ambiguous sexual encounters that aren't #metoo

I wanted to start this year off by catching up on my 2017 trips and pics, but this came up today and I decided I would start the year off with a P for Personal Post.

Warning: potty mouth and sexual content ahead, and some parts may be triggering.

Before I go any further, to the men and meninists and misogynists reading this and hoping that you can jump on my "shit happens" bandwagon for your personal betterment because what I am about to say highlights the "grey" area you all like to think applies to your checkered and smarmy sexual histories, do NOT for one second think this means I am defending you or justifying or excusing your rape-y or piggish behaviour that one time (or those many times) you know you crossed the line and you want to play "she was asking for it" game. I'd like to use the term blurred lines to discuss that situation but it makes me want to puke a little bit in my mouth considering the context it now holds that *could* *should* *would* have been a brilliant opportunity to open conversation about blurry lines are, but instead interpreted the blurry line as just another one we ladies definitely wanted to be crossed, replete with an entitled "grab em by the pussy" (married at the time) celebrity, vulgar lyrics, violent force, naked girls, and a catchy dance beat. But I digress.

Now, my two bits. In case you missed it, someone going by the name "Grace" called out Aziz Ansari. Like others, I am a bit reluctant to put this out there because of the backlash I might be inviting, but as a parent of teens and young adults who are sexually maturing in the current environment, I can't just say nothing. Lump me in with Margaret Atwood.

There is definitely room for improvement on Ansari's part when he next takes a girl to dinner and wants to be 100% sure that she wants to hook up, but explain to me how a parent is supposed to teach a son to only proceed with sex if he receives an enthusiastic YES and to stop immediately if he received a NO even AFTER he has received a prior enthusiastic YES, if we are not teaching and holding women and girls accountable to actually say YES and NO? What about those of us (raises hand) who kind of hope that what we are doing (like sitting naked on a counter receiving oral or digital sex, even if it's bad oral or digital sex) is sufficient to imply consent without having to sound like a porn star (or a clinician) by giving in specific measured terms what we are and are not consenting to? How does a parent prepare a child for public shaming if after a girl willingly performs oral sex, he is accused of misreading signals because it's just too weird after she initiates or complies to ask, "Are you enthusiastically and consensually performing oral sex on me, or do you just feel like you can't say no?" What if the tables are turned and a boy is too awkward to say, "I am not receiving this oral sex enthusiastically or consensually?" Do I even need to bother with the narratives about "no mean yes" and "yes also means yes" that pervades porn culture and infects everything from advertising to rom coms?

I could go on but I think we get the point - it's not always as simple as a cup of goddamned tea. There are what I am going to refer to as ambiguous sexual encounters that the tea analogy fails, because it doesn't address what happens if someone drinks the tea and realizes later that the tea made them feel yucky, or maybe they thought the tea would taste better than it really did and they drank it anyway just to be polite without feeling obligated or forced to in any way, or a multitude of other shades of grey (which I am also loathe to use due to the context THAT has taken on) that we've omitted. Does that sound bizarre? Over-simplified? How about this: I know I have this problem with consenting to eating food that is being pushed on me, and later having regret. The anger I feel, the shame and frustration I feel, the disappointment in my lack of resolve after accepting too many brownies is real, but the choice was mine. It's not like someone threatened my job if I didn't eat the third delicious chocolatey brownie, but the guilt is real. Humans are such beautifully complicated creatures, that I don't know how it can boil down to tea.

That being said, I feel genuinely sorry for "Grace" because whether this is a desperate cry for 15 minutes of fame as some are saying, a woman who should be lauded for her bravery after surviving a traumatic and violent sexual encounter with a potential rapist as others are saying, or just a regrettable awkward ambiguous sexual encounter as the current "bad feminists" are saying is entirely in the eye of the beholder. For me, in my personal experience, the Justice Potter Casablanca test applies: I know it when I see it. So here's my personal experience.

I've been in "Grace's" situation before, and it feels to me like this one time (and actually there was more than one time) that I found myself on the verge of engaging in sexual activity (with new and ongoing relationships alike) and didn't exactly say no but I didn't exactly say yes either because (tipsy or sober) I felt ambiguous about it and it wasn't until the morning I was like, nope, that was a bad choice. Did I give an enthusiastic "Yes!"? Absolutely not. Did I give a firm, "No!"? Also absolutely not. Did I give mixed signals? Yup. Did it feel dirty and gross and icky afterwards? 100%. Did I feel violated? Kinda. But more like disappointed in myself. I'm going to take it one step further and say that I've even been in long-term committed relationships where I was fully aware of the fact that I could say no, and didn't, because sometimes... sex... meh. I didn't feel pressured or obligated and no I also wasn't really into it and still... meh. On some occasions, even when I really enjoyed the sex, afterwards I was filled with regret. Like, immediately afterwards. Like, if I could turn back time I would choose differently. Make-up sex, angry sex, revenge sex, oops I was lonely and you were there sex - all regrettable for different reasons. And if I am going to be totally honest here, there is even one particular occasion where I left it up to interpretation and because he was a nice boy who erred on the side of caution, I missed out and kinda wish I had enthusiastically said yes.

I assure you, that feeling of not being sure one way or the other was distinctly different from the times where I felt violated, like the several times I was thrown in the back hallway and had my shirt lifted up so boys could check if my boobs were real by groping and poking them, or that time a classmate jammed his hands down the front of my pants and when I ran away crying, he got scared he was going to get in trouble so he told the whole school that he refused to fuck me because I smelled like fish. It felt distinctly different than the unwanted intimate sponge bath I specifically declined but was given anyway by an intern when I was hospitalized at the age of 11, it felt 1000x different than being held down and forced to have sex after a date gone wrong, and the countless times a music teacher repeatedly clung to me and thrust his erection against my back, claiming to be checking my breathing. And it certainly felt different than that time it was my job on the line and I had to not only tolerate but pretend to enjoy countless months of sexual harassment from clients, co-workers and superiors alike while I was working in the service industry. So yes, #metoo. I've been violated in horrible disgusting ways by a lot of horrible disgusting people. In fact, I am pretty sure I have enough #metoo stories to blanket an entire city block. But I do not include those times where I was unsure of myself and acted ambiguously towards a boy's advances, because I refuse to accept that I was that helpless. I wasn't, not even in my late teens and 20s. Curious and confused and naive and fumbling, yes, worried about my reputation and mortal soul, yup, but helpless no.

While I am not saying that "Grace" has lied, placing her story in the realm of #metoo can't help but negatively impact the momentum the same way that girls who have falsely cried rape (Google it yourself) has undermined the public's ability and willingness to say "I believe you" because we're stepping backwards. This is how the waters get muddied and the momentum giving girls and women and yes, even boys and men the courage to speak up against the Woody Allens and the Weinsteins and the Spaceys loses its credibility and gets us a reputation as man-hating zealots with an axe to grind. Part of the problem remains with an inability to say, "I made a mistake" without being labelled a slut or a womanizer. A man can change his mind in the morning and deny he had sex with a chick rather than admit he made a mistake and it protects his reputation, but if he were to cry rape or accuse the female of coercion he would get laughed at. Then, in the classic double standard of our society, it is somehow anti-feminist for a woman to admit that maybe what seemed like a good idea at the time was regrettable in the morning and shake it off as a lesson learned the hard way. Whether I admit or deny my ambiguous sexual encounters, whether I accuse someone or let the alleged perpetrators remain anonymous, I will still get labelled a desperate morally corrupt whore. Does the morning after ambiguous sex still feel gross and icky and violating? Probably. But that's still not the same as being coerced or roofied or threatened to not get an audition much less raped. To me, it's still not #metoo territory.

I need you to play make-believe with me, for just a brief second. Put yourself in the non-celebrity's position and contemplate the reasons why you might want to have sex with a celebrity, then go down the list of reasons why you would say no, and I assure you that both sides will feature a whole mess of disordered thinking. Come on - how many of us have said that we would have so-and-so celebrity's baby? I mean, I remember a time when I was convinced I was going to have George Michael's babies, if only I could hook up with him (ha!) Also, I had one girlfriend who used to actually physically hump any picture of Brad Pitt that she came across, any time, any place, and when she went to Los Angeles and thought she saw him, she said she was completely paralyzed and couldn't even bring herself to go say hi. I've personally made an ass of myself in front of all kinds of people I respect and admire, and I didn't even want to have sex with any of them... but again I digress.

Without an ounce of irony or facetiousness, I asked myself what effect being starstruck would have on me in that moment, especially when I look back at myself at the tender age of 22? Yes: bragging rights, you'd have a great story to tell, you might be famous for 15 minutes, they might fall in love with you, they might connect you with people who can advance your career or status. No: I'm probably just being used for sex, I'd feel like a slut, it probably won't lead anywhere, people might not believe me, I might catch an STD, etc. Also, let's not leave out the fact that Ansari isn't really in the same league as lots of hi-caliber celebrities - would I be willing to sleep with a mid-grade or unattractive celebrity or would I only bend my morals for a bigger, better-looking fish? 

I believe the encounter with Ansari happened more or less exactly the way it was told, between consenting adults (no children here) and I believe "Grace" felt violated, and that it was a confusing experience for her being excited to go on a date and feeling unsure about what kind of sex (if any) she should engage with him. Was Ansari's behaviour coercive because he was arrogant enough to assume his celebrity guaranteed him some action? By her own account, Ansari did not appear to use his celebrity against her, nor did she mention that he dangled any carrots in front of her to entice her. Was it because he is a celebrity that "Grace" felt unsure of how or if she wanted to offer up a hard "no?" And if that's the case, if he was not a celebrity, would she have felt OK saying no? Would she have left sooner? Would she have been able to say, "Play with my hair and soothe me while we watch a sitcom without expecting or suggesting any further sexual activity," if he wasn't a famous guy? Did he ask if he could have sex with her? Yes. Did he phrase it well? ("How would you like me to fuck you?") Maybe not so much. Unlike others who have been accused, though, he's not deflecting, he is not denying the events nor changing any details, and I actually believe based on "Grace's" story that Ansari did not act without what he could realistically believe was consent.

I don't want to say this doesn't feel like #metoo, but it doesn't, and I am not the only "bad feminist" to think this. To me, reading the text, subtext, and context, it feels like a case of someone not knowing how to process an ambiguous sexual encounter. How do I reconcile believing both stories, and not be labeled a bad feminist or a traitor? How do I avoid sounding like I want to justify my own checkered and smarmy sexual history by pasting a "shit happens" label on this situation? How do I say I am OK with what happened to me instead of pointing a finger at the patriarchy? I can't. And so my heart goes out to both "Grace" and Ansari, who are both very likely feeling all kinds of horrible ugly feelings right now. I don't want Grace to feel like she shouldn't have shared her experience, because it has opened up some very important dialogue that many of us have shied way from. I also don't think Ansari behaved like 'she was asking for it' because if that was the case, he wouldn't have asked her how (although yes, this should have been if) she wanted to get fucked or suggested they put their clothes back on and watch TV, he simply would have grabbed her by the hair, tipped her over in front of the mirror, and hammered away until he finished on her face. Instead, he called her an uber when she decided to leave, made a lame joke, and apologized the next day when she said he misread her non-verbal cues.

This Huffpost piece really digs into the problem better than I have, tackling the gap between feeling violated (for some of my more moderate Christian friends and family this whole topic violates them) and criminal sexual contact, and it points to the dysfunctional and completely screwed-up discourse women and men have had for years about how to both own and express our sexual wants and desires in a way that is acceptable to us and readable by the person we are sending the message to, and this does not exist. I repeat, THIS DOES NOT EXIST. In case you missed it, "yes" and "no" are not enough, especially when the porn industry plagues both men and women with distorted depictions of consent, sexual freedom, and what constitutes vanilla v. kink (TLDR version of this article: men and women both face performance anxiety, misunderstand cues from their partner, and ultimately have less sexual satisfaction.)

As the Huffpost article points out, LOTS of us have these kind of stories, where Yes and No fail us, and we end up expressing everything from disappointment, shame, frustration, and (frankly) indifference, simply not actually giving a damn about those regrettable ambiguous sexual encounters and dismissing them as water under the bridge, when we probably should have made up our minds and given clear instructions to our partner, but didn't, because nether Yes or No was what we felt at the time. Instead of being allowed to learn our own very personal and very private life lessons about making better choices, we are told we must choose a stance and shun the other side wholesale. I feel like I am being forced to hold an, "If I am not part of the solution, I am part of the problem" mentality and it chaps my ass. Sometimes, shit just happens. I am owning it all - making bad choices, not believing everything I read, sitting on the fence. But I will not be labeled a bad feminist. Just a rational feminist raising both sons and daughters who will one day write the rules, and I hope they don't do as piss-poor of a job as prior generations have.

"Grace" wherever you are and whoever you are, I want you to know that I think you are brave to share your story, and I hope you realize how important it was for you to share it. Maybe you aren't getting the outpouring of sympathy that might have been expected, but I do think you have created a platform for the dialogue around consent, feeling violated, and the need for unambiguous sexual communication to go even deeper. Thank you.

Now. What I really want to know now is how this guy ^^^ is still in office, when he is clearly the king of using celebrity to take what he wants without permission.

of women and wine

A colleague of mine came out as “getting sober” not too long ago. I admit, I don’t know the backstory – whether it was a full-blown case of alcoholism or just frustration and confusion over how to navigate the "institution of women and wine” that triggered her desire to change - but it has sat for weeks at the base of my brain stewing and my uneasiness with the matter was finally brought into focus by this article. Please read it first, if for no other reason than you will need it to understand the pool references.

When I shared this article on Facebook, a friend of mine commented about how acutely aware she became of the "wine movement" when she decided to give up most drinking. Initially I thought, there's no "wine movement" yet clearly, women are being targeted by not only the industry (at least half of the memes in this blog post were pulled from a liquor store's website) but each other. All you need to do is pay attention to the memes floating around out there, who is sharing them, when, and why, and a very distinct pattern emerges: women and wine.

I have been half-heartedly dog-paddling to the “other side of the pool” for several months, debating whether I am ready to break into a casual but committed breast stroke. While the article definitely has a strong feminist slant to it, without getting into an argument about sexism, this line in particular resonated with me:

"Do you remember the Enjoli perfume commercial from the 1970s? The chick who could bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you’re a man? I blame that bitch for a lot. For spreading the notion that women should have a career, keep house, and fuck their husbands, when the only sane thing to do is pick two and outsource the third."  For your convenience, I found the ad on YouTube.

It resonated with me because let's get real: it's not just men that place this "24-hour woman" expectation on our heads, but ourselves and each other. There was a period at the height of my anxiety issues in late 2013 and early 2014 when because I had quite voluntarily bitten off way more than I could chew, my mental, physical, and psychological health as well as my marriage and family life were all suffering. I was too afraid to admit I was unable to be a "24-hour woman" though. I didn't want to be a failure, to be thought of as not being able to do it all. I wanted the world to see me as some kind of Wonderwoman and shuddered at the thought of showing the cracks in my armour as I descended deeper and deeper into utter despair.

As staunchly as I refused to let go of any of my commitments, I equally staunchly refused to seek medical help, because I knew what a doctor would say if I admitted how serious my situation was. Days were fuelled by coffee and fast food and junk food and my night would only come to a halt at 2 or 3am when I was relaxed enough that my brain would FINALLY stop worrying about all the things I still hadn't accomplished, which ranged from making more time for my husband and planning our annual vacation to losing weight and quitting smoking to sweeping the piles of dusty dog hair from the corners of the stairs and scraping the soap scum off the shower walls with an expired Subway gift card to delivering client files on time and meeting deadlines at my day job to writing the paper due for school and that novel I always wanted to write. Many nights, the ability to “relax” came in the form of “Mama needs a little wine…” because 3-4 hours of wine-assisted unconsciousness was better than not sleeping at all. "Sleep is for sissies" or "I can sleep when I die" I would say but really, I was killing myself.

While I am up on my soap-box here, let's not be completely gender-biased about this either. I think men often fall in this category, too - there is definitely social pressure to play the sports, make the money, fix the things, and drink the Scotch while still being a family man who plans surprise parties for his wife and without being asked brings home flowers, chocolate and (of course) wine... A man who can’t hold his liquor? Shameful! The Dude who is always the DD? Must be in AA. The guy whose wife drinks but he doesn’t? She must have him pussy-whipped. He doesn’t like to drink? Stick in the mud! So a quick shout-out to the men.  But now back to the women.

I'm in a much better place now - I've dropped about 75 lbs, I don't smoke anymore, my marriage and family life is healthier than it has been in years, and I seem to have made serious strides towards that elusive "work-life" balance that people talk about. When I finally implemented major lifestyle changes in late 2014 including shutting down my studio, downsizing, simplifying, taking care of my body, and reducing the complexity and quantity of commitments in my life, it involved cutting back on my alcohol consumption. I would jokingly thank Weight Watchers for my sobriety as I could only “afford” the points for one bottle of wine per week, a far cry from the 4 or 5 I would consume over the course of an average week.

Despite getting a better grip on reality, I still have a love-hate relationship with drinking. It was nice having a socially acceptable “excuse” for saying no to the drink, but once I got close to my goal weight, even that didn’t stop me from getting pressured and caving on a regular basis. “Just one glass,” they would say. "You lost so much weight... you deserve to treat yourself..."

And I admit, if I knew there was a social event where I would be expected (yes, expected is the right word) to drink, I'd start swapping real food for wine or do extra exercise to stay inside my points that week. BBQ? Cold summer drinks. Dinner party? Wine for the host. Canada Day picnic? Champagne! Wedding? Signature cocktail. Drinking is planned for and it is expected that guests will partake by virtue of the fact alcohol has been provided, and while admittedly no one is pouring it down my throat, abstaining is often a great way to draw unwanted attention to yourself. "Are you pregnant?"

Why is every occasion a reason to drink? Does it never end? In social situations I often feel like it's almost a "keeping up with the Joneses" type thing - a cosmopolitan modern "24-hour" woman not only brings home bacon, fries it up, and makes her husband feel like a man but she raises kids, throws Pinterest-worthy parties, and goes to Orange Theory 5x a week PLUS she must down as many beers much wine as her husband girlfriends to be accepted as one of the boys girls.

Consumption of wine is a focal point of so many gatherings - paint night, professional retreats, girls' weekends, mommy getaways, bachelorettes, divorce parties... If I say I don’t want a drink, I get the side-eye that says everything from you’re a party pooper to you're boring to you're not very cool to you're probably judging me, even when the truth is that I (actually) just don’t want a drink.

Before anyone jumps down my throat about being “against” drinking or accuses me of judging those who do, stop. The truth is, if there is a party, I spend time planning cocktails, often fitting it into the theme of the party. Tacos? Tequila! Cuban? Rum! Christmas? Peppermint Schnapps! In May we had a gathering where I made 2 gallons of Singapore Sling to go with my Haianese chicken rice. TWO GALLONS. It was on tap, and if anyone hadn’t tried it or their glass was empty, I was sure to hook them up. And I recently invited myself to (ironically) a pool party and we brought not only dessert and a salad but beergaritas, sangria and a bottle of red.

Have you ever heard people freak out about a dry wedding? It’s like it would be humanly impossible to have a good night without alcohol. In my case, the irony of consuming alcohol is that I experience MORE anxiety over my conduct than if I abstain. Being tipsy and having “lower inhibitions” in public isn’t “relaxing” for me at all.

Frequently it’s not until I am well past the point of “tipsy” and well into “drunk” that I can turn off my social anxiety, at which point I become afraid of appearing foolish so a different kind of anxiety sets in. And before you gasp in horror at that, I’d like you to take into consideration that I am by most accounts a rather high-strung OCD kinda gal and people think that it’s great when I just "let go and have a little fun!” As much as I’d like to say I never pressure or judge the person who isn’t drinking, when I am in a party mood, I feel embarrassed and like I am going to be judged if everyone else isn’t drinking, too, so of course I invite them to join - drinking alone is no fun!

But here's the stupid part - my tendency when I have hit the tipping point between tipsy and drunk is to simply withdraw (go to bed, find a quiet place to hide, leave the event) so no one sees me stumble or hears me slur. Which means that all the people drinking with me ultimately end up drinking without me. I'm not able to talk about the evening's fun and frivolity the next day because, well - I tap out. So I have to ask myself, how is drinking with friends more fun than drinking alone?

I think it's really easy to become a member of the women and wine movement, and by the time you actually realize you're caught up in it, you've got a hell of a time breaking free from the established patterns not only because you’ve developed a habit but you’ve developed a social system and circle that perpetuates this mentality.

And just to be crystal clear, I am not talking about the functional alcoholism and physical addiction and getting blackout drunk every possible chance you get consumption of alcohol, I am talking about straight up habitual institutionalized socially accepted daily consumption of alcohol, and the tendency to feel outright defensive anytime someone questions it.

I am not qualified to classify myself (or most mommy wine drinkers) as “alcoholic” (functional or otherwise) but I would definitely classify myself as being pretty weak-willed. I mean, how could I say no to a nice red pretty much any day, at any time, for basically any reason including no reason at all? Who am I to say to say no to an ice cold cooler on a hot day? Baileys in my coffee or Amaretto in my tea on a cold winter morning?  If it’s there, handed or offered to me, I have a hard time thinking of a reason to say “no" because the message I get every single day reinforces the institution of women and wine.

So can we just talk about the “reasons” why we think we “deserve” wine and have no reason to say no? Because that shit is messed up and defies logic. I had a good day. I had a bad day. My kids made me mad. My kids got As on their report cards and I need to pat myself on the back. My friend had a bad day and doesn’t want to drink alone. We’re having a party. We are getting married. I’m sad. I’m celebrating. I’m worried. I need an escape. I have to show my kids I am hip.  I’m going on a date. Someone died. It’s the weekend. It’s 10% Tuesday. It’s Wednesday and it’s raining. I can’t sleep. I’m bored. The bottle was opened and I didn’t want to leave it unfinished. I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m stressed. My period came.

Face it: we will be judged whether we choose to drink or not to drink, depending on what side of the pool we’re on and who we're wading in it with. I don't entirely agree with the smugness the article's author takes towards the end - there are many celebratory occasions when imbibing wobble juice is not only acceptable but genuinely enjoyable - but I am self-aware enough to realize that responding to someone's expression of having a bad day with “Where’s the wine?” is dismissive, glib, and in some ways irresponsible - do I really want to be a person who encourages people to self-medicate with alcohol when they are in distress?

I admit, I have been incredibly guilty of being the first one to throw out the "where's the wine?" comment, when what I really mean is, "Congratulations that's so awesome - you should feel really proud of yourself!" or "Holy shit - that sucks - I hope you are able to give yourself some self-care soon and please let me know if there is anything I can do to help."

I've felt for some time that my relationship with alcohol, and with wine in particular, has occasionally teetered into questionable territory. It comes in waves with me - brief periods of time where not only the frequency of wine o'clock escalates but the quantity (a glass becomes a bottle) and I have had to stop and make a conscious choice to say to myself, "Whoa, hey - back it up, sister..." Especially in summer. Seriously, starting in May every goddamned event I go to - picnic, camping, reunion, wedding, etc. - I have a drink placed in my hand, and by the end of August when I stop and do the math, I become aware of how it has just kind of snuck up on me. Again.

And I know I can't be the only one caught in this cycle, but it's such an uncomfortable conversation to have.  How do you say, "I think we drink too much - how about you?" without getting uninvited to every future gathering? According to AA, the first step is admitting you have a problem, so how can you ask people to come to a "dry" BBQ *just for a change* without people questioning your motives or assuming that you're in rehab? It's just so much easier if we just don't admit that we find it difficult or frustrating to be submerged in this culture of women and wine.

It has somehow become more socially acceptable to say, "I need wine," than, "I need support." There is something very very wrong with that and I guess I'm resentful of the "women and wine movement" because of how I am realizing it has affected my interpersonal relationships. As much as I have become an unwitting purveyor of this norm, I have more importantly realized that I have become desensitized to having my own feelings and thoughts dismissed or ignored through the words of a meme from a well-meaning friend, and by following my own advice to get me to a winery. Maybe - just maybe - what we all really need is a break to get some me time - get some exercise, meditate, go for a walk in nature, take a nap, or find a sympathetic ear. When none of that helps and only wine takes the edge off, then maybe I (or you) do need to look at a 12-step program, and if that's what I (or you) need, there's no shame in that.

I'm not suggesting that I (or you) need to run out immediately and sign up for detox, but I am going to be paying much closer attention to when and why I am putting wine in my body.  In my slow but pointed flutter kick closer to the other side of the pool, I’ve also decided that I will start using proper words to express empathy instead of posting a meme or giving you the number for dial-a-bottle. I'm not going to judge you when you drink nor pressure or question you if you don't drink. And when I show up at your next party, instead of bringing wine you will probably get a bouquet of freshly chopped rhubarb or a pot roast for the freezer or maybe a nice wheel of brie.

I invite you to do the same.

the little wedding that could

I went on a balloon ride with my family at 4:45am on the morning of June 24th.  We first tried booking it 6 years ago, and every time we booked we would get cancelled at the last minute due to weather, and it wasn't until we were literally about 5 or 6 feet off the ground that it hit me that it was actually happening.  And it was seriously trippy - this is one off the bucket list, despite the landing which was smooth, but took place in a farmer's field that was fully fenced and had a padlocked gate, making it impossible for us to leave for almost 2 hours after we landed.  I had a wedding booked for later that day so I texted my bride that I was running a bit late but would be there as quickly as possible...

The farmer whose field we landed in was, by chance, at home - turns out "Mel" actually lived some 20 miles away and it was pure luck that he happened to be there that morning.  He grumbled pretty much the whole time, obviously displeased - he said his farm was in the no-fly zone, despite what the balloon pilot's app said, but you can be guaranteed that he will spend the next 3 weeks talking about rescuing those idiots and their crashed balloon from amidst the straw bales and cowpies because mishaps make for the best stories.  


In that same spirit, I always tell couples that something can and will go wrong with their wedding, and those will be the narrative they share.  Bad weather, the forgotten marriage license, typo in the address on the invitations, missing boutonnieres, and flat tires are far more interesting than, "The day was perfect, the end..."

The adorable couple Bill and I stuffed in our canoe and pushed into Chickakoo lake in April had contacted me a couple of days before I left for Singapore, and well after we had already picked our date for the balloon flight.  I jokingly warned them that I would try and not be late on the morning of the wedding, which was apparently the wrong thing to say - they had already lost their venue and gone through two photographers before getting my name passed along to them, which was really just the beginning of the string of "stories" these two will have to tell about their wedding day.

"Your wedding will be amazing.  It's going to happen and be awesome because of not in spite of everything that is going sideways," I assured them.

Through it all, these two never lost their determination to DIY their perfect wedding.

For all the chaos...

... the process of getting ready somehow remained remarkably calm and cheerful.

I had sent Bill off to follow the groom around.

My husband helped the groom tie his tie since the person who normally tied his ties was located in a different house tying their daughter's tie.

By the time we finally left the house, it was a miracle more tears of frustration had not been shed.

It seemed like there was some kind of conspiracy against these two, and they were having none. of. it.

The guests had arrived at Greystone Gardens Bed & Breakfast, the sun was shining, and Murhpy's best effort did not stop the wedding from happening.

Normally the bride doesn't get to touch the groom until after they are holding hands and exchanging rings, but M went in for a hug - that she needed it right then was palpable and I was glad she broke the rules and took what she needed.  I think they both needed it, really.

Once the vows were all said and done...

... and the papers were all signed...

... the newly minted Mr. & Mrs. strolled to a stand of trees to greet their guests before photos.  All the tears that the bride had held in began to make their way out as this sweet family of three hugged all the special people who had come out to help them make this day happen.

And I cannot lie - the sympathetic cryer in me was happy when they finished and we got to the extended family pictures...

These two - the bride and groom's daughter and her BFF...  13 year olds are so delightfully awkward!

After grabbing a couple of quick family photos, Mom & Dad aka the Bride & Groom sent the girls off to the rental SUV to listen to tunes while we took pictures of just the two of them.

 M&M are like a pair of trees planted so closely together that they eventually become entwined and grow as one. 

I very much felt the deep love and respect these two have for one another, every moment of the day.

He loves me flowers....

They casually discussed their relief at having the ceremony over and contemplated whether it would wildly inappropriate to skip their own reception.

There was no garter for the garter toss, so we left a few minutes before feeding the dogs to stop and grab one, along with a delivery system: a neon football.

Meanwhile, Bill was at the Links in Spruce Grove getting pictures of the decor.

Before we could start dinner, we needed to round up the groom's extended family as they had somehow missed the memo to stay after the ceremony for family photos. We were running a few minutes late but I assured them it was ok - dinner wouldn't start without them.

And then the party began, with kissing Plinko (lands in white the bride and groom kiss, lands in black the player has to find someone else to kiss) played during the delicious BBQ steak and salmon supper.

Barely a dry eye was to be found when sister spoke to sister, as only sisters can.  "You'll have bad times, but it'll always wake you up to the good stuff you weren't paying attention to." Good Will Hunting.

There was no  toast to the groom, as the best man had unfortunately fell gravely ill shortly before the wedding and was unable to be present.  (The bride's brother had stepped up to sign the marriage certificate during the ceremony.)

So the bride and groom skipped ahead to a quick round of thank yous before Cake O'Clock...

... Shoe Game O'Clock....

... then time Relax Until the First Dance O'Clock...

This involved more visiting, impromptu breakdancing, people-watching, summersaults and cartwheels, attempts at tree climbing...

... and the most intense game of Jenga I have ever seen played.

Once the DJ finally got the right song sorted out (an hour behind schedule) the bride and groom had one last quiet moment together before the dance floor filled up.

Looking at these photos, it's hard to believe that this wedding story includes the bride and groom lost a venue and 2 photographers, how the groom bought his shoes on the morning of the wedding at Mark's Work Wearhouse instead of Payless, how the bride's brother stood up for the best man, how the bride needed to buy a second dress, how they were still putting the seating chart together on the morning of the wedding, how the bride did her own make-up and drove herself to her own wedding, how the bride's Mom was hemming her granddaughter's pants on the way out the door, how a guest had to hand the bride Kleenex, how there are no pictures with the hot rod, how we had to make a pit stop at Michael's on the way to the reception, how the groom had to google how to fix a tripped door locking mechanism in a luxury SUV, how their grand entrance at the reception was briefly delayed so that the groom's could be rounded up, how the bride had to throw her own bouquet and wing the speech, how there was a small plastic hippo on the wedding cake, how the dance started late and with the wrong song, how all the bottles of red wine got removed from the tables, and how the bride and groom had to go back to the bed and breakfast the day after their wedding to drop of a cheque and a chunk of the chandelier that ended up in my pocket after it fell from the frame at the bed & breakfast shortly after the ceremony.

As a photographer, my traditional "last stop" is the garter/bouquet toss.  Often, my second shooter and I will stick around after that for the late lunch and maybe a dance or two, but having started the day with that balloon ride at 4:45 am, both Bill and I were too exhausted to bust a move, so we called it a night after me favourite farewell fisheye selfie with the couple.

How many things can one couple "make do" before, during and after your wedding? I am sure for these two it was at least 42.  And the fact that at the end of the night they were still smiling, laughing, and loving the life they've made together is a testament to exactly how rock solid these two are.

M&M, Bill and I thoroughly loved every minute we got to spend with you and your wonderful family and friends. You are an inspiration and a joy to know, and I really think it's time to go paddling now.