I am exceptionally fortunate to have Irving in my life. He makes me happier than I ever thought possible, he gets my humor, and he likes Iron Chef America. The only downside is that I didn’t meet him until I was 27, long after most people I know were paired off and procreating.

We’ve been together just over a year and a half, which is a pretty impressive feat. Especially if you consider that my record was a grand total of 3 months before him. In fact, if you added up all of my boyfriends growing up, and even the few I had as an adult, I doubt you’d hit the amount of time he and I have been together. The truth though, is that a year and a half isn’t that long when you start wondering about marriage.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to marry him and intend to do so. In fact, I was pretty sure after 6 months that this was it for me. Still, it’s a good idea to give things some time to percolate. He has made it very clear that he’s just as on board the marriage train as I am. We discuss it at length.

Probably too much length, to be honest. You can’t be in as many weddings as I’ve been in (maid of honor in 5, and I spent three years as a wedding DJ) without sort of planning your own. I have umpteen variations on the theme. Red Rocks canyon with a live Irish band. Hot wings and beer at the reception. An elopement to a donut shop in Portland where we could be married by a voodoo donut maker. A small bed and breakfast in a tiny mountain town with only the closest friends and family. I fantasize about these things. I occasionally obsess about these things.

I’m two months from my 29th birthday when my family expected me to be married with babies at 28. At the latest, I might add. I’m in a healthy, happy relationship with a man who loves me. And yet… It’s not the right time. He knows it and I know it. We don’t have the money for a big wedding. We don’t have the time to plan.

Most of the time he’s exceptionally patient about my obsessing. More so than it would be fair to expect. Once in a while, I think it bothers him that we aren’t in a better place to start the process.

It’s late and I’m tired, but I needed to remind myself that it will happen, if not for a while yet. I may have different themes and months and venues in mind, but the one thing that doesn’t change is him. I’d marry him tomorrow at City Hall or in ten years at Niagara Falls going over in a barrel.

Don’t be afraid to make a fool of yourself. Whether it’s sending a goopy Valentine’s Day card or saying that you love him more than you thought yourself capable of, or being so comfortable together that you sometimes forget to be a cool girlfriend and you put a book on your head and dance around the house getting jiggy to old swing songs, be ok with being a little ridiculous. For me, it’s the fact that I can be a total cheese ball when saying “I love you” and the fact that I can be myself completely (which often does include things most people find a little iffy. Yes, I sometimes drink pickle juice and I occasionally shake my booty and sing along to jingles on tv, what of it?) that let me know I was with the right person.

He tells me he loves me every day and he shows me in a million little ways, but it’s when he’s willing to be a little goopy or a little exposed (emotionally!), or a little silly that I know he really loves me. You have to trust someone to be yourself around them. You have to feel safe with someone to open your heart to them. It’s scary and it’s risky and I’m not saying that you should slap on the propeller beanie and dance in the parking lot every other Tuesday and write love sonnets in flower petals on the bed to prove that you care. At least not every Tuesday and try not to use flowers with thorns on them. Just try not to take yourself too seriously. I promise, it makes a world of difference.

I have a fancy menu planned for dinner at home. The goal is steak, roasted fingerling potatoes, asparagus bundles, and herb butter. Dessert is supposed to be homemade tiramisu. Doesn’t that all sound fantastic? It would be even better if steak was less expensive, lady fingers were available anywhere at all, and I wasn’t a crazy person who turns a simple meal into something over the top and insane. Don’t get me wrong about this. I’m really looking forward to a nice, fancy, romantic dinner for two. The problem is that with VD on a Monday, I have to do as much prep as possible the day before and I’ll finish dinner after what I’m sure will be a crazy day at work on Monday.

Why will Monday be crazier than usual? Because my boss, the one I love so dearly, is having heart surgery that day. So let’s add the fact that I’m scared for her, I keep reassuring her on a daily basis that she’s going to be fine while all the while really terrified that something will go awry, and I have about a week of doing this job entirely alone. With two people working together we still get overwhelmed. Three people, even if one was only half time, would make this job manageable, and I get to do it alone for a week. Awesome.

Oh, and this year it appears that we’re doing gifts as a couple. (Sorry, I’m bouncing back a paragraph or two.) I am excited about this as the last time I had a boyfriend give me a gift on Valentine’s Day was in the 11^th grade when I got a Winnie the Pooh necklace from a boy I’d known about two weeks. I wore it once. The problem with gifts on Valentine’s Day is that I don’t know what to do or how far to go. I’ve considered everything from supplies to support his hobbies to an all-expense paid night away to a romantic train ride through the mountains. This last one would be great, but the only way I can afford it right now is if we go on March 5, and my little sister’s baby shower is March 6. That means that I’ll be prepping on March 5, even though I’m not technically the one hosting the shower. I just have a hunch, based on lots of family history, that I’ll be called up to bat the day before. It happens

I also don’t know what he has planned, so I don’t want to give something over the top if I’m getting a new sweater (I’d like a new sweater and he picks out really nice things) but I don’t want to give something too understated if he’s doing something really romantic (how do hobby supplies stack up against something like a heartfelt token of affection?). Last year I baked his favorite cake and he made me a CD of love songs. We had a candle light picnic on the living room floor and watched the Olympics while a radio station counted down the best love songs of the last ten years or so. It was really lovely. Of course I also freaked myself out and made a huge, over-the-top meal to go with said cake, but that’s sort of my thing.

And just in case I’m not making crazy enough already, there’s this weird emotional cloud hanging over my lately. I’m missing my friends really badly lately. You know who you are. I’m feeling like I need to see them, but I don’t have the money for much more than phone calls right now. And I’m not just emotional in the “I miss my friends” way. I’m also oddly over-reacting to relationship stuff. I’m not proud of this, but the other night when Irving made a joke about us and said “it’s almost like we’re married,” my eyes teared up. What the hell is that about? It passed as quickly as it happened, but it was shocking. I wonder if maybe it’s because I get so many questions about where our relationship is going and how we’re doing and will he ever marry me. I’m confident in my relationship and I have no doubt that we’ll be together forever and that this is the man I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with. I know he feels the same way and I know that things will happen in their own time. That does not, however, calm the fact that I sometimes literally hear a voice in my head counting down the months, weeks, and days until my 30^th birthday. Isn’t it terrible that in 2011 with life expectancy up in the 75-80 range on average, 30 still seems like the scariest of all possible numbers?

And this is why I’m hating Heart Day a little right now. I shouldn’t be. I am in a healthy, happy relationship with someone who treats me beautifully. I’m madly in love with my partner. I’m expecting at least a card and a very nice dinner at home. I am sure my boss’s procedure will go well. I’m doing fine. Yet, despite that, I find myself spinning about in a spiral of crazy. Thank God it’s only once a year.

While for the most part I felt that they were pretty accurate, I did feel it seemed a little unfair to lecture the men and not the women. Accordingly, I have taken it upon myself to come up with the six mistakes women make at Valentine’s Day.

Number One: Pretending like it’s not a big deal. Ladies, as much as we want them to be, men are not mind readers. Not only that, but they speak a completely different language than we do. When a woman says that she’s not expecting anything for Valentine’s Day and then gets upset because her guy doesn’t make a fuss, it’s really her own fault. Yes, after centuries of this same issue coming up in relationship after relationship, they should know better. I’m sorry, girls, but they don’t. If you tell him that you don’t care about Valentine’s Day and he takes you at your word, you have no one to blame but yourself.

Number Two: Expecting the “grand gesture.” It’s been scientifically proven that women and men react differently to the concept of romance. Our brains interpret things differently. You may want a serenade and roses, but he gets your tires rotated. Before you fly off the handle that he doesn’t care about your relationship, think for a minute about what his gesture actually means. If he rotates your tires it may mean that he wants to take care of you and protect you in the way he knows how. If he brings you the toaster oven you mentioned once in passing, don’t get up in arms and accuse him of being anti-feminist. Maybe it just means that he heard you say you wanted it and he wanted to get it for you.

Number Three: Putting it all on him. If you’re the couple that can never make a decision about where you want to go or what you want to do, or if you found a guy that constantly defers with the ever popular, “Well, what do you want to do?” then don’t be surprised if he doesn’t think to make plans in advance. Yes, we all know it’s more romantic when he surprises us with a big night out, but if your MO as a couple is that you make the final call 9 times out of 10, how is he supposed to know he’s flying solo? I’m not saying that you have to plan the whole night, but offer a little help. Mention a few places a week or two ahead of time and say, with no uncertainty, that you think they would be great options for your big Heart Day night out. Make suggestions that he feels comfortable with. Then he can still surprise you with the one he chooses, but you won’t be stuck at 7:30 wondering if you want Sonic or Burger King.

Number Four: Crazy gifts. I knew a couple who had been together about 6 weeks on their first Valentine’s Day. They exchanged cards, and then she busted out her pile-o-presents. A man bag (which he later returned), a new wallet (that he never used), and a brand-spanking-new cell phone, complete with updated family plan so they could talk any time! *chirp, chirp* Early in the relationship, stick to simple things. Committing to a cell phone plan is a lot of pressure because it states in the written contract that you’re stuck together for at least two years. Not to mention that should things go awry, now there is a penalty for breaking the contract, there’s the stress of changing your number, and essentially you put yourself through far more stress than was necessary if you’d gotten him a CD or movie he really liked.

Number Five: Over glamming. I’m a jeans and sweatshirt kind of girl. Irving likes it when I wear black or dark eye liner, so often when we’re going out for a date night, I’ll slap on a little makeup or find a nice black top. Generally, though, he knows that I come as I am. On special occasions, even the most non-glamorous women sometimes want to kick it up a bit. I’ll admit that I spent an uncommon amount of time getting myself gorgeous for New Year’s Eve. Still, I warned him in advance. I let him know that I’d be cocooning myself in the bathroom and not coming out until I was as good as I was going to get. Because I warned him that I wanted to go big, he knew to be more careful with own outfit, and that I’d need compliments when I came out. If you are planning on breaking with your traditional getup for the big date night, give him a head’s up. You don’t want to come out for the dramatic reveal wearing the slinky LBD and hooker heels to find him in the jeans he wore yesterday that still have the mustard stain from lunch.

Number Six: Losing focus. Valentine’s Day has been drilled into our brains as the single most important day of the year in your relationship. It’s bigger than your anniversary. It’s bigger than your birthday. It’s the day when every single couple on the planet is celebrating their special kind of love and if you don’t get the right card or the sparkling necklace or the proposal, it must mean that your love isn’t as special as theirs. Um, no. Valentine’s Day is a great opportunity to be reminded of why you’re together in the first place, but it’s not the be all, end all moment. Think about what made you fall for each other. If it’s early, think about where you two can go but enjoy where you are. If it’s been a while, reminisce about how you began. Focus on the fact that you can put aside time to tell the other person what you should be telling them all the time anyway—that you care about them and consider yourself lucky that they care about you, too.

I missed the first hour, but once I found it I immediately began squealing and clapping. Before I knew it, David Hyde Pierce was introducing Patti Lupone (who sang Here’s to the Ladies Who Lunch), Marin Mazie (Am I Losing My Mind?), Donna Murphy (Could I Leave You?), Audra McDonald (Glamorous Life), Bernadette Peters (Day After Day), and Elaine Stritch (I’m Still Here). Needless to say, I was in a bit of tizzy. After my third or fourth squeal, Irving, who was napping at the time, asked from the other room if I’d be doing that all night. I clamped down the crazy that I could, but there’s only so much control I have over myself when these women are singing songs written by one of my favorite composers of all time. I tell you, it can be exhausting moving from the emotional high to the heartbreaking sorrow these women can cause with Sondheim’s lyrics. I moved back and forth from laughter to tears with some significant overlap.

Irving watched me from a safe distance behind the kitchen counter, where I’m pretty sure he took my picture. He told me later he texted one of my sisters about it. She responded that if she can hardly handle my theater crazy, she didn’t expect him to either. I just want to say that I warned him about this long ago. He had a head’s up. He’d been given a clear explanation of the madness that sometimes comes loose at Tony Time.

He told me that I was less crazy than I had advertised. I explained that it was because I had reigned in. He thought I was kidding there. I had to reinforce the fact that the squeals, the tears, the gasps, and the beating of the floor with my hands and speaking to Stephen Sondheim through the television were far reduced from the nearly catatonic state I can be found in during the Tonys.

I just wanted to share with you that Irving finally got a little taste of the theater crazy last night and despite that, he’s still with me.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Sondheim. I love you!

This weekend, however, I had my own holiday movie montage. I’m serious. It was as cutesy and sugary sweet and overly romantic as you’d see on ABC Family, but it was so much better than that because it wasn’t exactly perfect.

Irving and I decided on Friday night to get our Christmas tree. I was starving due to a very light lunch had very early in the day and as anyone who knows me can attest, I’m no fun when I’m hungry. Still, I didn’t want to rain on the Christmas parade, so I chomped on some gum and meandered through the store, making a mental list of the holiday items we’d need to pick up. Irving and I made it over to the frozen food sectionwhere we decided to make a meal of frozen appetizers and eat ourselves silly, pre-tree. Given that neither of us is stellar at decision making and three aisles of frozen options means an awful lot of choosing, it took nearly twenty minutes to commit to the bag of frozen chicken wings we initially pulled from the freezer when we arrived. We made a few other selections and went to inspect the holiday section.

In the garden section we chose a new tree stand and I pouted over the fancy ornaments, feeling like perhaps I needed to improve on the collection I possess. It’s not that I don’t have nice things, it’s just that I don’t have all that many. I’ve got a few fantastic ornaments, among them two singing Sinatra figurines, a hand-painted martini glass with Santa and the reindeer, a ceramic bell with a picture of my grandmother, and so on. The issue for me is that I grew up with a tree that always ended up being more glitz than pine. My selection was feeling skimpy. I gathered myself together, put back the dozens of over-glittered, over-priced items I’d selected, and mentioned that we should probably hurry along if we were to safely eat our frozen chicken when we got home.

We finally left the store laden down with snacks but still missing a tree. We made a detour to the nearest Home Depot, where they apparently sold all of their non-ridiculously priced and/or skimpy trees just before we arrived. Refusing to be deterred, we ventured to yet another grocery store in this, our third attempt at tree finding. Lo and behold, we not only found a tree, but also came up with a list of at least three or four other things we absolutely had to add to our list of appetizer menu items. We finally found our tree, threw it in the car, and headed home, our wilting frozen food getting soggier by the moment.

We got home and I set about to heating, microwaving, and opening the food while Irving took on the duty of putting up the tree into our fancy (i.e., plastic but expensive) tree stand. Sure, he forgot to cut off the bottom of the tree before placing it in the stand and sure, he decided to trim the bottom branches after the tree was already in place. Still, the point is that he took on this task that has baffled me and left me covered in pine needles and sap year after year.

Cut to twenty minutes later, after the pangs of hunger have been eased and the tree has settled down into its new home. We turned on the television to an old black and white movie, only vaguely connected to Christmas but delightfully funny and somewhat seasonally appropriate, and began to wrap lights and tinsel around the tree.

I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point it occurred to me that I had a full belly, a cute boyfriend, a beautiful Christmas tree, a 1930’s movie, and a fridge full of eggnog at my beck and call. We finished the tree, hit the lights, turned on the Aspen Glow, and sat in stillness enjoying the moment.

When we finally turned off the song, we threw in The Thin Man (again, only the slightest Christmas connection, but still seasonally appropriate), curled up on the couch beneath the glow of the tree, and watched the martini-guzzling, innuendo-slinging, dog-walking pair find a murder and keeping a young girl innocent while still giving each other expensive and fancy gifts.

And in case this scene of the cutesy couple on the couch watching a holiday movie beneath the light of the Christmas tree isn’t enough to convince you of the disgustingly cute holiday weekend I had, the next day included shopping together for gifts at three different stores, including a brief moment wherein we each turned on or pushed the noise-making button on every toy in three isles, a drive through snowy mountains, walking hand-in-hand through a small mountain town under the lights of the shops as it snowed lightly, an accidental crash of a store grand opening that came complete with free wine and appetizers, and dinner together before a drive home in the snow. After arriving at home, still more eggnog, the twinkling lights of the tree, and a Gene Kelley and Judy Garland technicolor extravaganza.

It was a good weekend.

Believe it or not, I had two such days this weekend. In Nebraska, of all places. For some reason, perhaps years of Kansas relatives telling me so, I thought Nebraska would be a little flat, a little brown, and a little dull. Not so. At least, not the part I saw.

But let me back up. Yes, the scenery was surprisingly lovely, but there were many other parts of this weekend that contributed the blissfulness. First, I had to pick up Irving from his very important, very fancy job. We decided to take my fancy new car on this trip because, well, why wouldn’t we? So I drove down there and met him in the parking. Rather than jet away immediately, he gave me the nickle tour. The best part? Being introduced.

You may find it hard to believe, but at 28 years old I had never been introduced to anyone, ever, as a girlfriend. Imagine my delight when I was introduced to the very fancy coworkers as “girlfriend Kari.” It was pretty cool. I’m feeling pretty cutesy at this point, all girlfriendy and relationshipy, when we decide to hit the road.

I don’t know much about meditation. I’ve never been great at it, in fact. However, something about the drive to Nebraska put me in a practically meditative state. Sure, there was some rotten traffic getting out of Denver, but there was mostly the gentle rocking of a smooth car ride, the quiet sounds of local radio stations, the passing of green fields, and the security of holding hands with someone I really care about. The time passed quickly and I was surprised at how much I enjoyed my view. (Sorry Mom, but it was really nice.)

Not even the attack of the hunger beast, which hit about 45 minutes before reaching our destination and about 45 minutes after the last fast food option, could quell my zen-like state. We arrived and I was blown away by the bluffs and the creeks we drove past, choosing to focus on them rather than the shooting hunger pains.

We arrived in substantially less time than we’d originally allotted, and we were greeted with beer, barbecue beef sandwiches, and really relaxed conversation. Admittedly, I was a little nervous, but I think handing over a freshly made chocolate cake helps one feel more confident about being liked.

After two bottles of beer and two really tasty sandwiches, we all chatted in a comfortable fashion. Irving decided that the lovely bedroom that was all set for us would be too hot, despite his father’s efforts to put in a new ceiling fan before we arrived (actually, I completely agreed with him, but you were not going to catch me saying one word against anything, especially not after beer and delicious sandwiches). Instead, he set up a surprisingly firm and comfortable air mattress in the den downstairs, which was substantially cooler and a very wise choice.

We finally went to bed and I know I slept more soundly than I had in days. We woke up the next morning and his parents and I teased him while he made coffee. Then Irving and I went for a drive. I got to see this amazing national landmark, get my history geek on, and visit a little gift shop. Then we drove around the town and I got a tour with personalized landmarks, such as the hospital he was born in, the school he graduated from, and the grocery store where he had his first job. As someone who’s moved so often as to not have much of a home town, it was wonderful for me to be part of that.

After the drive we stopped home, then went out for burgers. Pretty good burgers, in fact, from a place in business for over 50 years. I hate to use the word quaint because it feels like a lazy cliche, but I really felt that about the town. It was charming. Oh, and because it’s a small town and we kept running into people, there were more girlfriend introductions.

We all ate at home and then there was napping to the sounds of the Food Network. Once we’d rested, we piled in the car and went to a chili cook off and beer garden. Even though we missed most of the chili, we had a blast. Parents and youngsters meandered separately and together. We got sun and met old friends and watched people hula hoop to the notes of Honky Tonk Gal and Mustang Sally. It was everything you’d want from the experience.

We came home again to freshen up. In my case, that meant trying to look less sunburned and more adorable. I settled for a cool rag over my face to wipe off some of the sheen. Then it was off for Mexican food and a pitcher of margaritas. Um, awesome?

We finished the night with a live band, another beer garden, and lots of old friends. More girlfriend introductions, thank you very much. (I know, but it was a really neat experience.) I will confess, though, this was the one moment I had a tremor of concern. At this point, I’d been running around all day, I was sweaty and gross, and I wasn’t wearing anything remotely sparkling, form fitting, or fancy, unlike most of the other girls hanging out and swaying to the music. When we met one of Irv’s old friends and his tiny, skinny, blond girlfriend, I admit I got a little nervous. I had this image of a side conversation consisting of “Dude, you could totally do better. At least get a girl with high heels or something.”

Not one to let a little self image issue ruin an otherwise perfectly wonderful day, I decided to take a deep breath and look at Irving again. He was relaxed, one hand on the small of my back, chatting with all of us and occasionally whispering little jokes to me. Sigh. The man could give “rocking boyfriend” lessons. I’m not kidding. He’s that good at it.

By the time we made it home, we were all sleepy and over heated and very happy. After a shower and some clean clothes, we drifted to sleep.

The next day was hanging out on the couch, eating muffins for breakfast, having grilled steaks for lunch, and bonding with the parents. (At least, I feel we bonded. I’m hoping they think so.) When it was time to leave, we drove to an ice cream parlor/dairy that’s been in business for more than 40 years. I rode out of town with my lime sherbert cone feeling like I couldn’t create a better time in my head if I tried.

We stopped in Denver to see a movie. I admit that part of why I was so on board was because the movie looked good, but a bigger part was that I wasn’t ready to go home and step back into my real life. (By the way, Inception was awesome. You should see it.)

After the movie, we came home and slept.

And that was the abridged version of my two and a half days of Nebraska-born bliss. Pretty amazing.

There was a play. A personal crisis. Another play. A new job. Another play. A wedding. A move. Another wedding. A dead transmission. And this month we have another wedding, a graduation, and a potential personal crisis.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to say that this has even been that bad of a year. I’ve had many good things so far in 2010. They just happen to be big things, you know?

Something I’ve noticed this year is how, occasionally, a very big thing can come from a very small person. People who are petty, vindictive, or mean-spirited can manage, with surprisingly little effort, to really try and tear things up for other people.

I guess I’m naive, but I don’t understand it. I don’t understand the draw of hurting someone just to be hurtful. I’ve seen it several times and from several people this year. Men and women, younger and older. It doesn’t seem to be relegated to any type or race or religion. It’s just something that pops up in people unexpectedly.

And it’s sort of like finding out that you’re susceptible to a rare genetic disorder after being healthy for your whole life. There was no real way to see it coming.

Did you know that it was Tony Nomination Week? I did. I got my Tony nominations emailed to me and everything. And have I posted about it? Has there been even one squeal of disproportionate, girlish delight? No. You can be darn sure that it had to be something big to get in my way if it’s overshadowing Tony Nomination Week.

I think that I’m feeling a little overwhelmed by the enormity of 2010. It’s almost like it’s a perfect storm. You know what that is, right? There was even a George Clooney movie about it a few years ago. It’s when several rare meteorological instances occur at once, creating a storm of intense magnitude. I think I feel like maybe I’m on the edge of that perfect storm. So many things are swirling around right now that it’s possible that the storm may collide and create untold damage. Or, possibly, things will dissipate and the air will have that great “just rained” smell.

I’ll try to keep you posted, one way or the other.

I don’t know if you can all fully appreciate what that means in the world in which I live. Allow me to put this in context. My longest relationship, pre-Irving, was 3 months. And that was in the seventh grade. (Technically, it was the end of seventh grade and two months of summer vacation during which we didn’t see each other because we lived in different neighborhoods, but we hadn’t officially broken up, so I still count it.) That means, for those of you keeping count, that the longest relationship of my life until now was about 15 years ago. (Excuse me a moment while I recover from my age shudders.)

Since that fateful relationship oh-so-many years ago, I took a break from dating for a while. I had a 2-week boyfriend in eighth grade and a 2.5-month boyfriend in the eleventh grade. Then I went back on hiatus until I was 24. At 24 I tried again. I won’t say that it was all bad. In fact, there were some nice boys mixed in. But despite efforts, nothing managed to last more than a couple of months. One came close to 3 months, but he was actually out of the country and scarcely communicating for the last month, so it’s sort of a stretch.

My point here, in case we’d forgotten, was not to lament the brief romantic exchanges of my earlier years, but to celebrate the fact that I’ve actually managed to hold on to this romance for 6 months. And my, what an interesting 6 months it’s been.

First, I had an out-of-town trip that started two days after we met. Then I insisted on dating other people for a while because I liked him and didn’t want to freak myself out by being all “relationship-y.” Then I had another out-of-town trip for which he actually took me to the airport and picked me up from the airport. Did I mention that the drop off was at 4:00am? Let’s see….then I started hearing about engagements from sisters and actual marriages from the brother. (Incidentally, Irving was with me as I learned about most of these wedding events. Nothing says “perfectly normal early relationship sharing” like, “Crap! Everyone I’m related to is getting married and I’m going to die miserable and alone because no one will ever love me because I’m insane. Oh, I’m sorry. Did I just say that out loud? Again?”) Also, in these 6 months, I’ve had a theater festival, a death, the loss of a job, the start of a new job, our initial “I love you”s, and now an impending move. He’s had his own drama, but that’s his business. My point is, we’re still kicking after 6 months of nearly non-stop drama.

One more thing to clarify, if you don’t mind. While the drama has existed outside of the relationship, when it actually comes to how things are with him, there is no drama to be found. In fact, most of our evenings together would probably not rate on anyone’s drama scale. On an average week night, I get home around 6:15. I begin to make dinner and by 7:00 we sit down to a simple meal and watch Rachel Maddow on MSNBC. (Have I mentioned that he’s a screaming liberal as well? Yay!) After dinner, we discuss some options for the evening and then usually have a bowl of ice cream and watch a movie or, on occasion, I’ll work on a project while he works on a project and we sit in contented quiet, talking only when there’s something to say.

If the picture I just presented seems a little too perfect, a little too contented, or a little too ideal, then you’re just jaded. I assure you, I couldn’t have come up with it on my own. In fact, when trying to imagine what the ultimate relationship would be like, I never let myself take it that far. It seemed too farfetched, too unbelievable. I never imagined I’d find someone who would wrap his arms around me while I made dinner or who would wash dishes next to me as I chopped vegetables. I never pictured someone who would sit through an MGM musical and swear that he enjoyed it. I certainly didn’t expect ice sculpting festivals and mountain drives and flowers and foot massages. I couldn’t have asked for someone as caring and as sweet and as considerate. I never expected to be with someone who routinely makes fun of me and yet manages to make me feel better on days when I hate the world.

I’m not trying to gross anyone out with my icky love stuff. I’m really not. I just want to be excited about the fact that after 6 months with this guy, I truly can’t imagine being with anyone else. Ever. So hooray for me for lasting this long without self-sabotage, self-doubt, or poor choices ruining things. And hooray for him for sticking around and proving again and again that I made the right choice.