On a bad idea and a great date.

o hai blog.

Funny, I intended to keep a good, accurately blogged account of the time spent living with my parents, which I assumed would be short. I assumed I'd have all sorts of free time and all sorts of insights and that I'd take to blogging like a baby wolverine to human flesh (baby wolverines are terrifying and can kill you, right?), but then I actually moved in here, and I started having a life -- mind you, not my own life, not with the kind of social activities that normally comprise a twentysomething's agenda, but a life full of U-14 soccer games and grocery shopping with my dad and staying up far too late with my mother and going to school. Also, turns out running can just completely take over your life. Weird.

So here I am.

And what, besides the beligerance of CSH, has inspired me to blog?

I'm going to a wedding this weekend.

Mind you, I go to many weddings every weekend. The sort-of job I sort-of got with my totally legit college degree happens to be catering waitressing, so I go to more weddings than Vince Vaughn and Owen Wilson combined and participate in significantly fewer antics. But this wedding came with far less notice, and is far more happily recieved.

The person getting married is the woman who taught me my first lessons in newspaper design, which is a surprise in and of itself -- despite her extensive religiosity, she's never struck me as the marrying kind. I guess we will all one day hit 26 and make poor choices.

I'm 22 and I can make poor choices now. Namely agreeing to go with the person who asked me to this delightful affair, a man often described as the most persistent problem in my life. That's a thing.

He proposed the idea at 2 a.m., after an hour or so of random catching up chatter, a thing we do a lot -- he calls me exhausted and is reminded of how funny I am, because somehow my jokes are always spot-on after midnight, and I am reminded that I'm a human being. He has that magical superpower, the power to make me feel like myself, which has been a rare feeling since I prematurely started behaving like an adult, an effort which I could obviously not keep up for long.

So every time I drink too much, it's his number I call first. And apparently, it's my number he dialed when he couldn't stand another wedding alone.

Which is both understandable and acceptable to me. It's also exciting. It's been six months. I can't wait to see him.

The big question now is: what do I wear?