In April 2001, I was laid off from my first job as an Executive Assistant to the CFO. All was not lost, the former CEO and current Chairman of the Board for the telecom company I would be leaving hired me to be his Assistant and Office Manager at his new venture. Before starting that role, I booked a vacation to the Dominican Republic with Mr. GQ, my BFF Natasha and her boyfriend who happened to be Mr. GQ’s best friend, Freddy. I was over the moon to be going away on a REAL vacation. This was my first real vacation ever. I remember spending 3 weeks researching resorts, towns, activities, cross-referenced reviews and costs to make sure it was affordable for everyone. Once I selected the resort, I went back to search for the absolute best price. I think I got our trip for less than $700 all inclusive, at a 5 star brand new resort. I had an amazing time and crossed off several bucket list items at the time.
Upon returning to real life I worked my butt off setting up a new office and assisting my new boss with his new venture. Once the office ran itself and I felt guilty taking a salary from a charity, (I felt my role was only needed part time), I decided to move on. In September 2001, another former boss (from the telecom company) approached me and lured me to the oil and gas industry. My skills were in demand and life was finally going my way. I didn’t quite know what I wanted to do as a job, but I seemed to excel as an executive assistant. I was able to anticipate needs, get a vast amount of work done in a very short amount of time and became a valuable employee at the company for 10 years. I didn’t realize that my anxiety is what made me good at this role. I was always jumping out of my skin looking for my next task.
In 2003, Mr. GQ and I had been dating and living together for 3 years. Mr. GQ seemed happy in his new full time job with benefits so when the company announced they would be moving their headquarters 265 km east of their current location, we had some choices to make. I approached my current boss and asked if I could work remotely while coming to the office once a week by train (I didn’t have a driver’s license at this point). To my great joy, she accepted my proposal, paid for my train ticket to and from and life went on. We moved to another University Town in the summer of 2003.
Before deciding to move with Mr. GQ, I was looking for something more from our relationship. I was moving for a guy and I wanted to know that he wasn’t going to dump me for some office fling, if he was even having one. Moving to a different Town for a MAN. My anxiety started to spin in my head and because this is a really ugly monster, my anxiety convinced me that if I didn't support Mr. GQ and go with him, it meant I was selfish… too bad I had no idea I had anxiety. I ended up confronting Mr. GQ in the parking lot early one morning as we were heading out for breakfast demanding “What are we doing here? Like… where is this relationship going?” OMG I cringe with embarrassment thinking about it now. I didn’t want a marriage proposal, I wanted a commitment but I didn’t think I wanted to get married… I had no idea what I wanted but I was freaking out about moving and maybe losing my job and having to start over again for a man. I even said something along the lines of “I can’t shut the door on having kids, I mean, I don’t want any, but it can’t be a hard no. what if I change my mind?” I had no intention of changing my mind, but I was probably having a mini-meltdown. Eventually Mr. GQ agreed that we were together and we weren’t breaking up.
I was 29 years old and I had a pact with an old friend that if I was single at 30 we’d get married. I didn’t know what to do. I mean, I made a promise and my loyalty to my friend was conflicting with my desire to know if Mr. GQ and I would break up soon. Remember, this was my longest relationship ever to this point in my life. He reassured me that he loved me and we were together. To make a conscience effort to not be selfish, we packed up my shit and left my all time favourite apartment behind for a new adventure.
I like University Towns, the energy, the events, the live music, etc. We found a cute apartment in a terrible neighbourhood (the student ghetto) and went about our lives. We explored the downtown and as a foodie, I looked forward to eating at ALL the restaurants. I have to say, I was hugely disappointed in the food quality and choices. I didn’t enjoy this University Town and really wanted to return to the Big City after 2 months. I steam-rolled on and reminded myself that we weren’t here for me, we were here for him and I knew I needed to get my selfish traits under control. Life isn't about me, it's about us. I felt it was time that I put someone other than myself first and I wanted Mr. GQ to have a chance at a promising career for our future together. I hated living here. I did get my driving license though, so that was a positive.
One day in August 2003 Mr. GQ and I were sitting on our balcony enjoying morning coffee and I just knew … Mr. GQ went inside and came back to the balcony acting shifty. He was nervous. In that moment, the gears turned and I knew what was about to happen. He got down on one knee, opened this little black box and asked if I’d be his wife. I didn’t even have to think about it. I love my engagement ring; it looks just like a gift-wrapped present. He could not have chosen better. It made living in this Town better somehow.
In October, our apartment was broken into and all my jewelry was stolen. They stole everything else, but my jewelry is what upset me the most because nearly all of it was the real deal and gifts from my mother, my grandmother, and my stepmother. I decided to be honest with Mr. GQ and tell him I hated it here and I wanted to move back to the Big City. After the break-in and the fact that salaries were at least 50% less in this Town, it wasn’t a hard sell. Mr. GQ didn’t really like his job that much after all. He’d accepted the offer to move for the cash bonus in order to buy me an engagement ring.
In December 6 months after having moved to University Town, we packed our shit up again and loaded our moving truck one day with plans to depart the following day. Our moving truck was broken into that night; our final farewell from this shit-hole. I was really happy once we were settled in the Big City. I was less than thrilled that all the items I’d bought for our wedding had also been stolen and because I’d bought several pieces from eBay, I wasn’t sure if I’d get the money back. I was most upset over my wedding band because I’d bought it from a jeweler in Florida who was going out of business for $200. I replaced the exact same band for $2500. None of that mattered, I was back in the City I loved and still had my job. Now I had a wedding to plan.
The wedding I was planning was a small intimate affair for two people only. I imagined a Tahiti beach wedding where we would scramble to find two witnesses the day of. I had never intended to invite people. Early in the planning phase, Mr. GQ announced he couldn’t possibly get married without his parents in attendance. Hopefully, by now, you’ve read enough of my blog to imagine why I was so confused. Why would you want your parents there? I didn’t want to have to invite anyone. Period. From my point of view, it was nobody’s business what we did. Alas, a wedding is a union between two people so I compromised. I selected the PERFECT beach resort and my financé told me his parents would refuse to attend our wedding if we picked a Communist country. WTF? Who’s wedding is this anyway? I was picking the bloody Communist country to guarantee Jackass wouldn’t even consider coming to the wedding. After that, I really didn’t care where we got married, it was no longer anything I wanted anyway. I quizzed my fiancé and re-sorted my spreadsheet by price, closed my eyes and pointed. Dominican Republic is apparently, where I pointed to for our wedding day. I admit I was pretty discouraged because my first marriage was a necessity and this one was supposed to be my “dream wedding”
Remember, my parents always told me I would have to pay for my own wedding because they were paying for my “education”. I wanted to spend the money on “us and our honeymoon” not share my time with other people. A private affair, just the two of us, on a beach, barefoot, by the ocean. That’s all I wanted. I made the best of it… I still got married barefoot on the beach but we had 20 guests with us. I still haven’t been to Tahiti. In September 2003, I sent out “Save the Date” postcards to everyone we knew, along with the contact details for our travel agent. If people wanted to attend our wedding, perhaps they could postpone their winter vacation to May or not. Whatever.
I remember receiving a very excited phone call from Big M gushing over what she would wear assuring me she’d be there “with bells on”. We chatted about my plans, my dress, my ring and then she handed the phone to my father. My father congratulated me on my upcoming nuptials then said (well, laughed the words at me); “Pfffff I’m not going to your wedding. If you want me to walk you down the aisle and attend your wedding, you’ll get married in The North. I’ve travelled enough in my life and I’m not leaving my house.” Asshole. I responded with “Cool, does that mean you’re paying for my wedding?” when he was done laughing, I replied with “I didn’t think so, come or don’t come I really don’t care.” <<< That, ladies and gentlemen, is how a selfish asshole treats his children - with abandonment all over again.
May 4, 2004 was still a happy day and 18 years later, it doesn’t matter anymore. The irony is that neither of us even likes the Dominican Republic; but it was a beautiful day, I got to pick my blue flowers and we had our reception at the on-site French restaurant. My best gift I could ever have possibly received was the fact that my father and his bed warmer refused to attend. I think it was supposed to hurt my feelings. Their absence is what made my day special. With them there, it would have been all about what they like, want, desire, etc. It would never have been about MY wedding. My mother walked me down the aisle in a beautiful gown. She was so happy and proud of me that day. It was perfect. Truly. I was so relaxed without a care in the world. Mr. GQ and I enjoyed an extra week at the resort once the guests left.
We returned to Canada after the wedding and went on with our lives. We had already used up our vacation time with wedding plans and our upcoming vacation to Paris planned for the week between Christmas and New Year 2004. A repeat of our 2003 holiday. I remember being over the moon looking forward to our alone time. I got a call in June 2004 telling me I was being summoned to The North for a wedding reception. Wait, what? Fuck Me. This is like the last thing I wanted to do.
I was made to feel selfish and ungrateful for not wanting to “run up to The North for dinner.” In my mind, I got married, they refused to come and now they felt guilty about it and this was their way to make themselves feel better. My father sold trees from a plot of land he owned and with that $5,000 planned a wedding reception. I wasn’t asked about anything. I was told. At this time, neither of us owned a vehicle, we both worked full time and couldn’t take anymore vacation time off. Mr. GQ had started his new job that year and we’d already negotiated his vacation time based on our flight tickets and reservations.
The parental unit were very unhappy to hear that we literally would be flying up on Friday night, reception Saturday and we’d be coming HOME Sunday. No vacation, no extra time. In fact, this was the last thing I even wanted to do. It would have been so much nicer if they’d just given us the $5,000 instead of the gift of a wedding reception neither of us wanted. I hated having to be fake nice and happy. I just wanted to be me. I felt even worse for feeling this way. Big M could tell this wasn’t what I wanted but “your father will be so happy to do this for you, you’ll make lots of money in gifts, we’ll pretend it’s your wedding.” I didn’t see this for the ploy it was. I packed up my wedding dress and we flew up, stayed in a hotel, did the thing, and flew home. In truth, the trip ended up costing $2500. It doesn’t seem like a lot of money now, but back then, I was budgeting our finances and I’d planned our vacation/trips/etc. This $2500 was not good news.
Most of the attendees purchased actual gifts, I guess they didn’t know we didn’t have a vehicle, that we already had all our domestic items because we’d been living together for 4 years and needed absolutely nothing but money for a house down payment. The gifts stayed in the hotel room because I had no way of taking them with me. The entire time we were at the reception, I truly felt like I was just a trophy on display. It felt awkward. I was so happy my mother came with my Québec family because they made that ‘party’ fun and I felt supported by them. I wasn’t able to put my finger on why I felt shame at my own wedding reception… I thought it was because I felt ungrateful and I felt like I was acting like a spoiled brat. I felt shame because Big M made me feel horrible about flying “in and out, stayed in a hotel room and didn’t even spend any time with us, after we planned a party for you.” OK, but I told them I didn’t want one to begin with. I didn’t have vacation time left and I certainly didn’t have the budget, I also had no say on the date, colour scheme, food, or music choice. Doesn’t really sound like it was my party at all.
Reading that last sentence now, in 2022, still makes me feel like an ungrateful little bitch who deserves to be hated for being so selfish. Just STOP BEING SO SELFISH!
Read from the beginning:
Prologue : Family
Chapter 1: The Early Years
Chapter 2: Protector: 1979-1981
Chapter 3: Pre-Teen Years 1981-1987
Chapter 4: Teen Years: 1987-1993
Reality Bites - The Truth Reveals Itself
Chapter 5: University: 1993-1998
Chapter 6: Young Adulthood
Healing
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