A long, long time ago I wrote a post called “what you need to know if we ever break up“. It was sad and introspective. It is also true to this day.
I got to thinking about that post somehow lately and realizing that it’s a little difficult to imagine myself saying or feeling that way given the fact that I have been solidly (but not painfully) single for quite some time now. I think about the possibility of having a boyfriend at some point and then lay diagonally across my bed and go, “…. nah.”
But in all honesty having someone around that slightly likes me couldn’t be all that bad, could it? Except what if they read my blog (as I’m sure they would since they’ll be super supportive) and they get to that post (which they won’t tell me about because then it would be all RED FLAG STALKER since it was posted so long ago) and they think, “Jesus Christ this girl is going to break up with me, write a post about it, and be very, very sad”? That just won’t do now, would it. What I need to tell them is everything they need to know if we ever get together, right?
So look. I want you to be able to play games with me and not the ones of the mind or heart. I mean old fashioned, deck of cards, set of dice, passing go sorts of games. I want to sit on the floor and play Mario Kart and follow that up with Jenga. Let’s do a little charades with friends as long as we’re a little drunk so it’s not so b-o-r-i-n-g. But when a card gets thrown across the room or I yell in your face or I create a new game called “Scene It: Asshole Edition”, don’t be surprised. At least don’t react. This is called a classic hissy fit and they subside within 2-50 minutes, depending on the duration of the game.
In all honesty, I’m the least gracious winner and the sorest loser you’ll ever meet. I threw a controller across the floor when I was horribly losing on Rainbow Road in Mario Kart. It happened and I wasn’t ashamed of it. I also tend to yell when people do things that mess up my end game aka winning. I want to have a game night with you, and I will. Just be prepared to apologize for me as I sit in a chair with my arms crossed and my hood up.
And while we’re talking about cute idiosyncracies, let’s talk about soup spoons. I strongly dislike them. I don’t know what sadistic brute decided that a soup spoon was conducive to eating with the human mouth but they were wrong. They just don’t work. They’re too wide and they’re too flat and no mouth is made for them without slurping your food. Gross. If Seinfeld had lasted a few seasons more, they would have thrown me in there as the lovable sidekick Soup Spoon Nazi. No soup spoon for you!
You need to know that even though I’m a controller-throwing, potty-mouthed, sport-loving, I-can-take-care-of-myself sort of girl, there’s a whole other inner part of me that just wants to be cuddled. I’ll even stop lying diagonally if that helps. I just want a good hug and maybe a cup of coffee or for you to remember something small about me that I told you that might not seem important but is when you bring it up again. I love to learn about people and I love to find things out about them that are special and particular to them. I want to know why you love Otis Redding but not so much Gladys Knight (and you would know these people and have an opinion on them or at least be willing to give them a listen, yes?). I want to know what your preferred accompaniment to a grilled cheese sandwich is. And I want you to want to know these sorts of things about me, too. Basically, I want to swoon a little. It’s okay for you to swoon over me, too, if you want.
You need to bring your own blankets. I steal.
Be aware of the fact that if we’re watching any sort of show where people get reunited with their families I will become a puddle. I watched Masterchef the other night and they got to see their families for the first time in months and I swear I tried to hold it together. Except instead I had tears streaming down my face. Seriously, not even misty eyed, actually just flat out crying. I might as well have been watching The Fox and the Hound. People seeing their families again is heartwarming and it just goes to show how important family is to me. Other television moments that are puddle-inducing: when someone sings a really great song, when someone wins a competition, when people get engaged or married, or if any sort of animal death occurs.
At the end of the day, what it really comes down to is this:
I can be tough and totally batshit but I truly love the people in my life. I’m willing to love someone new, too. I’m willing to try to understand why you breathe loudly through your nose or why you don’t understand that talking while yawning in front of me is basically on par with waterboarding me. You can cry or yell or break down in front of me. You can be so sad you can’t speak and leave me feeling a little lost if it’s what’s best for you. You can even go out with your guy friends without me bothering you, I encourage it. Just please god don’t tickle my feet because I really don’t want to sit in the emergency room with you and your broken nose. Also never think it’s okay to wake me up unless you want to sit in the emergency room with a broken nose (just kidding, but you still won’t like it). It is totally okay to keep me up and talk to me until dawn, though. I want you to know that I’m a feminist but I really do love men because I have great ones in my life already who you’ll probably want to be a little nervous to meet.
And overall you need to know that all of these things are my things and they make up who I am. And I have spent five single years becoming who I am. I am willing to compromise on things like where the bookshelf should go or whether we want Thai or pizza for dinner, but I’m not willing to compromise myself. And I don’t want you to, either. I would want you in all your weird, quirky, idiosyncratic glory because really, when I scream with joy that I sunk your battleship, it’s going to be some sort of quirk of yours that causes you to find it endearing.