*blue balls not included.
Are you a coffee drinker? Can you date a non-coffee drinker?
This important issue is oftentimes a non-negotiable in relationships — a divisive and significant offense to us, the coffee-drinking souls of the dating world… and the purpose behind the fourth chapter of my never-to-be-finished book: “Never Trust a Guy Who Doesn’t Drink Coffee.” AB & I were on opposite sides of... 
This post also known as: Can you believe someone has put up with my shit for three years?
On St. Patrick’s Day, there are drunks and rainbows. And some little people… but that would fuck up this allegory. Let’s pretend that the holiday exploits little CATS, k?
In this path of life categorized as a relationship, two quarter-Irish people met on a day infamous for drinking and saw some... 
Some background listening music for you, while I concoct my Valentine’s dessert right before your very eyes.
This is the dessert you make when you no time or no talent for baking. Or a little bit of both.
Remember when society was so fucked up IN THE 90s, female students were still required to take a class that taught them about… COOKING? And sewing. Because we all know that learning German... 
Yeah, yeah. The boyfriend is traveling this week.
This is my dinner…
“Pittsburgh BBQ” aka: Isaly’s Chipped Chopped Ham BBQ (by the bowl; I wasn’t feeling another sandwich… I KNOW! I checked my temperature. I’m fine.) and cucumbers soaked in vinegar.
Meat and veggie. Sorta healthy, right?
Definitely not... 
You know what they say about relationships: it's the little things. Which, at the almost-three-year mark, I've found stil to be true.
When the boyfriend and I first moved into his city apartment I had to switch sides in the bedroom. WHICH put me on, basically, on the wall. Upon moving to Pittsburgh, our downtown loft gave us a bit of a challenge in terms of bed placement (stupid giant headboard). When we started the process of house hunting, I squeed a bit on the inside, with the (now, empty) promise of a bedroom large enough for the (stupid giant) King bed... and finally, my own bed-side staging area. {open to read more about my fun with inanimate bedroom objects) 
I can’t tell you how pissed I was when I picked up a container of Dean’s eggnog and read “corn syrup” on the label. I used to make homemade eggnog (and have been advised against because of the potential issues with raw eggs). But I’m sure that simply pasteurizing a product does NOT mean adding CRAP “to make it taste better.” I make my best attempt to purchase... 
Ho-Ho-Ho!
Oh, so now it’s the last minute and essentially you’re fucked. But I’m going to share this gift guide with you anyway. So… CONGRATS! You survived long enough to not get dumped before Christmas. I mean, no man is that much of a dick he’d dump you the day before a holiday and after all the gifts are purchased, right?
RIGHT?!
Men’s gifts come in three easy... 
I'm mature enough to know my own faults -- my character flaws (there are many) -- and accept myself warts, anxiety-fueled, enlarged pores and all. One of aforementioned... ahem, "blemishes" is getting irrationally angry without too much provocation. The boyfriend, he doesn't understand these angered outbursts because, well, he's an emotionless freak of nature. So, thankfully, it doesn't happen often. While some of his rational thinking has rubbed off (heh) on me in terms of subsiding my uber-sensitive side, the flare-ups of being really, really mad burns deep sometimes... so much so, that I have something resembling a minor panic attack, combined with the sudden ability to not be able to speak. True story. 
This blog is about pursuit: a transplanted Clevelander (me) in a new city (that's you, Pittsburgh!), pursuing the role of a self-employed copywriter, becoming a roller derby badass and somehow merging all my to-do items into one ever-growing Bucket List.
And of MY boyfriend. His blue balls started this mess.
