So, I'm In Love.

What of it?

Well, since I prompted you to ask (and seem to feel certain that you all looked at your monitors and muttered to yourself "What of it indeed, Nanda?), here's what of it. That's when shit goes down.

No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition.

No one ever expects their boyfriend of 2 years to ask them out to dinner, and then suddenly say they want some space. As though this talk couldn't have been had over brushing teeth in the morning, or walking each other to the train. And yet, this is what happened to someone I love very much and the person she loved very much. The last time I saw her, with him, he went onandonandonandon about love and their future and how he worried about losing her.... blahblah. The guy's smarmy, lacks a degree of class that even I'm eligible to scoff him because of, she's better off I'm sure-- but whatever. That's not the point, not to her.

The point is, she didn't expect it. Because everything was fine.

When you hear about breakups, it's never "Oh, everything was completely terrible, they didn't get along, then one day he came home, she was having sex with the neighbor on the kitchen table, and they all had a good laugh about it and said "Whew, guess we can cut this act out now, huh?" You never hear about those kinds of things because quite frankly, they don't matter. Throwing away a dress that you don't like that doesn't merit the same kind of concern, conversation, or thought at all the way that, say, your favorite jeans suddenly tearing at the knee in that one place that can't be sewn up again... that's something you tell everyone about all day and feel ugly in everything you try on for months after.

And I'm not worried about what would happen to my unhappy relationship if it wasn't around anymore... hoorah if that be the case. I'm worried about my happy relationship. It's always when people think they're happy that shit goes down.

Always.

Unrelated, besides being a mother, student, girlfriend, friend, etc... I am now a tooth fairy. There wasn't any training or certification or officialization... my daughter called out from the back seat of my ex boyfriends car on family day "Hey Mommy, my tooth came out". I took a picture of the bloody slightly scared grin with a hole in the middle, made a quiet call to my sweet perfect boyfriend (who is inevitably going to break up with me out of nowhere when I least suspect it because I feel that way) to request a gift and 3 gold dollars to be dropped off discretely after hours, and it was on. There was some crawling into the bedroom on all fours in the dark. There was some half crawling out, a surprise cameo from the roommate (because he's not here much, yes, but also because like, it was dark: Surprise!") which involved loud gasping at a loud door closing at the end of the hall.

He was like "What are you doing?!" and I was like "Ssh!! I'm the tooth fairy!". Thank God my daughter sleeps like a 52 year old drunk man for that confession of secret identity. I mean seriously-- did I need to clarify to such a degree? I guess it was only the lack of megaphone that stopped me from tagging on "I'm also Santa, that sleeping bird the other day was actually dead, and I didn't even want to have her until the 5th month of pregnancy!"

Seriously. I can't believe they gave me a baby. And, that she's lived long enough to lose teeth, and mentally healthy enough to sleep soundly knowing I'm the woman in charge while she's dreaming.

I mean fuck... it keeps me awake at night all the time.

And, that is all. Now, while awaiting a random breakup from my boyfriend because I'm deeply in love, and to find out in the morning that my daughter heard everything and KNOWS I'm the tooth fairy, a damn liar, and clearly scared of the dark (I'm really actually quite lucky the night light didn't give me away) and she never wants to speak to me again, I suppose I should do some of my homework. Because I think I failed to mention this: It's also a new semester, with new assignments, and 2 classes that I don't want, that I can't possibly enjoy, and that I haven't even started the reading for.

I may be the tooth fairy in real life, but it's only a rich fantasy world in which I'm an actual grownup.

"We Stopped At Perfect Days"

I deleted this post. Because it was ridiculously mushy and discussed the shade of the boyfriends neck and the way he swings his arms when he walks. But we did stop at perfect days the day this was posted initially, and I would relive the moments that were posted here a million times over if I could. But, at the same time, I wouldn't want to have to read them as they were written whilst trying not to gag at my own words even once more.

Sometimes, Actually, You Can Have Too Much Of A Good Thing.

Seriously. If I ever ever ever have to go to the fucking zoo again, I will lose my mind-- literally. You will find me muttering to myself while attempting to feed my own hand to an Emu or something.

2 times in one day? Really? I've totally had worse ideas, I know... but on this particular day, I absolutely can't imagine what those might have been.

This Is My Life

Last night it was my pleasure to see a very lovely wedding with Mass, which filled me with waves of Catholic guilt a non-practicing should ever have to feel, and a deep sense of relief that there is that non practicing whatnot: There was about 128 mentions of the bride and grooms children, need for children, intent for children, and Catholic responsibility to give children. Honestly, there may not have actually been 128 mentions... but there were definitely at least 12.

Babies, Babies, Babies.

Interesting side-note... when all was said and done, the newlyweds were riding back to the reception with us because my boyfriend has a 2010 Hummer and until someone gets a 2011 Hummer, he's got the most MTV Pimp My (Event Here) car in town. Which is funny, but not the side note. The side note is this: I was talking to the bride and said something about cranking out those babies and was she nervous about all the talk about it, and she stared at me blankly and said she hadn't noticed. But then, she's a regular church goer and I'm a single mother: We may have different triggers.

After this it was my lovely pleasure to sit at the not dancing table with the not present boyfriend (not like he's not there for me or something like that, I mean physically: He doesn't like to be around me when we're out because he has too many social responsibilities. I assure you, that marriage would never have lasted if he had brought me a cup of coffee or had a piece of cake with me or something-- whew. At least one of us was thinking. Understand, I am rolling my eyes somewhat severely here, not in an "I should break up with him" kind of a way, but in a "most girls" would break up with him kind of way), drinking enormous amounts of coffee with his best friend who had unofficially become my plus one by making conversation with me and pouring me iced tea, and discussing the eventual joys of pregnancy (AFTER said baby gets all up out of the uterus) with a very close preggie friend of the not present boyfriend who I find to be quite a joy (disclaimer, we were discussing it strictly for her, I am not pregnant, I realize that may have read that way... whew).

And this sounds like a normal night in the life of a normal if not slightly dysfunctional unmarried couple in the Midwest. Less so, is that we had to leave the reception no later than 10:30... Because we were going to be on time for the scheduled private evening with WWF Wrestling champion Hacksaw Jim Duggan.

That's right: My boyfriend bought a wrestler.

Now in fairness, he didn't singularly buy this human being for the evening, someone else chipped in as well. The point is not, however, who paid with him: The point is, on a Saturday night I was in the company of a bought living person who is extremely famous in the wrestling scene.

And, he was actually a very nice man, if not a little excessively trashy. He did know a lot of euphemisms for the act of performing fellatio and how to work them into completely unrelated conversations, and he absolutely without a doubt managed to tell my boyfriend in several ways that he would like to see his (very attractive) sister and (well, I'm very attractive, it's true) girlfriend exchanging rather adult natured pleasantries. Which my boyfriend beamed at because I guess what normally requires threatening words and perhaps a threat to fight is quite less offensive when uttered by a famous douche bag in a bar.

Fair enough.

Eventually a couple of my superbest girlfriends came out, one had her cleavage signed, by boyfriend maybe had way too much to drink, and the night was over. The entire next day I wandered around thinking to myself in a sleepy haze... "This is my life."

My boyfriend buys wrestlers, I'm going to be married at an excessively old age, and the Catholic church will want babies from me that I don't want to give them. My cosmic Internet soulmate gets her breasts signed by celebrities she's not familiar with because it's good blog fodder and she's fucking fabulous in ways I don't know how to explain, my daughter will be home tomorrow and I can't tell her about parts of my week while she was away, and my desktop has a picture of me clutching saucily at a middle aged man with long hair, a beer gut, and the undying affection of my deeply Indian boyfriend who more than once began a chant of "USA" in one of the less cultural bars in our town on Saturday because really, he's the most all American boy you'll ever meet and loves wrestlers, their catch phrases, and I secretly think the baffled looks of some clueless bar guests for which the evening must have looked even more surreal than it did to me in the morning.

This is my life.

Hey, Fisher?!

Who reads me from there? For real? My boyfriend assured me it's not his best friend who he mentioned lives there (he seemed to think it was completely absurd that I would find myself so interesting-- actually said that as a matter of fact... fair enough, but ouch) and after he talked to me like I was crazy for about 5 minutes I hung my head in shame and realized clearly it's not that.

So who the fuck is it? Because I looked it up and it's some fancy part of Indy. If I know some fancy person in Indy, can I come tan in your back yard and go swimming? I love tanning and swimming.

Another 3 Things I Have Learned About Myself

1) My healthiest relationships are always, without fail, with my exes.

I don't know why, it's just one of those things. I want to date all of my best friends so we can break up and be even closer. I realize this may not be a reasonable statement, but neither is "My healthiest relationships are always, without fail, with my exes". Sometimes, reasonable has nothing to do with it, not with this girl.

2) I'm one of those girls that just shouldn't look up pictures of her boyfriends ex wife.

I'm prettier, sure. And I'm almost definitely nicer. But, the lady has a better body. I mean, it's double mine, I'm not denying that... but it's just a better all around shape. And there's no reason I should have needed to know that. There's also no reason Facebook ought to think we should be friends. I sleep on what was probably her side of the bed. We don't need to share anything else.

3) Actually, I write a pretty fucking good paper the night before class.

And I guess I kind of already knew that... but it's nice to reaffirm.

Things I Have Learned About Myself This Week

1)I can't make zucchini bread.

I really can though, actually. I'm all about it, I can do it with my eyes closed, I know how much of this and that I like and when the air is drier or moister and the oil or flour needs to take that into consideration or there needs to be a few tablespoons of pudding instead of actual vanilla extract... so it's not that I can't make zucchini bread really. It's that I can't bake zucchini bread that comes out successfully, ever.

Great texture and flavor? Yes.

Burnt crusts? Every last fucking time.

2) I don't care how much time you give me, I'm not going to start on my final project until 2 nights before it's due.

No, really. Always. Did I get a weekly study guide broken down into 4 perfect little painless sections, about 20 minutes of work a night? Did I care?

Yes and no. Now I've got 3 days to do about 5 hours of work, which isn't so bad. But the last 3 days, when about 14 hours of work was done? Well, that was a little more bad.

3) I can be such an asshole.

Even if my boyfriend and I don't care about people hitting on me or me flirting with people or having crushes (a girl has to get her banter somewhere, and my boyfriend is a scientist-- he doesn't want to bother, and I don't have the energy to try and force him to), there's a 3rd party here that ought be considered. Sometimes, the guy in my aloof thoughtless flirting web is just an innocent bystander who has recently had their heart broken and people feel the need to remind me to 'be careful with that'. To which I say I have a boyfriend, I'm not trying to start anything with anyone at all, duh. To which well meaning person will peer at me point blank and say "Exactly".

Ohhhh.

4) I'm now one of those girls that overdoes it lifting at the gym because she was still feeling pumped when she should have hit her cardio for a while.

Seriously. My arms are still fucking killing me, but I was feeling it-- I couldn't quit!

I have a problem.