Adventures With The Boyfriend

I had no idea how that key lime pie yogurt was going to taste before I ate it. But, surprisingly, that was not the most exciting thing that happened to me today. Spoiler alert: it tasted like limey yogurt.

The Boyfriend Paul Walkered the shit out of our car ride today. I am not even joking. It turns out that he was planning on waking up at noon or I was supposed to wake him up at noon so he could get a book for a paper he needs to write. I got up at 2:30 this afternoon. Just cause: I was up til 3 am and then woke up again at 6 and at that point my body was all, “Okay, I’m good on sleep, Ashley–go do things on the internets!”

But I was like, “WTF, body, it’s only been three hours and you were like busy yesterday what with the mac n cheese and going out to dinner and shopping late at night.”

So I forced myself to stay in bed and stare at the ceiling til 9ish when I fell back to sleep.

By 2:30 I felt like I’d punished my body enough and came out to go do things on the internets. Then I had to poop, so I did, and then I had to shower because of the pooping. Then The Boyfriend, who independently roused himself, called in to me as I was drying off and told me he needed to go to the library and it closed at 4 so, “we have to go…now.”

There was little urgency in his voice, but then I saw it was 3:30. Balls.

So we set off for a library branch neither of us had been to in a part of town that was completely foreign. “Foreign,” as it turns out, is my polite word for “scary.” No, I don’t mean foreign people, I mean not-familiar. And full of scary people.

I was convinced we were going to make it no matter what, but that could have been the guilt of my showering and forgetfulness infringing on his book-retrieval time influencing my optimism. But because this city is weird and there is Leonard Avenue and Old Leonard Avenue, neither of which we had to be on except for when 5th Street became one of them for like five seconds, and because there are random one-ways and parking on the street between regular business hours in the right lane with no warning, and because city schools are overcrowded and the traffic from them insane, The Boyfriend was a little stressed about driving. So he switched to Delivery Boy Mode.

I do not like Delivery Boy Mode.

The Boyfriend delivered pizzas at one point a few years ago. He also used to valet. This mixture made him not wear a seatbelt and totally disregard the safety of everyone around or in his car. I took on the precautionary responsibility of shouting out the color of the upcoming stoplights. I wanted to say something about how being late would be better than not making it there, or anywhere, at all, but then I felt like my mom and just said, “Yellow. Yellow! ORANGE!”

We actually did make it with fifteen minutes to spare thanks to The Boyfriend’s skills, so we quickly got out to go inside, but we parked on the side of the building and didn’t know where the entrance was. Knowing right away rather than just looking was much more efficient seeing as we only had fifteen whole minutes to traverse the tiny branch, so The Boyfriend asked me if there was an entrance around back. “The Boyfriend, I don’t know! How am I supposed to know that?” So, because it makes more sense for the place you enter to be at the back of a building, we went there first. There was no entrance. But there were hoodlums. It was at that moment I realized that in my post-shower, fast-paced dressing I picked out unnecessarily-short-for-the weather shorts and had neglected to put on a bra but did choose a particularly tight shirt. Granted, I am pretty pre-pubescent boy chested, but it was obvious nonetheless.

It didn’t matter though because the hoodlums weren’t hoodlums at all, just kids who hung out at the library after school, and we quickly rerouted ourselves to go in the entrance. I just wanted to give you that sexy image of me. You’re welcome, internets.

We found the book in record time. In fact, the librarian was even impressed. We know because he told us so. And so is the combined power of one and nine tenths of an English degree.

Then we had to go to the pet store for kitten food and then I wanted Panda Express which The Boyfriend has never had before. I learned once that by crying The Boyfriend will take me to the Chinese buffet, so I know that he doesn’t hate bad Asian food, but I still got all stressed out about the decision because I hate making food decisions. The only good thing that came from my choice was that now I don’t have to make one again for at least a month because I can say, “Uh, I JUST picked Panda Express, The Boyfriend. It’s your turn.” At that point we had to get back home because being outside in the daylight for more than an hour was really way too stressful for either of us.

Then I learned: The Boyfriend is paranoid. I am too, but I am aware that I am predisposed to paranoia, so I have to keep myself in check now that I realize The Boyfriend is the same way, or maybe worse. On the way back we drove through a few random alleys because apparently just going straight until High Street then left and left again to our street was too much. I was like, “Hey, this is the way I walked when I had to park a million miles away. I don’t feel like we should be driving here–it’s awfully pedestrian,” but The Boyfriend was just all, “Where’s my apartment?!”

Then there was an alley which wasn’t an alley at all but a parking lot for an apartment complex that he was like, “Should I go down here?” and then did, so I was like, “Sure!” because he already made the turn even though I knew it was a parking lot. It turned out fine because the lot was open on both ends and got us closer to home anyhow.

But there was a dude standing by his car in the parking lot and he waved and The Boyfriend waved back then was all, “I think that was my landlord.” I told him it definitely was because the same realty group owned the place we were driving through and where we live. Then I had a mini panic attack:

“That guy was in the parking lot yesterday–he saw me get in your car and drive away! He knows, he knows!”

(Side note: No one is supposed to live in this apartment except for The Boyfriend. Not me, not the cats.)

But The Boyfriend didn’t care about that. He was, however, weirded out that Landlord recognize him. He told me he’d only met Landlord a few times, and that was when he had long hair (The Boyfriend, not Landlord–I doubt Landlord has changed his haircut since he got into the realty business so his actual face matches his face on billboards and the like), so there was no way he could know who he was now. No. Way. It was totally weird.

So I had to bring it down:

“You have this parking thing with his name on it hanging from your rearview…You were driving into *his* parking lot, he had to think you were a tenant there…He’s one of those guys who owns so much stuff and deals with so many people he probably just–”

“Waves at everybody?”

“Exactly.”

Then we came back and ate Panda Express and watched Community on Hulu even though The Boyfriend wanted to read.

I don’t really have a good ending to this, but I ate six pieces of toast tonight and now I feel awful.

Shouldn’t have eaten that yogurt.