate wedding to go to, later this month. It's happening all around me. But I told him that I am not at all excited about the notion of marriage, and that it makes me feel guilty and alien, like a weird, sad little outlander.

And Liam said what everybody says--that if Alex & I are happy, we should ignore what societal pressure.

"I know," I said.

That's actually the easiest part, but it's not all of it.

I didn't get around to saying that I fear marriage because my mother's marriage was a trap. Or that I worry that my lack of marriage-enthusiasm could possibly mean that Alex is not ultimately the one for me. Those are too sad to talk about at a party.

An acquaintance sidled up with a bottle of European abs1nthe and offered me a shot. I seized the stylish shotglass he'd been using to dole out the expensive spirit for multiple friends, walked to the kitchen and washed it feverishly under the tap.

"Sheesh. It's a very potent form of alcohol," he said. "It'll kill any germs that have come into contact with it."

"I'm an anxious person."

"I've noticed."

"Meningitis," I muttered.

I accepted the drink, but it was nothing special. It tasted like chartreuse to me.

Some time later, Alex plunked down on the couch next to me with a red plastic cup of the mystery punch in hand. His costume involved a terrible false mustache that kept flapping away from his face on one side only. It was fairly entertaining, and he knew it. He kept waggling his brows at me and shooting me arch expressions.

"So...kinda crazy how Steve and Kari got engaged this week." He had to speak loudly over the music.

"I don't think so," I said. "I knew he would ask her. I was tempted to ask him when he would."

"Well, okay, it's not crazy," Alex said. "It's just...like...wow."

"Yeah. Big news, definitely."

It's not at all odd that Steve and Kari are getting married. He is...a burning lamb vindaloo, and she is a cool, soothing mango lassi. She seems perfect for him. Serene, smart, logical--and yet a safe place for him to be soft and unguarded. He adores her--and by my guess, Steve has adored very little in life. Kari was a gentle, unmocking recipient of all the love that hardened, cynical Steve had squirreled away over the years. Steve was one hell of a sleeper wave.

Steve would be hilariously pissed off to hear me say anything so sentimental. And then he would argue the 9 ways in which I am--somehow--incorrect.

There was a lull in the conversation, helpfully disguised by loud music.

"You know," Alex said. "If I had more money, I'd ask you to marry me."

My adrenaline spiked ungratefully in surprise.

"You do have 'more money'," I said. It was the only thing I could think of to say. "You just got a raise. Twice. You are the only man I know to get two raises in as many months without even asking for them."

"One was a merit raise. The other was when I changed positions."

"Oh. Well then. Obviously that negates all your good fortune." I poked him on the shoulder. "Your life doesn't suck now, how will you deal?"

He is a pessimist, and his good fortune as caused him a substantial amount of cognitive dissonance of late.

"Anyway," he said. "I've always believed that if people get married, one of them should have the ability to support the other if one of them gets fired."

"Do you know something I don't know? Am I about to lose one or both of my jobs to outsourcing?"

He tittered.

"No. I just think so."

"Well, it's very wise," I admitted. "So many marriages break up over money."

I was dazed, and fell into silence. I had never heard him speak seriously of the future unless it involved ruminating over grad school. Since when does he think of these things?

And wait a minute--who says I want to be married?

"I haven't said I would marry you," I said.

It was a rude thing to say, but I said it softly. Not entirely without humor.

"I know,' he said. "But I'd still ask you."

He eventually wandered off to chat with friends he hadn't seen in a while. I remained where I was sitting, touched and frightened for a time.

...and thus did an Unmarried Girl moodily occupy a loveseat with Captain Marriage and Divorced Man; 3 Mystery Men at different stages, each a little freaked out in their respective ways.

Captain Marriage departed first, home to his lovely and conflicted wife.

Close to 2am, the sacked-out boyfriend of Unmarried Girl rose from a reclining position on the bed of the host and was quietly sick in the bathroom. He refused a cab (on the off-chance he wasn't finished) and stumbled home a kilometer to his apartment.

Unmarried Girl was embarrassed and irritated--despite the host's unnatural nonchalance--and got a ride from Divorced Man's getaway drivers.

...Dean sprung out of the van and hugged me when I was dropped off.

As he pulled me close, I took advantage of this and whispered tenderly "Did you check those job leads I sent you?"

I am awash in romance.

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