Friday, October 9, 2009

Three Years of the Dude

Today marks three years that the Dude and I have been together. Three years. Well, it's kind of been three years, but the important thing is today was the beginning of what would become this whole deal, this whole relationship thingamagiggy. And I had no idea it would become what it has.

I've been a serial monogamist my whole adult life. Every relationship I've had has started out with me going, okay, this is just for fun. This is probably not going to last that long. Something about that particular attitude has resulted in three relatively long-term boyfriends. And none of it ever started out as a date. I've been on dates. I have a couple good bad-date stories. But the significant men who've been in my life have not come to me through traditional means.

And I like that. The Dude and I evolved as a couple very slowly. If you consider that we met in high school, liked each other then, and neither of us said a word about it till six years later, that's slower than grass growing. If you consider that from October 9, 2006, it took over half a year for us to become a committed item, that's pretty damn leisurely.

And here we are, living together in sin and such, for almost two years. See, the living together came on all sudden-like. That part was fast, unexpected, supposedly temporary. But when something works better than what you were doing before, you keep doing it.

In every major relationship you have it's natural to think about the future, mostly, is there one? In the others, there was always some sort of obstacle. There was doubt. There was too much compromise or not a good enough fit.

With the Dude, there's no doubt. It just works. There's no fireworks in my head or parades in my heart or butterflies in my stomach about it either, like what I thought would signal real love when I was a younger lass. No, it's a calm sense of knowing I'm going to grow old with this mofo, he's going to drive me crazy until I die, and I'm going to love him for it.

As I get older I'm defining love in more practical ways. When I was having a meltdown on the phone with Rogers and switched to Bell for 1.56 minutes, the Dude set it up for me while I composed myself. When I was stressed about the move and all the things I had to do, he sent me off to a party to unwind while he painted the new apartment. When we get heated over decorating issues, he concedes because it'll make me happy.

There's also the acceptance. I'm not easy to live with. I can cause offense. I say weird shit. I'm constantly hypocritical about the small things in life. I rant sometimes. I spontaneously quit paying attention and something in my brain slams the door on who I'm trying to talk to. These are all very agitating qualities. And he goes with it, doesn't try and change it, and even sometimes finds it endearing.

That's my kind of love. Sometimes it feels like we're an old couple. We argue like one. And who knew that's what I would need to be happy? But it is, and I am.


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