Category Archives: Boyfriend of the Year

So apparently, when you live with someone, you’re together, like, all the time. Revelation of the century, I know. Let’s see, since starting this post, Matt has already walked over to my desk to give me a hug, glance at my laptop screen and ask, “What’s happening on the internet? Anything good?” Dude, we’re totally up in each other’s grills.

I mean, it’s great! Cohabitation has been wonderful, really (Hi Matt if you’re still looking at me). Our lives are meshing together (almost) effortlessly and it’s exciting and fun and just so right. But, well …

I need space.

As in uninterrupted quiet time. Time to sit and ponder the meaning of life. Time to blog. Time away from the sounds of Star Wars marathons and video games. Time away.

I’m still figuring it out. For now, I have to get ready to crawl into bed with my sweet fiance. Life isn’t too shabby.

There are many reasons why I can never plan a surprise birthday party for Matt, like several of my girlfriends have successfully executed for their significant others. First, he loves his birthday. He’s been known to send out Evites three months in advance because he gets that anxious. He’d be crushed if he did all this planning and built up all this excitement and then I swooped in and stole it from him with my own SURPRISE!

Second, he’s always up in my grill. Due to my A.D.D., I keep no less than 25 tabs open on my computer screen at all times. Seeing this gives Matt a nervous tick and he feels an overwhelming urge to hit Option-Command-W. He’s always wanting to close out my windows. He doesn’t purposely look at what I’m browsing—believe me, it’s not that juicy … blogs, wedding stuff, WebMD for my ailments—but it’s all right there. He would know if I Googled “How to throw a surprise party.”

Lastly, I simply suck at keeping secrets from him. I always need to tell Matt everything, every thought process, every detail. I feel all tortured inside when I’m hiding something and I always let it leak out with an awkward, “Sooooooooo …… NOTHING.” And then he’ll say, “What?” And I’ll let out a sigh of relief and say, “Well since you asked ….”

This very long intro leads into the fact that because Matt’s BIG 30th birthday is coming up, I, against all odds, tried to plan a surprise party. I was prepared and determined. I really thought I was gonna pull it off until the other day when I was listening to my voice messages. On speaker phone. With Matt sitting next to me.

Message 1 – Mom
delete
Message 2 – Mom
delete
Message 3 – Mom
delete
Message 4: [A man's voice] “Hi Michelle, this is Ben from Backstage Bar & Grill …”
QUICKLY DELETE!!!!!!!!!!

I looked at Matt and said, “Oh yeah, I met a guy at a bar named Ben …. ”

Matt shook his head and was like, “You shouldn’t have deleted that message. How will you know the latest on my surprise party?” He then said he had seen my “research” on my computer.

Doh. I suck.

P.S. Another reason why I can’t plan a surprise party is because I tell the internet everything.

P.P.S. Don’t worry. This whole post is totally part of my grand surprise party-planning scheme. Muahahaha.

Matt and I went to our first of five pre-marital counseling sessions last week. It wasn’t our idea to sign up (in a way, we were forced to) but since we’re doing it, we’re taking it seriously. We both think it will be good for us.

One of the first things the pastor told us is that almost every couple cries at some point, and not out of joy. He’s witnessed lots of yelling and fighting and throwing of rings. I can believe it. Within the first 10 minutes of our session, we were revealing our deepest issues, stuff we hate talking about.

I secretly hoped that pre-marital counseling would lead to some good blog fodder but I’m not sure if it will. It’s all kinda private, you know? I’d never gone through any type of counseling before and I feel kinda naked. WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT MY FEELINGS?

I’m confident that our relationship will be even stronger after this. Plus, I would never throw my bling back at Matt. Have you seen this sucker?

Have any of you gone through pre-marital counseling? What was your experience like?

*This is our new favorite line. We use it against each other all the time. For example, I let one rip and Matt was like, “This is a problem. I’m gonna bring it up in counseling.” It’s kinda fun.

Matt and I have found a place to live! It’s a cute little place in Culver City, just steps away from all the cool restaurants and bars (helloooooo happy hour!). We get our keys this week!

This is a big deal for us because as you may know, after six years of dating, this will be our first time living together. It’s exciting and scary.

Matt, by the way, I really think we need a potted plant wall decal. Come onnnnn.

Here’s to domestic bliss!

So in my last post, I declared that night owls are greater than early birds but I really don’t know if that’s true. I mean, I like staying up late—I do a little work, have delirious chats with friends, dawdle on the internet and frantically Google stuff that I need to know right this second. You know, at 1:49 a.m. Like tonight, I researched tumbler glasses. Because if I didn’t, what will Matt and I drink out of in our new apartment?! Oh my God, we still need to find an apartment. Hold on while I check Craigslist …

So yeah, staying up late is fun but I don’t think it’s very healthy. Now that I don’t have a regular work schedule, I go to bed at about 2, wake up at 9:30, stroll into the office at 11, leave at 7 . I don’t see much sunlight. It’s kind of sad.

Matt says that we get married, I should try to get on his schedule. He goes to bed at 10:30 and wakes up at 6:30. 6:30 a.m.! I don’t know what 6:30 a.m. looks like. But I’d like to see how that goes. Did you know that 80 percent of the top CEOs wake up at 5:30 a.m. or earlier? Dooce wakes up at 6, too. Zen Habits listed some great benefits of rising early.

Another reason why I think marriage will be good for me. More structure in my life FTW!

While working on some wedding stuff (it never ends), Matt and I start watching some old episodes of 24, a series that is much too intense for my feeble little heart. Seriously, I’m the wuss of all wusses when it comes to television programming—I can’t stand blood and bad guys and danger—but 24 happened to be on and that Jack Bauer dude is just so cool.

So I’m getting all wrapped into it, clenching the couch and gasping at all the surprise attacks. Then one episode ends with this crazy twist. SPOILER ALERT! So there’s this terrorist trapped in this building and he’s surrounded by cops and the SWAT team and like a gazillion guys with guns and there’s absolutely no way for him to get out alive. And this terrorist is like a really, really bad terrorist, maybe the most dangerous in the world. He’s been threatening to kill thousands of people around the country with this crazy virus. So it’s really important that they get him.

But then, at the very last moment, just as he’s about to be blown up, the terrorist calls the head of the CTU, telling him to check out this website. There on his computer screen, the CTU guy sees his wife being held hostage. He must either divert the operation or watch his wife get her eyeball cut out.

And so the CTU guy tells his troops to cluster near the front door of the building.

And the terrorist escapes through the back.

And that’s how it ends.

We turn off the TV, and as I’m all shaken up, I ask Matt what any girl would ask her fiancé.

“Would you do that for me?”

Without hesitation, Matt says no.

I, in all my PMS-y glory, start to sob.

“Y-y-you would let them take my eyeball ooooooout??” I manage to ask through sniffles. I’m furious inside.

Matt says that if he were ever to take a job like that, which he wouldn’t, the possibilities that come with his position would be discussed beforehand, and that my question makes all sorts of assumptions.

All I hear is “Blah, blah, blah … it’s OK if your eyeball comes out.”

And then he says that if given the choice, he would choose to die in order to save me, which is pretty sweet, but I’m still so mad!

Why does he have to be so practical?

He could have just said, “Of course, honey. I would never let anyone touch your pretty little face.” And then I’d swoon and wouldn’t have to be a snotty mess.

I hope the fate of our country never has to rest on my husband’s decision.

Because I’d be really mad at him.

I would stare him down every night.

With my one eye.