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Yesterday was my birthday, and it was almost like an out-of-body experience.

Jake fully supported my plan to lay in bed until 10am, then we took a lovely bubble bath. It was the hottest fucking day, so I got to wear my lovely new, white dress down to Berretta for brunch. Oh brunch! And yes, perhaps it was a mistake to eschew any caffeine for two very potent champagne cocktails, but it was my birthday damnit! After brunch, we bough sausages and fresh pasta at a little Italian deli nearby, and stopped for the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever had. Seriously, my new purpose in life is to avoid eating balsamic and caramel ice cream every second of the day.

The afternoon was spent napping in the early summer heat, laughing with my boy as he produced an engagment ring for me to wear for the next week. Then, it was off to get sloppy with a small group of my lady friends. Oh my aching stomach this morning, but oh my happy heart.

I was telling Jake that I could remember my 19th birthday (10 years ago!) so clearly: I was sitting on the fire escape of my shitty studio apartment in Seattle, crying into the batter of my own birthday cake, miserable to be so lonely and in such a shitty relationship. Time does heal everything, and yesterday was so extraordinary because it was completely ordinary. That is, life is just this: easy and full of love.

Jake has been in L.A. the past couple of days doing Important Business Deals, and I’ve been all by my lonesome here in San Francisco. It’s – wait for it – nice. I love living with him, sharing a life, but it’s also nice to have periodic reminders of what life is on my own.

I’ve taken a couple nice walks, treated myself to some lovely homemade and takeout meals, and generally done whatever the hell I’ve wanted. This span of a few days seems like a lovely break before embarking on the path of our marriage.

It’s also given me more time to work on what I’m calling my “summer vacation project,” Greater Gatsby. See, we have this very funny looking and clever bunny named Gatsby, and we’ve always wondered what his life was like in the three or so years before we adopted him from the city shelter. We’re both writers and decided, “What the hell! Let’s just create a back story for him.” The site is a bit of that, and a bit of a chance to show off how cute he is. Check it out!

Though many things about our wedding may be religiously breaking with tradition – that I proposed, that he wears an engagement ring, the green bridal dress, the lack of formality – I decided to keep one aspect the same as so many other brides: I’m taking Jake’s last name.

I have always wanted to change my last name, and for many years thought about taking my great-grandmother’s maiden name, Poe. It never seemed urgent, but it always seemed like something I’d want eventually. The idea of “keeping my maiden name” is so silly in any case, since it’s a name passed down to me from the father’s side. How many more feminist points do you get if you carry the name of two men?

Taking Jake’s name means I’m in control of who I am, for the first time since birth. It’s a concious choice to identify as a unit with him, rather than as an individual that never had a choice in her name. The process for making that change is sort of an involved one, but I’ve started taking those steps. Last night, I changed everything that doesn’t require to see the marriage license (since we get that on the 2nd), and filled out the forms for everything else.

It’s odd as hell, but there you go.