Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

Bring On the Terrible Twos

with 6 comments

Dear J,

I know yesterday was our anniversary, but since we’re celebrating tonight, I figured I would do the anniversary letter today. And like everything that comes with this blog and our relationship, your anniversary letter is ALL ABOUT ME.

Remember that time I threw something at you? Or was that even you? I threw something at someone. Well, if it was you, sorry about that. And remember the time I burst into tears because of something you said–actually, what I mean is, remember THE HUNDREDS OF TIMES I’ve sobbed my face off due to something completely pointless and asinine, and you had to take it in the teeth? Yeah, PMS. Again, apologies. Oh, and that time I was beyond pissed, and yelling loud enough for our neighbors to send me worried text messages… WOW. You never even raised your voice. Thanks for not killing me in my sleep that night.

I know that I adamantly support one opinion, and then adamantly support the other in the same breath; I am not a skilled debater. I know that I weep more than any human being on Earth, so much that I wonder if at some point I will run out of internal water, shrivel up and DIE. I am aware that, while making sandwiches, leaving the refrigerator door open so the contents of our refrigerator can “see the world for a moment” is ridiculous (unless you’ve actually read Tom Robbins’ book, Skinny Legs and All), so thank you for only laughing at me twice. I know that money burns a hole in my pocket, and that Britney Spears is permanently on my Ipod, and that I’m a gigantic snob for almost no reason. My insecurities, bad decision-making, and overreactive Taurean traits don’t serve me well, and I know that. I’ve got serious character defects, just as much as the next immature, weight-challenged, no-job-having, underachieving, lazy-ass Samoan (there are a lot of us, actually).

But I also have good qualities, ones that you are constantly reminding me of: a bottomless heart, a curious mind, quick wit, loyalty to my friends, and crazy. Thank you for seeing those things in me, and for pointing them out daily–you’re digging a hole for yourself and creating a monster, but I am also in awe of you. You and your on-going patience.

What I mean to say is, thank you for hanging in there. I am a difficult person to love. Oh, I’m lovable–likeable, even. But I know that for someone to really love me–and GET what I’m about–you have to do some fancy footwork and speak in a language that doesn’t actually exist yet. Thank you for learning the language and thinking I was worth the work. Thank you for still being here, and for putting up with my endless amounts of impracticality and bullshit. I feel as though my good qualities get a booster shot whenever you’re around. I feel lucky every single day, even the days when you look at me innocently and I’m all WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT, IT’S BECAUSE I’M FAT ISN’T IT, YOU FUCKING PRICK, I AM GOING TO SET OUR HOUSE ON FIRE AND IT’S ALL. YOUR. FAULT And then you chuckle, kiss me on the forehead, and say, “Want to play Rock-Paper-Scissors?” I hate you for that, because you know me so well. I like to think I’m holding my own against your God-like RPS skills, but I may be kidding myself.

I am a nitwit. A nitwit who loves you more than cheese or bacon, more than blogging, even. More than Barack Obama or my own reflection. More than lowered gas prices. It doesn’t hurt that you’re the smartest person I know, or the most hilarious, or the kindest.

Also, you’re pretty.

What I’m saying is, I think I got the better deal, but that doesn’t matter BECAUSE YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME NOW, SUCKA.

A future without you seems bleak; I hope I never have any Firsts again (First Kiss, First Fight, First Time You Realize Your Mate is Irreparably Flawed), because all of our Firsts were fantastic. To quote some totally fey hippie card I saw once: ‘If you had not existed, I would have dreamed you into being.’ Or I would have tried my hardest, damn it. I would have dreamed and dreamed and dreamed myself into a brain aneurysm, but whatever. The end results are what really count.

I know that when people break up, they talk about staying friends and moving on – but I want you to know that the only scenario where we would stay friends is the one in which you were GAY. Just so we’re clear.

I love our life. I love our home. I love that, after two years, I still wake up every day and thank every deity I don’t believe in for bringing you into my life. I’m amazed by you and your many strengths, the ones I test like a teenager every second of every day. Thanks for making me laugh out loud every day, and for being the kind of superhero boyfriend I never knew existed, and never thought I deserved.

I MEATLOAF YOU!

Your biggest fan,

M

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Written by sn0tteh

October 3, 2008 at 4:24 PM

Posted in Uncategorized

6 Responses

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  1. i was there the night you two met. will bever forget it. will never froget that summer. i am so happy for you two. maybe we all can grow old and play apples to apples while sipping on tuaca! —congrats. please come over tues for a celebatory seanade! I LOVE YOU!—jenny

    Anonymous

    October 3, 2008 at 10:39 PM

  2. Urm. Did you crib the first line of the third paragraph from Sarah Palin’s rejected closing speech?

    That’s all very sweet. I am very envious that you have someone to write something like that to and that the Esq. has someone writing something like that to him.

    Very cool.

    matt

    October 4, 2008 at 3:54 AM

  3. Jenny, we are so there–and Apples to Apples will live on in the future, I’m sure.

    Matt! You will totally have someone like that to write to someday! All you have to do is believe! In Jesus, I mean.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    October 4, 2008 at 3:47 PM

  4. Don’t you mean Jeebus?

    Manthony

    October 5, 2008 at 1:49 AM

  5. You love him more than blogging?

    Wow.

    Michelle O'Neil

    October 6, 2008 at 1:36 AM

  6. He’s way more fun than blogging. 🙂

    Snotty McSnotterson

    October 8, 2008 at 5:13 PM


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