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Two weeks ago, I had a few ideas about stress. I had just gotten off the phone with a friend of mine who lives/works in Kanab, Utah. She works for the BLM and I was trying to talk her into hook me up with a hard to get hiking permit to an absolutely gorgeous plot of earth down in the red desert. The stars had aligned and it was both my girlfriend’s birthday and her spring break. Or whatever the hell they call it when it happens before spring. No luck. And after checking out the never reliable but still controlling weather forecast, things didn’t exactly look stable. I have a few pressures here: strongest being, for my last birthday, she had given me a 10 day trip to Hawaii. This is what athletes refer to as, competition. I think that I will always lack the foresight and organization to plan a vacation that doesn’t involve a tent.

I like surprises. So, approaching her about my anxieties about a trip, meant revealing the possibility of a trip. After swallowing a little pride, I explained my situation and she comforted my insecurity by telling me that she didn’t need to go on a trip. “Just apply that money towards a ring.” I’ve learned that anytime a woman uses the phrase “a ring”, the reference couldn’t be more specific. There is only a singular option. We joke about this all the time, but to be fair, I’m pretty sure that it’s only been me that’s found it funny. (Sarah is horrified at this point and I wish I could see the disgusted look on your face as you read this.) The truth is, we’ve dated for a year and a half and we both feel comfortable with the happily ever after scheme.

At some point in the following days as we were lounging about on the couch, my mind started wandering and so I asked what kind of ring she pictured in her head. Without hesitation, she gave me the obligatory reassurance that she would love any ring that I gave her. That doesn’t help me, so I asked again. She hesitated, gave me a once over, then opened up her iBook. She had ideas alright, and they were all being kept in a folder on her notebook. After about 5 minutes, I realized that they all had something else in common. They all said, Tiffany Co. Suddenly, I’m rethinking the wisdom in the 20 minutes we’d spent in the Rodeo Drive store last Valentine’s day “for fun”. The shoes at Prada now seem rather reasonable.

I’m quite aware that she has two rings in her possession. And of course by rings, I keep with the theme of RINGS. The first, a beautifully ornate ring from 1930 that had belonged to her grandmother. The other was a basic yellow gold solitaire from a previous suitor. He left the ring behind to cover some of his outstanding bills. We just found out that the cubic zirconium is worth a grand total of $20. Which means that we also just found out that it’s a cubic zirconium. Goodness this is an awkward situation. My evolutionary instincts of cockpetition immediately go to work and I’m proud for being better, but the 37% femininity of my upbringing reminds me that this is pretty low news.

Shopping for rings is one thing. I gave myself three pimples over Christmas on the Sundance site finding her a ring from Santa. Of course I’ve got impeccable taste and she loves it, even if I did label it as a ‘practice ring’. Which makes asking for her input all the more interesting. She flirts with indecision. Most evenings ‘out’ include 30 minutes of fashion show before we make it out the door. I’ve never told her what to wear, but all too often, I decide. I don’t expect her to pick out her own ring; I just want to make sure that I’m headed in the right direction. I’ve since spent hours hunched over glass counters holding a ‘loop’ up to my eye. Squinting; either trying to adjust to the magnification or the price tag. (If I didn’t have a brand new bike already, this would be so much harder to justify. Did I mention that I haven’t exactly had a job for 6 months?) In many ways, it’s almost fun. In the end, I’ve decided to design and build. In the end, it will be gorgeous and hopefully an adequate representation of each of us.

In retribution to all the stress, I feigned excitement about a wedding expo in Utah County last weekend. Of course the idea horrified her but I knew that she wouldn’t pass up an effort on my part to plan something. It turned out to be in a barn at Thanksgiving Point. The first question I was asked was if I’d be interested in sitting down with some guy for an hour critiquing his china patterns. It was hard to say no, so I asked him where the roosters where. Over the next 60 minutes, I came to the conclusion that Utah is a very special place. If you are even slightly considering getting married in the next 6 months, I would encourage you to stall until the 2007 models come out. Here are the trends:

-Chocolate ‘fondue’ fountains-Nothing says elegant like messy AND unhygienic.
-Wedding videos shown through a waterfall-I saw it, and it still doesn’t make any sense.
-Bad photographers.
-Target does wedding cakes AND caters. Which means that, by association, Wal-Mart does too!
-There’s an assumption in the UC that your reception will be taking place in the ubiquitous carpeted ‘cultural hall’ of the local Mormon church. “We’ll help you make it pretty.” I doubt it.
-The best age to get married is 20 so that you never have to worry about the hassles of having a personality.

I can hardly wait for the next expo. This exciting weekend of first time adventures was supposed to include one more. Our first trip to counseling for some pre-marital advice. Unfortunately, our therapist called the night before to cancel due to the flu. I’m not sure that the first exposure she has of me is the screaming monkey on my voicemail necessarily bodes well…