My Boring, Dull, Non-Exciting, Lovely Life

Readers! It's been months. We all knew that this might happen. At some point, I would meet a great guy and my misadventures would come to an end. I tried to tell myself, "No way. Even if I do meet someone, funny things will still happen. I'll still have plenty to write about." But, here we are six months later and holy drool in a bucket, I'm boring. I mean, my last weekend consisted of laundry, movie night, and a compelling trip to Homegoods to buy a new coat tree. I own a coat tree. I have a silent battle with my fella over which way the toilet paper rolls. (Side note: I just called him "my fella". WHO AM I?) Anyway, I let it fall over the roll. And then, during my next trip to the bathroom, SOMEONE has flipped it around to falling under the roll. The scamp!  I have a cat and a dog and the four of us collapse into bed at 9:30 p.m., so that we can all watch the Friends rerun that we DVRed. I almost just fell asleep in mid-type. Even the way that we met is boring. We've known each other since we were teenagers, had secret crushes, and reconnected through facebook. Yawn.

We're not without our funny moments. Fella can be quite outspoken. Sometimes it's humorous. Sometimes I feel like a sixteen-year old whose dad just busted out into the Electric Slide during a prom court coronation. But, I'm always entertained. Fella's dismay at the hipster trend in my city is always good for a laugh. One time, while entering a local music venue, Fella exclaimed, "What the f*ck is with all the grizzly BEARDS?? You guys look RIDICULOUS!" That's when I knew I loved him.

Our shacking up is new, but so far, it's great. I love coming home to him. He treats me like the way people treat Mariah Carey in her imagination...making me my coffee in the morning, pouring me a glass of wine at night. He's unknowingly creating his own homegrown grown-up Veruca Salt, but let's keep that a secret, lest the pampering stop. He handled it well when I had my first menstrual meltdown in front of him after I had spent hours making ravioli from scratch, only to have it taste like what I imagine landfill tastes like. He held me until I stopped crying and then ordered Thai. I've always thought that I would have issues with sharing my bed, my bathroom, my television, my leftovers, etc. But, it's weird that that doesn't seem to matter when you're sharing it with the right person. So, yeah all in all, things are pretty copa-partridge-freaking-family-cetic.

My last entry was about just wanting to find a guy who hasn't done prison time, and I've gotten that and so much more. I'm quite lucky. However, you...you're not so lucky if you like to read this blog because it's going to go downhill faster than paperboys chasing Lloyd Dobler for two dollars. So we're left to Mosby's choice...finding happiness with my Mother (ok, that didn't come out right) or being able to tell great stories. For now, I'm choosing the happiness.