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I’m Louise. Blogger. Wife. Designer of TruLu Couture Veils + Accessories.  If you’d like to know more, check out my bio.

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Entries in Marriage (4)


On Men and Houses

At 4:22 this morning, The Candyman started fighting off mutant zombies. It woke me out of a hard, dreamless sleep and I shook him until he woke, just so he would stop wrestling with the bed covers.

And there I laid, wide-eyed, with the worse case of buyers remorse I've ever had.

We put an offer down on a house.

And now my mind is about to explode.

I kept thinking to myself:

The house is too old.

I don't know how to pull wallpaper off of plaster walls.

Are the ceilings too low?

Will The Candyman keep the pool clean like he's promised?

How much does it cost to build a carport? A garage?

Is the driveway too steep?

I could NOT shut myself up. So when I finally gave up trying to sleep, I grabbed my phone and looked at all the pictures again. I felt better. The problem is I'm much too practical to let myself fall in love with a house. I'm behaving much in the same way as I did my past relationships.

He's too short.

He's too unemployed.

He's too needy.

He has ugly hands.

You know, the sort of stuff that tells you it's not the right guy.

But then you meet a guy whose eyebrows might be a little long, eats like someone is trying to steal his food and sleeps on an air mattress in an apartment that smells like curry. And yet through  those things strange and perhaps not on your list of 'must haves' in  man, he feels like home.

So maybe, just maybe I'm being a little judgemental about the length of this house's eyebrows because inside, it certainly feels like home.

What may not be the perfect house in terms of hardwood this and granite counter top that, it could be just perfect. And it will be ours.

Keep your fingers crossed that the sellers accept our offer.




The Cosmic Order

So I got email from The Ex last week. It was Facebook email, the account I never check. It was maybe a week old? A little less? The Ex, or Big D, as I feel more apt to call him, wrote me that his brother had died.


My mind instantly jumped to a weekend spent skiing with Big D and his younger brother, who was just  a year older than I am. We went to Mammoth Mountain, California,  and had a fantastic weekend of skiing all day and sitting in the hotel hot tub afterwards, just talking and drinking some and having a grand time. Little sleep was had because The Brother had horrid sleep apnea and I swear, it was just the most nerve wracking thing to hear ever.

Flash forward. Years after the first break up, then the second. A third? A fourth? I’d lost count, really. We never really broke up and got back together; it was more like we’d drift apart, not speaking and then drift together again when we’d had enough of missing each other.

Our fights didn’t include yelling or harsh words. They were the silent kind. Much deadlier than the loud ones. Yes, just like farts. We knew  that our fights weren’t about his meddlesome sister, or his poor communication skills. We knew that it wasn’t the differences in religion, or my inability to separate him from his family’s money. Big D was The One Who Wasn't The One. Nor was I his One.  You know what I’m talking about here. We all have one. We all have our version of Carrie’s Mr. Big. The one who seems right, but then is  actually so very, very wrong.

When I finally broke with Big D I had to shove and run; cut him out. I had to shake off all remnants of what had been. We had The Conversation.  It would be our last conversation for a long time. I had served up an ultimatum right before I’d fled. I needed him to do something. A gesture, more than anything else. I needed him to come to me, for once. And he couldn’t. And it broke our hearts. One of the reasons he gave me for not coming to me was The Brother. When he had talked to him about moving, The Brother begged Big D not to go. I felt it was incredibly selfish and made me upset with The Brother. He’d had Big D his whole life, why couldn’t he share?

I knew, deep down and was able to admit it later that it wasn’t The Brother who kept Big D from me. I did blame him just a little at the time though.

A year or two later, I got an email from The Brother. Big D was very sick and in the hospital. He’d contracted some infection in Chad, where he was on a mission trip with his father helping build schools and hospitals and shit. He’d come home and immediately left again for Colorado to a camp for blind kids. He ended up in a Denver hospital,  part of that time being VERY scary in regards to his health. 

I don’t know if The Brother sent that email on his own accord, or if Big D had requested it. Either way, each brother meant  well. That email helped mend an amazing friendship that has now lasted 16 years.

All of this back story is to address an “oh-my-god-all-is-karma” moment that makes me believe over and over again that things happen they way they should. For some reason or another Big D broke my heart when he chose his brother and family over me. But I know now it was supposed to be that way. And not just because of The Candyman and not just because Big D married a beautiful girl who I actually like,  but because he stayed and was a part of his brother’s life.  What was my temporary heartache was Big D’s time spent with his brother, time that was cut drastically short.

He’s an uncle to The Bother’s 7 and 4 year old sons and will most likely step in in a fatherly role in the future. Those boys will need a man to tell them about their amazing father.

I haven’t yet spoken to Big D about his brother. I texted him as well as left an extremely awkward voicemail (I think I actually used the word “condolences”). I told him to call when he was ready. It hurts my heart knowing how this death will affect an old friend. 

I do know that the one peace I can find in this event is that Big D made the right choice. For all kinds of reasons.

Life is short. Make it count.

The Brother, Me, Big D at Mammoth Mountain, March 1998.

In Heartfelt Memory


The Brother


The Decline of Marriage

So last night I was slaving away in the kitchen making dinner for the hubs, with Brian Williams of NBC Nightly News blaring from the TV for me to hear over the clanging of my pots and pans.  A segment came on that made me abandon my Panko Crusted Chicken dish and take note.

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

Via the NBC Nightly News, December 14.2010. I ♥ Brian Williams.


Here are some of the stats quoted in this segment:

  • In 2010 51% of the population over the age of 18 is married.
  • In 1960 75% of the population over the age of 18 was married.

This appears to be a HUGE decline, right? We all see that the same way? Good.


  • Marriages have declined 5% since last year.
  • The average age for women getting married is 27, for men it’s 29. That age increases when they are college educated.
  • 72% of the population will marry sometime in our lives.

I’m not really sure about what this segment is supposed to convey to us. At first, I gasped and clutched at my heart thinking, “How will this affect TruLu Couture? The Thirty-Something Bride?” But after the segment was done and I went back to the chicken and the asparagus and the yummy new version of mac-n-cheese I got from Woman’s Day magazine and it got me to thinking about a few things like: populations growth, the U.S. Census of 2010, the sad state of our economy. I did a little research and found out some interesting factoids.

  • First, check out this little graph from the U.S. Census of 2010 on age distribution from 1960 to 2010.


Look at the median age. In 1960 it was 29.5, in 2010 it was 37.2. We are generally older as a population by 7.7 years.  I’m going to use my mom as an example. She got married in 1965 when she was 23 years old and college educated. If you add 7.7 years to that you get 30.7, which is close to that average age that college educated folks are getting married now.  It’s math, not the state of marriage.

Now check this out:


See all the numbers in the far right columns? This comparison is between 2000 and 2010. The percent change in younger people is far lower than those over the age of 45. There are actually less people in the 25-44 year old age range, the range that apparently everyone is now marrying in. Based on these numbers, well, it seems sort of like a no brainer that marriages have indeed dropped in the last 10 years. However, I don’t think it’s because people are necessarily not getting married, it’s because there are physically less of us in that younger age range to marry.

I could do some digging and find out what the population was in 1960 in the 25-44 year old age range, but I’m too lazy. I think we can make some safe assumptions, right?

And as for the decrease in weddings over the last year? Five percent? Sounds about right to me. If you’re an average American bride, you know times are tight. Weddings have been pushed back, postponed, delayed…all to manage them financially. I read about brides doing this all the time. Have you read the same or am I crazy here?  I don’t  think it’s ANY sort of representation of or trend for marriage. I think people are marrying smarter.

Gone is the notion that a woman needs to marry to survive either financially or socially. We can make our own money, support ourselves and have kids solo if we so desire. The need to marry no longer applies. It’s a choice. When we choose to do so, it then becomes a very personalized event. These events take time and money, the latter being harder to come by these days.

And what about that total of 72%? That many of us will eventually marry. How does that compare to how many of us did in 1960? In total population, I’ll bet it’s more, but compared to how many eventually did back then? I wonder.

So I’m not sure what the segment is really trying to convey. There seemed to be some element of worry in the tone of the piece. Should we be worried? Is there some doom and gloom associated with staying single or the decline (which I believe is relative) of marriage? What, if anything, does this say about us as a society? A country? I’d love to hear your thoughts.


Last Will & Testament

OK, so I came home late last night after a rousing night with the ladies from Crave Charlotte. All I had eaten most of the day was a coconut macaroon, so I was digging through the refrigerator looking for an evening snack when The Candyman goes, “Oh! I have something for you!” and he runs off into the other room. I’m thinking to myself, “Oooooooooh! Presents!”

Not so fast, lady.

The Candyman comes back into the kitchen and hands me a thick envelope. I turn it over and there, staring me in the face are the words:

Last Will and Testament


The Candyman

I’m all, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS????”

And he looks at me all innocent and doe-eyed and is all, “What? It’s my will.” Like it’s no big damn deal at all.

Honestly, I was crushed. CRUSHED, I tell you. I felt a little betrayed and a lot left out of a process I thought we’d be doing together. We’ve recently been dragging our heels on getting our last will and testaments as well as our living wills done. Oh yeah, and life insurance. So we’d talked about it recently. I just thought it was something we’d do together. I thought it was something we HAD to do together since our lives and assets are all mingled and shit. 

I was semi-hysterical for a bit while The Candyman was busy being totally complacent and calm so I said to him, “I’m TOTALLY going to write a blog post about this you know!” Idle threats did nothing to change his demeanor and I was too tired to argue any more, so I let it go (I’m learning to pick my battles).

So this morning, I did a little research on wills and such. Turns out that for a last will and testament, you don’t do the joint thing. You do what’s called reciprocal wills: he leaves me everything and I leave him everything and then we both name other folks too, just in case the powers that be decide to off us simultaneously.

So The Candyman comes downstairs as I’m researching this and I ask him a few questions (which totally annoys him because it’s early and he doesn’t do early). I bring up the living will, which you basically need so that if you trip across some tragedy that turns you into a vegetable, your loved one knows what you want him/her to do. So I ask him, “If you go all vegetable on me, do you want me to pull the plug?”

“Fuck yes, I do. Pull that shit.”

“Me too.”

And there you have it. He did make me feel slightly better by telling me to come down to the office so that I can get my will written up as well. Pffft. Like that’s going to make me feel any better. The big jerk, going off and writing up wills without me.

In all honesty though, it’s good he got the ball rolling. We really do need to have all that stuff spelled out. And so do you. Newlywed status be damned, it’s time to talk about death! Yeehaw!

No, but seriously. Do y’all have that stuff ironed out yet?