Believe in LOVE

Has anyone else out there recently hung out with a couple in BRAND NEW love? Like... when you ask them how long they have been together, they tell you it in weeks? "Oh... we've been together for 8 weeks now!" (I guess using the number 8 sounds more "legit" than using the number 2... as in 2 months. Eight weeks. My Goodness.)

I am ALL for new love. I LOOOOVE me some LOVE. The butterflies, the hopes, the getting-to-know you. All of the "firsts"... the songs that you are CONVINCED were written for you two, the restaurants and remembering the table you sat at. Doing your hair/makeup for every meet-up, picking out your clothes, shaving your legs, calling your BFF after every date to be reassured that you two are "FOR SURE" soul mates and that everything he/she did said that night means, undeniably that they are... wait for it...  "The One".

Ahhhhhh...... young love. I love being around it... or so I thought.

A few weeks ago the Manfriend and I went out to dinner with a couple that has been together for 8 weeks. They could not keep their hands off of each other and it was adorable. It was inspiring and I smiled just watching them interact with one another. They told the story of how they met... the "spark"... the first date... the fact that the other is most definitely "THE proverbial ONE"! They even delved into the fact that they have already discusses buying a house, marriage, AND babies. (Eight weeks, folks.) As I was listening to their story and smiling, I consumed 3 glasses of red wine. All of a sudden it wasn't so cute. In the blink of an eye, I went from feeling all warm and fuzzy for them to feeling like MY relationship (of 3.5 years... still young in the grand scheme of things, but I think we can all agree that it's a HELL of a lot longer than 8 weeks) had fizzled, was "dead" and I longed for the way my Manfriend used to look at me. The way this guy, was looking at this girl.

I'm happy to report though that instead of plummeting down the rabbit-hole of disaster (a.k.a - being super-pissed at my boyfriend for reasons that were completely made up in my effed-up head)... I got to thinking. Love is a living, breathing thing. It changes. It grows. I looked at the new couple and was so happy for them, but I was also happy for US.

We have seen each other at our WORST... sick, depressed, tired, angry, hopeless. We have passed gas, walked into bathrooms TOO soon after the other, stayed up all night while the other was sick, cried in front of each other (me 99.9% of the time), and been scared to death. We have met one another's families, been there for the other when the world was against us. We've been on top of the world, and at the very bottom. We've partied in our best threads, and laid around the house in our ugliest, most disgusting sweats with onion/garlic breath after going IN on an entire pizza pie. We have been hideously, belligerently drunk at times and had knock down drag out fights (well, never knock-down literally). I think we can all agree that those are the worst fights though. Shit. At times we have even questioned if either of us wanted to be in the relationship, and we have come through the other side. We have picked each other up... literally and figuratively. We can speak with looks. We could not do that after 8 weeks. We may have thought we loved each other, maybe... but at that point we really just loved the idea of one another. We loved the others representative. Now... we love one another knowing that we don't love every single thing about the other ALL of the time.

Anyway, my "Believe in Love" sweater made me think of all that. I am still happy for delirious new love, but every once in a while it's nice to sit back and be truly appreciative for the kind of love YOU have. The kind that (if you're lucky) has your back... makes you better... takes care of you... puts you back together when you're left in pieces, supports your dreams, and houses your heart. I may want my Manfriend to look at me adoringly and kiss me every 5 minutes, but I have farted in front of him and eaten drunken fast food in my pajamas whilst sitting on TOP of the counter cross-legged. I have woken up with my red lipstick still on, looking like a complete crack whore. Some of that stuff may take away the air of mystery... the appearance of perfection, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Oh,  and there is NO WAY I am shaving every single day. You can leave that to the chicks 8 weeks in. Can I get an AMEN?

So... Manfriend, if you are reading this (once in a while he'll surprise me and read a post)... I love the shit out of you. Fo' Real. Thanks for being so damn rad.