Let me set the stage for you.

Susan and I have been dancing around the suggestion of this “union” for months. But the conversation always ended with me finding a reason why it wouldn’t work out. Maybe I’m a control freak. Maybe I like my freedom. Wait, of course I like my freedom. I love not having to consult anyone, about anything. I don’t like the idea of negotiating and compromising, of giving up anything.

But some things you physically can’t do by yourself. Some things actually are better when you do them with other people.

I mentioned this potential union to a mutual friend of ours and he was over the moon about it. He thought it was the best idea, that we would be really great together. And I say I don’t want to mess up our friendship and he says don’t worry; you guys will work it out. Just do it.

Fine. So I start planning how I would go about asking her. We’ve gone back and forth, so now I need to make a grand gesture – a pronouncement of my willingness to commit. I begin to rehearse what I’ll say, maybe I’ll get down on one knee. Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. And there’s the concept. Find a card that reads: Be My Valentine. Then cross out Valentine and write something else in. (By the way, there are NO cards that say, “be my valentine” anywhere! No one asks anymore. It’s just I love you, I wanna do you Bang!)

Our wires have been crossed all day and for a while, it looks like it won’t happen. But I don’t take that as a sign that I shouldn’t go through with it. That would be too easy. And there were plenty of signs. I lost my wallet, temporarily. No wallet means no gas in the car or money to prepare the trimmings. She was planning to go out for the afternoon and expecting company in the evening. It was raining, and LA folk lose their damn minds at the first sign of rain so driving would not be fun.

But I get passed all this and make it across town to her place, the same time her houseguest arrives. I bring her her favorite French bread and her favorite coffee and a bouquet of flowers. I’m holding out this pink envelope to her. And she saying “Wait, I’ll be right there. Wait, I’ll be right with you.” And I begin to fidget like a three year old at a commencement ceremony, feeling exposed and out of place. I’m sweating. I couldn’t believe it. We’ve been friends for years and I’m actually nervous. I’m wishing she would just take the damn card and read it so this crap can be over with one way or the other. She finally settles down and reads the card:

Susan, be my director. Please…

She hugs me, and Susan is not a hugger.

But it’s official. She will direct my movie this spring. We are making a movie together. I made her actually say the word yes before I reveal the bottle of bubbly I bought to christen our commitment to each other.

You poor relationship people! You must go through this all the time. Will she say yes? Will things change between us? Will I like the change? What am I giving up to be bound to this person? Am I making the right decision? How do I get out if it’s not? It’s aggravating and scary. And I never wanna go through this shit again!

As I settle into the idea of this union, I think my confidence at the decision is growing, because I am realizing what this commitment means. It means I have to trust her. And I don’t just mean creatively with my script. I need to trust her to listen and compromise and be careful with my feeling, but also honest. And she trusts me to do the same. I have to do the same.

So now I’m responsible for someone else’s feeling… The commitment stuff is certainly a mind-fuck, isn’t it? I hope it’s worth it.

Then you arrange to meeting. And the awkwardness of flesh and intonation and demeanor are injected into your perfectly flawless interactions. And it’s completely not the same. And you feel lied to, even though you never were. Even though your cyber buddies standing before you feels the same way. So is the mistake taking the relationship out of context?

I was in exactly that situation this past summer. I traveled across country to see a play. (more on that later, let’s just say I can be impulsive) My beta, someone who proofreads for me, was going to the same play. Her emails sounded enthralled with excitement, so of course, I had to be equally excited to meet her, right? Well I was. I even changed hotels so I wouldn’t be alone in this big bad southern state. Always working to resist the urge to be anti-social, right?

So I call from the hotel to see where she is. She is on the road, on her way and she’s with a friend. I’m hyper and excited to mean a new friend. Excited to have survived the 24 seater plane ride. Elated that there’s a coffee maker in the room. And I have arrived in time for the matinee so I go see the show, knowing I’ll get to see it again that night.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream at the Alabama Shakespeare Festival. Really well done.

I get back and they have arrived. They are tired, they are young and they are so not on the same wave length as me. I try to be welcoming and open and friendly, And all they can do is look at me like I have three heads. They weren’t hungry, so I had dinner alone. I drove to the show that evening because I was just there a few hours earlier. No biggie, I got to play my music, which I though we had in common. I couldn’t tell by their reaction.

As you can tell by now, as I could, that I was feeling like a piece of furniture, to be acknowledged so you don’t bump into it, maybe even sat on if it looked appealing enough to go near. But basically, they were the dynamic duo and I was, well, not part of it. Essentially, I was alone.

By intermission I figured out what was so horribly wrong with the situation. I was asking all the questions. I was actually interested in her and her answers. She didn’t ask me anything. She wasn’t interested in me. She was the complete opposite of the person I knew online.

So I stopped trying. Stopped asking questions. Stopped trying to be social. It was a two-man team and I wasn’t invited. Literally and figuratively. Dinner was kinda awkward. They picked a really bad restaurant to eat, though it could have happened to any of us. They had school and literature and age in common. I had the story she was proofreading for me, which I now understand was the root of her enthusiasm. I guess she didn’t expect the fiction she grew to love to come from the package it arrived in.

The evening ended fine with them surfing the internet together on the hotel computer and I went to my room. I decided to just let them be kids together. I had a plane to catch in the morning, so that worked out fine. I left something new for her to read, but only because I said I would. I already knew she wouldn’t. As far as I know, she still hasn’t. Which is also fine.

So I ask again, did I break a rule? Should I have left our relationship in cyberspace? Was I wrong to assume a kinship and trust in the things we both agreed we had in common?

She lost interest in being my beta after that. There was never that same excitement in our cyber discourse. The magic was gone. For her. For me.

Fortunately, I don’t miss this cyber-friendship. After all, you can’t really miss what you never had.

We as women, brides, have been told over and over, that this is the most important day of your life. Your special day. The one day when everything has to be perfect. Oh I would argue that most brides either surrender or elevate their own standard of perfection to meet the expectations of others. Even the ceremony begins with “Dearly beloved. We are gather here today…” The very first words traditionally spoken at a wedding do not even address the bride and groom. It addresses the dearly beloved, the family and friends, guests, which should tell everyone off the bat that a wedding is not for the couple. A wedding is first and foremost for everyone else.

No wonder so many end in the toilet.

I think a wedding should be one of the most important days in a couple’s life. And as such, it should be about that couple, not fulfilling a checklist of family and cultural traditions. Having said that, let me tell you about a couple who I thought got it right.

The drive along PCH was short but calming with surfers and sailboats on the water to my left. The sky was clearer and bluer than in the city and the hit of cool oxygen was sinfully refreshing. I put the soothing sensation in reserve, knowing I would need it as I turned to make my ascent upward into a beautiful but windy Malibu Canyon. There was no other person or traffic so I just prayed that I was driving up the right mountain. I sighed relief when I found the entrance to the cozy rec spot, among the first to arrive. People were parking orderly and politely, miraculously with out the direction of valet or attendants.

The event was actually a pool party, the guest book, smooth black igneous rocks that guests were asked to sign with silver Sharpie – to eventually go into the couples garden. The wedding keepsakes were green kazoos with the special date printed on them; Kazoos that the guests would later be asked to toot out “Here comes the Bride.” The centerpieces were baskets of seedless grapes and green apples and kiwi on tables covered with white paper table cloths, then striped long ways with a brown paper, perfect for drawing if you chose to use the crayons provided. The dining tables were adjacent to a swimming pool where kids and adults alike randomly dove in. Pre wedding was dip and veggies and chips and wine. Post wedding was polish sausages and hamburgers, tri-tip and baked beans. I have never seen baked beans at a wedding. They were tasty.

Wedding pictures took over forever, but that was ok because no one was asked to wait before having the wedding dinner. A select few of us actually sat at our assigned seat and groups formed by acquaintance or relation or, in my case, completely by chance. I was even complimented on my aura, which apparently expanded tenfold once I finally got a cup of coffee.

When husband and wife joined the festivities, they made a brief speech with one poignant comment. “There is no one here that we don’t love… that is why you are all here. Thank you so much for coming.”

It’s an important lesson for all. Screw the Dearly Beloved. Make the guest list, the menu, the ceremony, the spirit of the occasion… Make you nuptials about YOU!