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.

Quote of the (Yester)Day

Upon entering my bedroom around noon on Sunday after deciding to go back to sleep for a few hours, I saw that Nick's eyes were open...

Me: Oh good, you're awake! Now we can cuddle!

Nick: You're abusive.

I laughed good and hard, then promptly snuggled up to him only to realize that he was once again fast asleep. When I reminded him of this last night he said he didn't remember the exchange at all. But he found it mighty amusing... Jerkface.

Boy Cooks, Girl Eats

I am a lucky woman...especially when I'm hungry. I have a live-in boyfriend who can cook like a professional chef and doesn't mind me hanging around the kitchen drinking wine and getting in his way and pretending to "help." My idea of cooking generally involves one or a few of the following: I boil some pasta or rice, steam some vegetables, open a can of beans, toss all the leftovers in my fridge into a tortilla, and call it dinner...or I pick up the phone and order Chinese. The boyfriend does not believe in my version of cooking and is generally content for me to boycott the kitchen altogether (except for breakfast on the weekends...I scramble some mean eggs), as long as I help clean up. Which I do...most of the time...

Anyway, because we're not too big on getting stressed out for silly Hallmark holidays, and I had to work at the bar on Valentine's Day, we didn't make our traditional romantic dinner until last night. We started this tradition many years ago back in college out of necessity, because we were poor -- we pick a main ingredient we wouldn't normally eat (we started with tuna steaks, then moved onto veal, etc.), we pick out an interesting recipe, we go shopping for all the ingredients together, buy a nice bottle of wine, then cook romantically all evening and watch a movie that isn't sappy, but interesting. I think one year we watched "Rosemary's Baby." How's that for Valentine's Day?

Last night when I got home for work, we already had all the ingredients waiting for us and we dove right in. I chopped stuff, drank excessively, and bitched about my family, while he did all the heavy lifting and allowed himself to be splashed with grease. How sweet! We ended up with heavenly red potatoes roasted in duck fat and simply seasoned with salt, pepper, and parsley... Red cabbage and apples braised in apple cider vinegar... A huge (a.k.a. expensive) and very rare steak from the Brooklyn Kitchen, with a heavenly red wine, herb, and carrot sauce... and some "kick in the face" Chasing Lions wine. All this while watching "I'm Not There," which oddly enough for a Bob Dylan fanatic, I had not seen.

The meal made me think... I don't eat red meat very often, but when I dig into a really good steak that has been meticulously prepared by my boyfriend, I really appreciate the time and effort put into cooking it to perfection - or rather, the lack of time, since a really good steak shouldn't be cooked for very long. He decided 6 minutes per side would be just right. And it was...

I also appreciate the fact that an animal lived and died to make my meal. Thanks, Mr. Steer. I hope you had a nice life, I really do. I think everyone who eats meat has a responsibility to really acknowledge the animal that they're consuming -- that this was once a living, breathing creature that could feel hot, cold, pain, fear...and contentment. And the more I am starting to enjoy food, thanks mostly to my foodie boyfriend, the most I realize one needs to be responsible in their buying practices of animal products. Do I break down and buy conventionally raised chicken or eggs here and there? Yes...and it makes me feel irresponsible. Do I know every time that I go out to eat that the meat was raised free range, hormone-free, etc. etc.? No, and that too gives me a twinge of guilt with every bite. I can thank my boyfriend for making me more food-conscious and therefore more animal-conscious. Although it gets expensive...

I guess I can really thank my boyfriend for giving me a solid appreciation of quality food and home cooking...even though I'm still not terribly motivated to do it. I have tried many new dishes in the 5 years we've been together, and I've experimented with cooking techniques I watched my mother do for years but never understood, and now I can safely say I am what I guess is an amateur foodie... Although I'm guilty of bringing home a can of Chef Boyardee and a 6 pack of beer one night after the grocery stores were closed and I had a rough, long day at work.

Still, when I think back on great meals I've had in my life, I remember bacon-wrapped venison (which I ate as a child in the back woods but never though of as high end cuisine), roasted quail, and foie gras... Or Brussels sprouts, morrel soup, and tuna liver with edible flowers... Mmm... And I appreciate more and more that animals had to perish to give me my meal, and that the chefs who prepare them take great care in translating this life cycle into something truly memorable.

So thank you, dear, for making me see food for what it is: plants and animals that grow, die, and are recreated into exotic forms with fancy names...But more importantly, that give me endless pleasure while eating, and will continue to do so as I remember and talk about them for years to come.

Where's Michael Pollan when I need him?