The bride wore black.

Wow. Eight years ago today I got married - so y'all, today is my wedding anniversary to the husband. Two things of note: 1) I'm surprised I ever got married and 2) this is the first year we actually remembered our anniversary on the correct date. It's amazing.

It's a joke between the husband and I that we have yet to remember to tell each other "happy anniversary" on the date we got married each year. Every stinkin' year we forget. While it's no surprise to me, it is to the husband because he's the sentimental type. He usually remembers that kind of stuff. He remembers to call all of his brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and others important individuals on their birthdays, etc.

On the other hand, I do good to remember my own birthday half the time. I have to write the important dates for loved ones on a calendar ... and even then I don't always remember! But you would think I would remember a wedding anniversary, especially my own. Alas, it's slipped my mind - and his - every single year since we tied the knot. Typically, we remember the day after, once it was almost a week after. The only time we got it on the right day was just barely under the wire. It dawned on me around 11:00pm that evening. I called the husband (he was out over the road) and asked him if he knew what day it was. He said, "It's Wednesday." I laughed 'til I nearly peed my pants. Naturally, he was confused about why I thought Wednesday was so damn funny. When I told him it was our anniversary his response was, "Well, F%$#@! We forgot again!" I told him that as long as we got it before midnight it still counted. Once in seven years. Sheesh! Hmmm ... I remembered today, so that's technically twice in eight years. On a roll.

I guess it's not the date that is important so much as the fact we did the deed, and we're still married. Like I said in note #1, I'm surprised I got married at all. I never really planned on it. Given my life at the time, I was sure I never would. Hell, I didn't think I would ever date again. It was a rough time in my life when I met the husband. Hooking up with someone was the last thing on my mind. As a matter of fact, one of the very first conversations the husband and I had was about the man and the break-up I was going through. It was awful. I was devastated, an emotional train wreck. I won't go into all those nasty details. Suffice it to say romance wasn't high on my priority list.

The other joke between the husband an I is telling people how we met. The internet. I call him my ebay bargain and he refers to me as his email bride. When I first met the husband I was suffering severe insomnia. I couldn't sleep, couldn't shut off my brain. Several months before I had quit my job, sold everything I owned, moved back home and was living in my sister's garage. I had very little savings, was struggling to start out as an artist, and believed I had lost the love of my life. I was miserable and lonely in a way I had never felt before. It was especially disturbing because, until then, I had always handled being along very well. I like it. I needed lots of "me" time. Still do. In contrast, I also wanted to keep the world at bay. I was hiding in a corner and licking my wounds.

In those wee hours of the morning while my sister and her family slept at night I surfed the internet. Sometimes I would talk to some of my friends from where I had lived in chat rooms because my sister hadn't installed Messenger - and I didn't think to do it, either. I made new friends in the chat rooms, too. It was interesting to talk to people from all over the world and all walks of life. It gave me a form of 'company' yet kept the world at a distance. Sometimes, when I was having a really bad day, I would go into the chat rooms and just watch the conversations of others. That's how I met the husband.

I was sitting at the computer, watching but not participating, when he came into the room. Typically, when you entered you got asked the standard questions: Age, Sex, Location. When someone asked him I noticed he responded he was from Houston, Texas. Someone asked him what he did and replied he was a truck driver. I perked up a little at that. A couple of weeks earlier I had chatted with another guy who was also a truck driver from Houston. I thought "what are the odds???" I asked this new guy if he had heard of the trucking company the other guy worked for. He said yes, he'd heard of it, and we started chatting. I asked about his company and found out he was online because he worked the "late shift". He delivered frozen goods to places like Taco Bell and Burger King. Since he delivered either late after closing or before they opened he was often up and awake in the wee hours, too. Anyway, I guess it was around an hour later or so I got finally sleepy, signed off and went to bed.

The next time I got online and went into a chat room he popped in and said hello. He said he'd enjoyed talking to me and had added me to his "friends" list, thus being able to tell when I came online. I didn't think much about it because I had done the same with my own friends as well as the new friends I was making via the internet. We wound up chatting for awhile that evening about insignificant stuff. I think it was when he asked about my being back home that I lost it. I found myself sitting there bawling like a baby. I couldn't see the computer screen to type, to upset to keep typing anyway, so I just shut it down and went to my room. I didn't even realize I hadn't told him good-bye. I didn't get back online for a few days, but when I did he was there, asking what had happened. I told him the whole sob story. He told me his sob story about his ex-wife. Almost every evening afterwards we would chat for awhile, talking about our lives, our situations. We became friends.

In January 2000, after about seven months of chatting, turned letters, turned phone calls, I hopped a Greyhound and went to Texas to visit. He hadn't been with his current trucking company long enough to have any built up vacation time to hang out with me, but I was okay with that. The plan was to muck around on my own during the day while he slept, we'd have dinner or whatever in the evening before he'd go to work, then I'd hang out some more 'til he was able to come back the next day/evening. I really needed the time away from the cocoon of my sister's garage room where I was staying, from my sad heart, and the stress of trying to start my art career.

A couple of weeks before I got on the bus he called. Surprise news. He'd turned in his two weeks' notice to his employer, lined up another job here in North Carolina and he was going to come back with me ... or rather, I'd be coming back with him and not on a bus. His intent was to get married. I was surprised, really surprised. He'd taken an awfully big leap of faith. But for the life of me I couldn't think of a reason to say no. Despite the fact that we had never met in person, I still knew him. Better yet, he knew me. We had talked about things, been open and honest about things, shared things that people who've been married for years never share or discuss. He felt comfortable to me, and I really liked that. Plus, he had a black cowboy hat and a goatee. And really, what woman can resist a cowboy???

Ended up my plan didn't go according to plan. We spent our time together seeing stuff around Houston, visiting family he had there, and then drove up to New Mexico to meet his mother, Inez, and stepfather, Henry. Freaky. She welcomed me as her new daughter, made me stacks of tortillas and called me "Mija" (Spanish slang for daughter). Henry wasn't any different. He called me "Mija", too. We got back to North Carolina on a Saturday night late. Hung around my sister's on Sunday, recovering from the trip. On Monday, he started his new job. A month later we moved into a rental place with the intention of getting married as soon as finances allowed. Two and a half months later we were hitched. Yes, I did wear black - proof in the photos. A year later we moved into our own home.

I can honestly admit our marriage has never been about romance, it's been about being friends. All right, maybe for the husband it's had a more romantic twist, but not for me. He loves me in that "goo" that is typical of love relationships. My heart has never fully recovered from "the man" before the husband. I married for comfort, for security, stability. Practical reasons. Before you say that's harsh and unfair to him, understand he knew exactly what he was getting into. I told him the unvarnished truth, upfront and without sugarcoating anything. And I do love him. Maybe not the way I did "the man", but it's still a real, honest love. I care about his welfare, I care about his happiness, I care about him as a person and as my husband. It may not be what most people call a marriage, but it works for us and that's what counts.

This morning, I actually remembered it was our anniversary. Around 9:00am I called him on his cell and as soon as he answered he yelled, "Happy Anniversary!" I yelled it back and we both laughed at our goofiness. We both remembered! He was busy getting ready to make a stop so I let him get off the phone and back to work. The point was made. I'm sure when he calls later this evening we'll laugh about it some more.

Happy Anniversary to us!

Namaste, y'all ...