Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Fourth Boobs and The Middle

Considering I stayed up until 2 AM two nights ago watching the entire second season of New Girl, it's safe to say that I thoroughly miss having roommates. Except when I remember the pink hair dye in my sink, mountains of unwashed dishes, creepy Skype-relationships and that none of them were awkwardly endearing men with janky plumbing skills. Also when I remember that time I lived with my ex-boyfriend and the toilet didn't flush for two weeks and we almost tore each other's throats out and then we broke up.

 

I watched the epic Poignant Moment between Jess and Nick approximately five times that day, in exactly the way I watched the Poignant Moment with Pam and Jim repeatedly seven years ago; and the Poignant Moment with Allie and Noah two years before that. Oh, and let's not forget when Nichola and I were lusting after Ashton Kutcher's Poignant Crying Scene in Just Married -- in eighth grade. Who else thinks that hot men crying is the hottest thing ever, ever? And that watching hot men cry and then carry their woman up a flight of stairs while simultaneously ripping of their clothes makes you want to reenact that very scene in the very near future? And maybe if you've got someone to reenact it with, you feel kind of warm and fuzzy about them in the climax of said Poignant Moment?

 

That's how I was feeling all day, until I went to grab my headphones for a nighttime stroll and found them Not Where I Left Them. After a search of any other possible resting place, I found them Nowhere. Why? Because Buddy Holly.

 

It took me about two seconds to envision a scene in which said boyfriend wakes up late for his train, frantically makes the bed (APARTMENT RULE), STEALS my headphones and dashes out the door. This highly accurate summation owes credit to the absence of one ipod. One that had been resting on my entertainment center for approximately one month before -- and in conjunction with -- it and my headphones suddenly went missing. Even Michael Phelps could put it together.

 

Luckily for him and his manhood, we were meeting for dinner and I was only conscious of this Great Piss-Off for about ten minutes before being reunited. But please ask him about my face when he pulled them out of his pocket. Please, just ask. I'd like to see you shaking in your boots, too.

 

This is the difference between all the Epic Poignant Moments we're fed through our eyes and the actual heart-singing, heart-pulling, heartbreaking Loves we feel as human beings drawn to other human beings. It is what ignites my weekly lady-wine nights, allows for political conversations with my father, fuels posts like this about my mother, and keeps all of us coming back to those same moments of impracticality on the screen. It is the difference between two people separated from each other by a mother's fear and two people separated by a grudge over a pair of headphones.

 

Because look, here's the thing: love is neither as great nor as trivial as anything you've witnessed. Simply, because you must feel it to understand it. No one can tell you the power of a first kiss, nor the death -- and I mean that literally -- in true heartbreak.

 

CLICHE, cliche. Sure. But in the middle of the excitement in the beginning and all the disappointment at the end is everything in the middle -- the meat that takes so much effort and care to chew through. The middle is everything, in exactly the way a McDonald's bun has no nutritional value. It's no secret that Buddy Holly and I have been through our fair share of Middle lately. I know you remember that melodramatic post I wrote about us breaking up, and then getting back together, and then breaking up again...we're better now. I owe that to the great effort we both put forward in being the best filet mignon we can be. It's not easy, and anyone that tells you it is is full of shit. And you can tell them I said so.

 

One night very early into our relationship, Buddy and I were engaged in...things. Unbeknownst to me he mistook my abnormally protruding ribs for their fleshy northern neighbors. A few weeks later, he actually told me about it. I knew then that he was someone I wanted to share a lot more awkward moments with. This evening he made me dinner and we shared a Poignant Moment of our own. We've created a relationship out of the middle, one from which I don't see myself emerging for a long time. And you know what else is a middle? Ice cream. In ice cream sandwiches. So like, Suck It, Nicholas Sparks.

 

 

 

 

***In other news...if anyone else is interested in knowing more about how to overcome a partner mistaking their Fourth Boobs for Real Boobs, I'm considering adding a relationship + advice column to the blog. Any takers? Any masochists? Just kidding, we all are!***

 

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