She's Got Words

February 27, 2012

You May Now…Change Your Name

Filed under: love & marriage — Gigi @ 2:25 pm

I am now faced with the conundrum every woman deals with when she gets married: to change, or not to change, my legal name.  Honestly, the choice of surnames has already been made; I’ll be known as “Glaze Kolbe” legally, gladly, and forever more.  It is important to me to have “Glaze” remain a last name for me since I am the only one of us left, but it is also just as important for “Kolbe” to be a part of my name, too, as a mark of familial solidarity in my married home.  If I ever have a child they will be given both names as a show of respect for their lineage; as an acknowledgement of the blending of our two families as one.  I just hope that said imaginary baby will be proud to carry both names…but I suppose I’m getting the embryo before the zygote as it were. 

The moral dilemma comes into play, however, with my Christian name, “Brandy”.  I’ve not been “Brandy” for well over 15 years now and no one really knows me as such any more, save my family back in Tennessee and a few close friends from my youth.  I discussed dropping my Christian name in favour of a simple initial (B. Nicole Glaze Kolbe) with my mother and she nearly had a stroke. She laid the Jewish/Irish guilt on so thick that I quickly relented just to hush her up.  “That is the name I gave you- it is who you are to me and I can’t imagine you ever being anything else! It would be like denying a part of who you are to drop your Christian name! Why would you want to do that to me? Are you that ashamed of who you are?”  The way she went on and on, you’d think “Brandy” was a long standing family name with deep roots and history instead of the bleary eyed choice of a woman hopped up on so many pain killers she could barely say her own name the day I was born.  

All my young life I was “Brandy, you’re a fine girl, what a good wife you would be!”, or “Brandy Glaze- hehehehe, that’s a great name for a stripper!”, or my all time personal favourite “Brandy Glaze, isn’t that a candied ham?”  I willfully stopped going by “Brandy” when I turned 18 in order to avoid the carry over of my youthful torment into my college life. “Brandy” is a distant memory of my past and “Nicole” is who I am now.  I suppose I can understand the hurt my mom would feel at the possible permanent rejection of her chosen name for her baby girl, but even with the possibility of sending my mother in to a complete melt down looming I am still tempted to make the break from “Brandy” for good.  

Anyone else ever had this type of issue?  What do you all think of dropping a useless monicker from a legal name?  Do you think it is really as insulting as my mother is making it out to be?  Any compromised you can think of here that I’m missing?

Gimme yer thoughts, y’all.  


October 25, 2011

This or That, But Not Both

Filed under: love & marriage — Gigi @ 1:57 am

I really need to remember to write notes when I’m happy.  Everyone is gonna think I’m always pissed, if I don’t, and that’s not a true representation of who I am.  But that’s just it: when I’m happy I really don’t need to express myself outwardly.  When everything feels nice and good, there isn’t really a reason to blab.  So, here I am.  

FYI:  For those of you who really don’t want to listen to me complain, go look at our engagement photos or something.  The next few moments of my life are gonna be dedicated to my need to let off a little steam here.  Consider yourself warned.  Oh, and I’m not gonna be very polite, so all you delicate flowers might need to avert your eyes, too.

Basically it comes down to one thing.  I made a choice and I don’t, in ANY way, regret it.  I just wish, sometimes, that there wasn’t a reason to *have* to choose, you know?  In vain I wish that both my worlds could live in harmony and that the distance between them both wasn’t so vast.  I try not to let unanswered calls and texts and messages bother me, but in the end I know that the life I once had is entirely over and in its place is this strange new and completely complicated world full of rules and obligations I never thought I’d have to master or live up to.  The me of a year ago wouldn’t recognise the me of today and sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing or not.  


I really don’t like this town.  I hate to say it, but after nearly 4 months of trying to find a niché to fit into, most of the time all I can ever think about is why I left my small, rural hometown to begin with.  The minds here are so small, so black and white, so conservative.  It’s oppressive, stiffing, and painful.  I find myself suddenly clinging desperately to causes that I’ve always supported before with luke warm interest because I desperately need to feel attached to something- anything.  But even within those exceedingly small sects and groups in this area there is a wariness of outsiders and newcomers.  My eagerness to belong is like a neon scarlet “E” emblazoned on my chest and my voice is an instant signal to all that I’m foreign in this land and should be mocked and/or shunned.  

And I’ll say this too: I’m fucking sick and tired of hearing about the goddamned cold here!  I sodding well know it gets nasty in these parts and it’s “serious business”, that cold, yeah- you betcha!  *eyeroll*  But honest to goodness it feels like the natives here have nothing better to do than trying to scare the southern daffodil.  Like being able to endure Midwestern winters is a badge of honour.  *phft*  Let me tell you, folks, head down to Atlanta in the middle of July with no air conditioning… THEN we’ll talk endurance.  Fuck your cold.  

So I throw myself into wedding planning or DIY ideas for the house and gifts for the holidays.  I try to drown my loneliness with reception ideas and paint swatches and pinterest, but I still find myself wishing I had someone to go shopping with- like Noel, or Lauren.  I pine for pasta at Eatz and conversation with Rebecca, or for climbing and late night dinner with Tony and Doc and the gang.  I miss getting all dolled up for play parties and socializing with amazing people who are unique and beautiful and wonderfully fractured in the most amazing and awesomely accepting ways.  People who don’t look at me strange or feed the uncomfortable silences when I talk about who I am and what makes me tick.  The only real acceptance I have here comes from Kasper and I am so scared I am wearing his patience thin with my loneliness.

*deep breath*

I want to come home, but I want to bring Kasper and Noam with me to Atlanta and have a house in *gasp all you ITPers* Decatur or Dunwoody and enroll Noam in a great Montessori school and be able to have a part time job I can actually survive on, and be a functioning- financially contributing member of our family and still maintain being a house wife for the most part.  


But that is never gonna happen.  We are always gonna live in Fargo/Moorhead.  We are always gonna be tethered to this area and I am, more than likely, always gonna be an outsider.  I’m gonna always say “y’all” and always ask for sweet tea before remembering such a concoction is an abomination here.  I’m never again gonna live in a place where the sweat runs down my back the second I walk outside- where every moment spent in the shade or in a breeze is like a gift from God himself.  I’m never gonna live *HOURS* from a beach ever again.  The days of impromptu car trips to the coast for a “dip” are gone, replaced by vast expanses of flat, flat, flat nothingness in every direction;  where you can easily see 60 miles everywhere you look with no rise of any kind to impede your line of sight.  No, folks, I am here for the duration.  For love- the greatest reason of all, but still it comes at a cost.  

I can have this… or I could have that… but not both.

No matter what, though, I’ll always take this.

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