good morning, cyberspace!
To be honest, this is a blog post that I’ve been putting off for a very long time. I knew I would have to write it eventually, but between writing everlost and the overall busyness of the past couple months, I just haven’t found the time to sit down and write this post in the way that it deserves to be written.
And that’s not even mentioning the overwhelming flood of anxiety that grapples my mind every time I even so much as think about writing this post. This is something that’s very close to my heart, guys, and I know there are some of you out there who are going to believe it’s fake. There are some who are going to think it’s a joke because of certain circumstances of the past. There are some of you who are going to read this and laugh it off because it can’t possibly be real, right?
But I can personally assure you that it is real. It is true, and today, there are no more excuses for not saying it. There are no more methods of procrastination to keep me from writing this post.
So today I am finally baring my soul to you guys and telling you all what on earth has been happening in this crazy, hectic, absolutely beautiful life of mine.
And let me tell you what, folks. It’s a doozy.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
April 21st, 2019
Do you know what that date is? Of all the dates in the world, this is quite possibly the most important.
At least, it’s the most important to me. And also maybe to the Queen because that just so happens to be her birthday but whatever. We’re not talking about the Queen. We’re talking about me, peasants. Because April 21st, 2019 just so happens to be the very day that I — the Smudgiest Thought — am getting married.
That’s right, folks. I am officially engaged. To an actual, real-live human.
(i mean, i’ve always hoped all my life that one of my [many] fictional crushes would spring forth from the pages of my favorite books and carry me away to a fantastical realm filled with dragons and gnomes, but i mean??? a real life person is okay, i guess?) A real-live human who actually wants to bind themselves to me for all the rest of eternity.
To be honest, I’m kind of in shock. I mean, all my life I’ve considered myself a very independent bean who DON’T NEED NO MAN in my life. And I still stand firmly by that opinion with all the determination of a corn sprout growing in the craggy rocks of Mount Doom. But I suppose having someone around to kill all the spiders and tie my straight jackets for me won’t be too bad.
as long as he doesn’t rat me out to the fuzz when i bring a bloodied corpse home ahahahahahahahahahahahahaha–HACK
And I’m sure that by this point you’re probably scratching your bald craniums and thinking, “But Kenzie. . .isn’t this a little sudden? Obviously this has to be a joke! You haven’t even been DATING anyone!”
And to this I must say. . .“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU ARE SO SO WRONG, YOU SWEET YOUNG CHILD.”
I have been dating someone. Do you honestly think I spill the entirety of my heart and soul out onto the Great and Terrible Cyberspace for any mortal man to read?
AHA. The answer to that is no. Of course I don’t. I spill only a very minimal amount of heart and soul, because the cleanup afterwards is absolutely atrocious. Which means that I HAVE SECRETLY BEEN DATING SOMEONE IN SECRET FOR THE PAST
*counts on fingers* NINE-ISH MONTHS.
And not a single one of you knew it. HA.
i’m so clever.
The interesting thing, however, is while you didn’t know I was actually dating someone, you do, in fact, know who it is.
Because I have mentioned him on this blog exactly once. I mean, I always meant to mention him more, but like. . .he doesn’t like the internet? He wouldn’t let me??? He kind of got upset when I mentioned him the first time, so. . . Yeah. That was kind of scary.
But because he is now apparently my betrothed, he’s allowing me to make this announcement post like the amazing
boyfriend fiance (???? EW ????) that he is.
Ladies and gents, boys and girls, cupcakes and cookies, marshmallows and bean fronds. . .my future husband is none other than Steve.
Yes. Steve. Steve from my Valentine’s Day post. Steve who I said I loved more than apple pie itself.
(i never said this.) Steve, who is sort of insanely obsessed with stripes but is adorable, nonetheless.
S t E v E.
If you don’t remember who Steve is (seeing as though I’ve only mentioned him once ahahahahahaha WHY MUST YOU DO THIS TO ME STEVE), allow me to tell you guys ALL OF THE THINGS.
he’s finally letting me blab all about him to my “creepy internet friends” because i said yes. it was either let me write a blog post all about us and how we met, or i’d chuck his ring into the river and watch it sink down and get eaten by a piranha. (mwahahahaha i’m so good at ultimatums [he also told me there were no piranhas in that river but like??? i don’t believe him???])
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
WHO IS STEVE. . .???
Well now, I am so glad you asked this, my smol marshmallow biscuit. I know I briefly answered this question in my Valentine’s Day post waaaaaaay back in February, but I shall answer it yet again to appease your unquenchable appetite to know all about me and my future bug-killer.
Steve is Steve. There is literally no other way to describe him. Except there are other ways to describe him, as I will now depict for you in stunning color.
THING ONE. . . Steve likes stripes
As I have previously mentioned in the linked post above (*points at link*) Steve really, really, really likes stripes. Like. . .it’s almost hit the point where it’s becoming an unnaturally disturbing obsession. But I mean everyone has their own little quirks, right? And if the absolute strangest thing about my favorite little weirdo is the fact that he likes stripes more than checks, I’m pretty sure I can live with this.
please don’t start wearing checks, steve. . .
THING TWO. . . Steve has a dog!!!!
A Bluetick Hound, to be exact. And it’s probably the cutest little puppy of ever. She’s this adorable little ball of floof and spunk, and I’m pretty sure this is 110% why I decided to marry this stripe-obsessed freak.
jk i love you, steve.
THING THREE. . . Steve hates the internet
And this right here, children, is why I’ve completely failed to mention my wonderful Steve in any of my blog posts since February.
I guess this just feeds the worldview of “opposites attract”, but while I’m kind of obsessed with blogging and talking to my internet friends
(who Steve obviously thinks are serial murderers bent on learning my whereabouts in order to decapitate me in my sleep) through the dead of night, Steve is more of the “the internet is a terrible awful horrible place filled with murderers and stalkers who will kill you with a chainsaw” caliber. Which means he absolutely refuses for me to mention him on any sort of internet platform, including my blog.
Except for today, of course. Today is a very special day, which means that Steve has finally allowed me to tell you guys ALL OF THE THINGS about our very secretive relationship.
And also, as I mentioned before, I kind of blackmailed him into letting me do this. So yeah. There’s always that.
However, Steve’s rather unfortunate distaste for the internet has proven to be rather fun and interesting, because. . .
THING FOUR. . . Steve loves snail mail
And this is probably one of my favorite things about him, to be honest. In today’s day and age, where cell phones and computer screens are our constant form of communication with other humans, snail mail is such a lost form of art. It seems like nowadays the only true mail we get are birthday cards, bills, AARP invitations, and that random sample of adult diapers that appeared on our front stoop one day.
But that’s not the case with Steve. Although he does have an extreme aversion to all things electronic and digital, even he cannot deny the convenient functions of a
rubber duck* cell phone. So while we do text back and forth every single day, he also sends me letters.
A lot of letters. Like, I’m pretty sure this guy has to write me a letter every single day in order for all these notes to come in such a continuous stream, but I mean ??? I’m definitely not going to complain. I’ve got a shoebox full of letters and a heart full of happiness and a Steve.
It’s like I’m living my own personal You’ve Got Mail over here. . .
ARTHUR WEASLEY GET OUT OF MY BLOG POST
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
All right, so even though you now know just a tiny little handful of all the things Steve-ish, you’re probably STILL a little confused by this rather sudden engagement announcement. However, I can personally assure you that while it may seem slightly sudden and fraudulent to you, it is most certainly not sudden (or fake) to us.
As I mentioned above, Steve and I have been together for about nine-ish months. And if you’ve read that Valentine’s Day post I linked to earlier, you will have remembered that Steve and I met on January 13th. That’s nine months of being together, learning each other’s quirks, sending each other snail mail, listening to my terrible puns. . .
wait why did this guy want to marry me again. . .???
Believe me. I think I can speak for both of us when I say this is not sudden in the least.
However, since I’m sure you’re all just dying to know ALL OF THE THINGS about Steve and I
(seriously, guys, why are you so invested in our lives, sheesh.), I think there’s one last thing I need to tell you all regarding Steve and I.
And that one thing is, of course, how we met.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
. . . STORY TIME WITH KENZIE! – The Day I Met The Steve . . .
Snow. There was snow everywhere. It was like the abominable snowman had inwardly imploded and scattered his freshly destroyed remains across my entire town. There was snow in the trees. Snow on the cars. Snow in the cars. Snow in my boots. Snow in my hair. Snow in the ditches and the creek and the barber shop.
(not entirely sure how it got there but okay.)
Pretty much all I can remember about that day was the crushing, glistening, absolutely beautiful snow, because despite the fact that the temperature was dipping below three degrees, I had decided — in my absolutely normal state of mind — to bundle up in my woolly socks and Michelin Man coat and go for a walk.
Out in the snow.
And the three degree weather.
And thus, with my nose like a cherry and my lips as blue as huckleberry, I set off in the general direction of our town’s
slightly crummy park, making my way past rows upon rows of snow-encased houses strung with stale Christmas lights.
As usual, this Saturday morning in January had started out just like any other. It was cold. It was wet. I was — as usual — bored out of my wits and looking for any source of adventure that I could find. However, unlike every other slow and drowzy Saturday that I have witnessed in my very few years on this earth, this was the day when Adventure™ finally found me.
Or rather. . .when a dog finally found me.
A Bluetick Hound, to be precise.
There I was, kicking my heels into the empty park’s barren snow as I sat on a rusted-out swingset that the city counsel had randomly deemed safe enough for the children of our sad little town to swing upon, when all of a sudden a tiny little bundle of snowflakes and fur started leaping at my legs, it’s tongue lolling out the side of its mouth like some sort of slobbery little twizzler.
This, of course, was simultaneously surprising and extremely terrifying, and so, naturally, I decided to fall backwards off my rusty swing in shock.
All I really remember from that fall was the impact of a thousand ice glaciers spearing straight up into my spine from the chunks of ice and frozen dirt beneath me, the air whooshing out of my lungs with all the gusto of a man’s dying breath, and a very slight burning sensation as my retinas were spontaneously torn apart with the ferocity of an angry noon-day sun as it shone straight down upon me.
And then, so suddenly it knocked away whatever little air my lungs had miraculously retained from the fall — my tiny snow monster friend had leapt straight onto my stomach and began attacking me ferociously with its slobbery tongue.
It was a very uncomfortable situation, I can assure you. One minute, I was swinging idly by myself in an eerily abandoned park in the dead of winter, and the next. . .doggo. Doggo right on my face.
I can’t even tell you how long I sat there, wrestling with this strange little poof of tongue and floopy ears as I struggled to push it off my face, but finally — after many coaxings and possibly a threat or two — I was able to shove the tiny doggo off my chest and sit up again, my hands clawing at my snow-caked, slobber-soaked hair that now clung in extremely disgusting and very wet clumps against my face. Which, of course, had just been graciously scrubbed
red, raw, and blistering clean by the doggo now sitting like a proud sentry beside me, its wagging tail thwacking into the snow in solid thwumps.
And it was at that precise moment, my friends, that I heard it.
And even after all this time, I’m still not sure which I find creepier — being attacked by a potentially savage dog in the middle of an abandoned park, or hearing disembodied laughter coming from behind you in the middle of said abandoned park.
to be honest, i’m pretty sure it’s the latter.
Suffice to say, my first instinct after hearing someone laughing maniacally behind me was to leap to my feet and book it back down the street towards the safety of my house, leaving behind both my personal face scrubber and whatever freak just so happened to be lurking somewhere in the park behind me. However, because I am nothing if not an idiot, I did the next best thing.
I whipped right around to face the phantom laugher head-on.
Now, I’m not exactly sure what I was expecting when I turned around. I think I was expecting an axe-murderer. Or a man with a severed head encased in a shopping bag.
(don’t look at me this has happened at this park before, peasants). Or the Grim Reaper come to collect my soul and take me away to the Afterlife.
What I was NOT expecting, however, was a Steve standing beside the only tree in the park, with a forest green leash dangling from his hands and an idiotic smile plastered against his face.
The second I saw the leash, it became blatantly obvious to me that the raving lunatic dog
(that was absolutely adorable but SHHHHH this obviously does not matter) that had been attacking my face mere moments before belonged to none other than laughing Joe here. And then, shortly after this comprehension, came the sudden and rather aggravating realization that the maniac I saw before me had most definitely been watching me wrestle with his slap happy dog in the snow for the past ten minutes.
And had not once lifted a finger to help.
Oh no. He preferred to just stand there. Laughing at me. Watching as my shock turned to mortification which quickly dissolved into anger.
And so, in my seething fury that held absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever — with my hair dripping with slobber and my face about as bright as the Northern Lights from the frantic scrubbing of a doggo tongue — I did the one thing that any sane mortal human would do in a situation such as this. . .
Bunching my fingers into the packed snow beside me, I heaved a solid chunk straight out of the earth, balled it between my gloved fists like an artist molding clay, and, with all the force of a great typhoon, I threw a snowball directly at his face.
And in all my years of snowball flinging, I have never — no matter how hard I tried — threw a snowball with such accuracy as this one.
With a gloriously resounding SMACK! my snowball’s aim held true. One moment, Steve was just innocently standing there, mocking my evident distress and anger. The next, his face had been completely transformed into the very reincarnation of a mutant snowman.
Now, I wish I could say that this bizarre human being I met on a cold Saturday morning was put off by my very blunt form of payback. I wish I could say he had taken the hint that I was a very angry and smol bean and had just left me in the freezing wet snow with naught but my extreme aggravation towards him to keep me company. I wish I could say he’d just left me there to hate him forever.
But, unfortunately for me, this was not the case. Because instead of continuing to be the jerk that I so desperately needed him to be
(BECAUSE KENZIE DON’T DO ROMANCE, PEASANTS), receiving an angry snowball to the face was just the incentive he needed to start laughing yet again. And then, before I could become even more upset with this obviously disturbed individual — because SERIOUSLY, DUDE, CAN YOU NOT TELL THAT I AM SEETHING OVER HERE — he offered an extremely awful but still acceptable apology for not helping me with the dog earlier — amidst a lot of horribly concealed laughter, because apparently watching me squander in the snow while a dog licked my face was “adorable”??? — volunteered to pull me up out of the snow (ew. chivalry.), and then promptly demanded that I let him get me some hot chocolate to make up for it.
And this, my dear peasants, is what caught me off-guard.
Because he said hot chocolate.
Not coffee. Not tea. Not any other disgusting drink that most normal people consume in irrational amounts. Just hot chocolate. Pure chocolatey goodness that had no added caffeine or raving teens obsessing over it because it was the new trend.
It is completely safe to assume that at this point all ill-will I had previously felt towards this bizarre person had quickly dissolved into extreme excitement for hot chocolate.
Because I love hot chocolate. Obviously.
And also his doggo — very cleverly named Blue the Bluetick Hound
(such cleverness. much wow .) — was absolutely precious and he offered to let me hold her leash and I mean??? How could I pass that up? And also he TOTALLY OWED ME SOME HOT CHOCOLATE AFTER LAUGHING AT ME, GUYS. DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT.
So yes. I accepted his offer of escorting me through town so that a bloody axe-murderer couldn’t murder me, got to watch Blue romp through the snow and sneeze out snowflakes, and drank some extremely awful hot chocolate* with the crazy who would quickly become one of my closest friends of all time.
And that, my friends, is the story of how I met my future husband. I was attacked by his slightly feral dog, he laughed at me a lot, and I threw a snowball at his face.
I mean, I think somebody needs to call Disney, because that is some seriously #relationshipgoals right there. . .
*I think that was the worst hot chocolate I’ve ever drank in my life. It was hilarious. XD
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
And there you have it, folks. That is basically all I can say about Steve. I think this is the part of the post where I’m supposed to insert some disgustingly adorable photos of me and Steve together, but there is literally no way on earth he’s going to let me splatter his face all over Cyberspace. It’s kind of a miracle he’s even letting me write up this post, to be honest. But that’s okay. Someday I’ll convince him that there aren’t any cyberstalkers who are going to come find us and hack us up into a thousand tiny little bits with their rusted out pitchforks.
In the meantime, however, I guess you’ll just have to be left wondering what The Steve actually looks like. It’s a shame, I know, but maybe someday I’ll actually have a picture to share with you all. (hopefully. maybe.
But anyway, this post has already bypassed what any sane person would consider a “normal blog post” length, so I think I’m going to have to wrap things up for now. If you’ll excuse me, my rusty pitchfork and I have some people to cyberstalk. . .
TALK TO ME, PEASANTS!
So! What do you think of The Kenzie getting married? Does it feel too sudden? Too rushed? My sister thinks it’s too soon, but like. . .? We’re in love, guys. And everyone knows if you’re in love, there’s absolutely no way this can possibly fail. Obviously.
But anyway, I think this post has spent way too much time talking about me, so let’s talk about you now, eh? Have YOU ever been so in love you got married within six months?? Have you ever been engaged? Which cake is better — chocolate or vanilla? Do you think Steve and I should play this song at our wedding? (because we are totally playing that song at our wedding. . .) What do you think of Steve and I’s meeting? (he’s a freak, I’m telling you.) and most importantly. . .
DO YOU PREFER COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE???
Because that question is totally relevant to this entire post.
Let’s talk about ALL OF THE THINGS!!!! down in the comments below, shall we? And as always, until next time. . .
*flings cookies in the air and disappears*