About A Boy

Last weekend, while chattering endlessly in a wine-induced frenzy of women, the subject of blogging came up. Specifically, blogging about one's significant other. The catalyst for this discussion was the discovery of a too-much-information-ridden blog of the soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend of a friend of a friend. Her blog is on the website of a popular women's magazine, meaning it can be accessed by many, many people. She posted many intimate details of her relationship, including how she believed they were not in fact meant to be and that they would most likely be breaking up. And she included numerous pictures of them as a couple. Actual pictures. At least she used a fake name for the boy, but still. Real pictures! But I digress.

It made me realize that I rarely post about my own boyfriend, but when I do, it's not ABOUT our relationship, it's just that he somehow factors into the topic at hand. And though I rarely mention his name, I don't feel the need to use a fake name for him, because I don't post intimate details. His name is Nick. But it doesn't matter that I divulged this information, because I don't post pictures of him and I don't complain about our relationship. I don't predict the end of our relationship for the world to read about and I certainly don't discuss any personal details that he would be uncomfortable with anyone else reading about (right, babe? Whatever, you don't even read my blog!). To me, that is the ultimate insult. It's not only my private life I'm posting about, it's OUR private life. And as we build a life together, the last thing I would dream about doing is blabbering all about it on crazily public space like the Internet. Even though our life is really nice, not everyone needs to know about it.

With that said, I do feel kind of guilty realizing how little I blog about my boyfriend. There have a been a few posts here and there, sure, but nothing that really gushes about what a sweet, darling, adorable boyfriend I have and how much I love and appreciate him. Because I do. I really do! Nick is awesome, and I'm really lucky to have been with him for almost six years. Count 'em. SIX. We totally win. So here I go, writing about my boyfriend...

I'm not going into all the gory details, but I'll just say a few things. I've been with Nick for so long because he's my best friend. We know each other so incredibly well, yet can still remain a mystery to one another. And no matter how much we've changed over time, and no matter how much we expect to change in the future, we know that we're still the same people we fell in love with a long time ago when we were very, very young. And we think those people are pretty great. That's love.

We have gotten each other through some really rough and frightening times...the deaths of family members and friends, an emergency surgery with months of painful recovery, a near-collision that could have been fatal if not for good luck and quick thinking. We've also had some terrible fights that have tested the limits of our relationship. But in the midst of an argument, usually over something stupid that has been blown out of proportions, we can still say, "I love you," knowing that while we may not like each other very much at the moment, in the long run it really doesn't matter. That's love.

While we've made amazing memories together with friends and family all over the place, I'm still most happy when we're home alone, just being lazy and having no intentions of going anywhere or planning anything or calling anyone. Some of my best memories involve simply lounging on the couch, watching a stupid movie or show, giggling incessantly, annoying the hell out of each other, and just acting like little kids. He even downloaded ALL the Harry Potter movies for me, and last night we watched two of them. At his suggestion. That's love.

Nick puts up with my monthly existential crises in which I cry and can't figure out what to do with my life and let my insecurities get the best of me. He's always been particularly good at making me feel better and helping me see reason, and I always tell him he's my "cheerleader." I put up with his incessant studying (good!) and video game playing (bad!), depending on if he's in or out of school. And I tolerate his ridiculous degree of stubbornness and endless depths of knowledge about seemingly every topic under the sun (annoying!). I also put up with his gross habit of farting whenever he feels like it. Whatever. It's just what boys do. He puts up with my childish whims that probably verge on spoiled brattiness, but doesn't let them get too out of hand. When we buy a 2-for-1 toothbrush pack, he automatically takes the pink or purple ones so I can have green or blue. That's right. My boyfriend uses a PINK toothbrush so I don't have to. That's love.

Hmm. Nick's alarm clock is going off right now and I feel awkward writing about him since he's probably about to groggily stumble out of the bedroom, disheveled and scratching himself, and grumbling incoherently with the worst breath EVER. So I'm going to stop writing now and greet him with something along the lines of, "Hi, boyfriend! You smell bad." That's love.