Proving LiLu's Theory

Before you yell at me for not updating since Wednesday, here are my excuses: I didn't blog Thursday because I was all "one day off is no big deal!" Then I didn't blog Friday-Saturday because I was too busy being all honeymoon phase-y with the boy. I could have blogged last night, but then it occurred to me that, why would I spend time I could be catching up on sleep Sunday night when I could spend time I will desperately need something to do at work on Monday?

OK, now you can yell.

Feel better? Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, on to the post I could have written last night but put off until today.

Oh, also, before you start, if you'd like the title of this post to make any sense to you, you should go read LiLu's theory on relationships if you haven't already. That chick's a genius (and also fall out of your office chair, snort in your cube funny).

For those of you too lazy/lame to read the post, LiLu's theory is that the person you're meant to be with is the one who can tolerate your kind of crazy. Because we are all a little crazy. Past experiences inevitably leave us a lot smarter but also a little bit scarred. It's as true for men as it is for women, but most men are a little bit better at keeping their crazy under wraps.

I had my first mini-meltdown of my relationship with Babe this weekend. Now, I don't want to go into the gory details for a lot of reasons including his privacy, but suffice it to say that there was some major drama involved in his last relationship before me and I am the first girl he's really dated since then (1.5 years ago). Said drama has...slightly amplified my otherwise "normal" early-relationship jitters. So really, it's saying something that I kept my shit together as long as I did. Especially since our favorite activity involves consuming lots of alcohol (ok, it IS consuming lots of alcohol).

When I got over to his place on Friday, he was super sweet. We cuddled on the couch watching TV and he played with my hair and scratched my back, things he knows I like and therefore made me very happy. When we were ready for dinner, we walked over and got some pizza, and then when we heard from our friends, we headed out for a night of drinking games.

Now. I am no longer the lightweight I once was when it comes to alcohol, especially beer. I can now put that shit away without suffering too thoroughly most of the time. However. We played Fuck the Dealer and guess who was the dealer at the end of the game? I think I consumed 2 whole beers in about 5 minutes. Which wouldn't be too terrible, except that kind of drinking takes a little while to catch up with you (and also they were probably beers 5 and 6 of the evening). I won't mention any names, but somebody flashed the guys she was playing in beer pong to distract them later that evening. She was pretty wasted.

When it was time to go home, Babe (who had stopped drinking a while before so he could drive and was, therefore, significantly more sober than I was) packed me up and hauled me away. And for some reason I'm not even sure my drunk self could figure out, I started a fight. About politics. On a Friday night, while drunk, with my new boyfriend. Because I had been bottling up a lot of crazy, I guess, and it got the better of me. He had some personal experience with the topic at hand and was not 1) too sure why I felt the need to bring it up or 2) why I was so upset with him when, at no point, had he disagreed with me. I cannot answer either of these questions. Because I'm special, I guess.

So we got home and, despite the fact that I had stormed away from the car and was still very hostile, he made me cinnamon toast (probably in an effort to sober me up some). And then I continued to argue/cry and generally be a supreme pain in the ass until he finally fought back a little and made me feel really awful for bringing it up at all (which was totally legitimate, let's be honest). Then he left me on the couch and went upstairs.

I sat there trying to get my shit together and decide whether I was going to go upstairs and try to fix it or stay mad and let him go to bed or whatever. About 5 mins later I went up and, still a little sniffley, told him that I was sorry if I upset him and that wasn't my intention, but at the same time, the points I had made were important to me and if that was an issue for him, then maybe we weren't supposed to work out. Because I have totally been that girl who takes it all back and just wants to fix it, and that doesn't end well. So I went with the middle ground, and hoped for the best.

He came over and gave me a big hug and suggested we go back downstairs and finish a movie we'd been watching earlier. That it was ok that I'd lost it a little, he had his moments too, and maybe I should have quit drinking after Fuck the Dealer. I nodded my head and we went downstairs. Where I proceeded to watch the movie with my head on his shoulder and one eye closed because otherwise I had double vision. Yeah, a little too much to drink.

About 15 minutes after we'd gone back downstairs, while he stroked my hair with my head on his shoulder, he kissed my forehead and told me "don't worry, I don't give up that easily. It's going to take a lot more than that to run me off." And I swallowed away some more tears and told him "I'm really glad to hear you say that."

And so, my friends, example 57,348,941 of LiLu's Love Theory. He gets my kind of crazy. And he knows exactly what to do to make it better.

Thank God. Cause I would have been pretty bummed if I'd sent him packing.

We spent the rest of the weekend being a ridiculously cute couple. We went to see District 9 on Saturday night and he held my hand/had his arm around me through the whole movie. And he was worried when I kept looking away from all the icky alien grossness that I didn't like the movie (which I did, it was excellent, if a little vomit-y/violent).

Tonight I'm going over to make lasagna for him, his brother and his brother's roommate, the Social Broker. In case you didn't know, I make the best lasagna you'll ever eat. I'm pretty psyched.