Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Defeat-ism-ist

Years ago, a friend told me that once Tiffany got an iPhone, I wouldn’t have a girlfriend anymore. I’d have a girlfriend with an iPhone. But Tiffany is mostly great about not letting her iPhone get in the way of our life. Now that I have an iPhone, I’m mostly great about that too, but that’s because I don’t have any fun things on mine. I mostly use it just like my old flip phone except that I pay a lot more for it and carry it around very carefully.

Still. Sometimes iPhones drive me crazy. Before, we used to accept that there were things we didn't know or couldn't remember. But now when we want to know what Hoosier means while watching Indiana in the men's basketball tournament, we have to look it up.

"Wait!" I said the other day. "Let me get the dictionary."

Tiffany rolled her eyes.

I flipped through the H's as fast as I could.

"The dictionary really has everything you need," I said, praying it had the one thing I needed right then.

It didn't. There was nothing between hoosegow (slang for jail or courtroom) and hoot (the characteristic cry of an owl).

Tiffany, on the other hand, found Hoosier on wikipedia: the official demonym for Indiana residents.

I went to look up demonym in my dogeared dictionary. But it didn't appear after demonstrative.

The word that did summed up my experience in our old vs. new battle perfectly:

demoralize-ized-izing.

Monday, March 19, 2012

Backslide

About a year and a half ago, Tiffany and I mostly gave up foods that come in boxes. Cereal--of course Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but even my healthy varieties--gone. Oreos, gone. The Cheezits and Wheat Thins I used to supplement my lunches, gone and gone. We started buying almost exclusively real, local foods and started making our own cookies and breads.

Once, Tiffany's sister stayed in our apartment while were gone, and when we came back she had left us a note: "There's nothing to eat in your apartment that doesn't require manual labor!!!!!"

Because my family's favorite snack when we're together is melted Velveeta cheese with canned Rotel tomatoes, Tiffany worried that they would blame her for our new habits, even though I was totally on board. But they didn't.

"What are you having for dinner?" my brother asked one night after The Change.

"Burgers," I said.

"Ohhh, you still eat meat?"

"If it's grass fed," I replied.

"Oh my God, you have to get out of San Francisco!"

As on board as I am, I have refused to relinquish some relics of my past. Dr Pepper, for instance, and the occasional bag of chips.

The other night I came home from work craving junk food. I opened the pantry to see if I could find something to satisfy me, but the closest thing to junk food we had was a jar of homemade pickles. I grabbed a few bucks and made for the nearest convenience store.

When Tiffany got home--earlier than I expected her--I looked up guiltily from the bag of Chili Cheese Fritos I had selected and the plate of Tostitos nachos I was making with non-organic cheese (it wasn't Velveeta).

"I thought I'd be finished with these before you got home so you wouldn't be tempted!" I cried. "I backslid. I needed fake food."

Tiffany burst out laughing.

"I see that," she said, reaching into the fridge. I expected her to emerge with a handful of fresh vegetables and the homemade hummus she'd made the night before.

But instead, she had a beer.

"You backslid," she said, "and I love you a little more because of it. Where's your Dr Pepper?"

Monday, March 12, 2012

Mix Tape

Tiffany and I were organizing our apartment recently (I know big surprise, right?) and came across a stack of cassette tapes. Yanni (mine, but more on that later), some cycling compilations someone made Tiffany years ago (hers, obviously), and a mix tape labeled "Chill Mix" (mine, made for me by Tiffany when we were in college).

We still have a cassette player in our car, so the next time we drove somewhere (Yay, Target!) I popped the tape in. Immediately we were taken back to the time before either of us was out of the closet, when we were still quietly admiring each other without saying so. Almost all the songs were romantic. Or depressing. Or, worse, both.

The funny thing is, Tiffany and I aren't old. What I mean by that is, by the time we were in college, CDs were on the market. And had been for a long time. Like, years. So we spent the first several songs and miles making fun of Tiffany for having made me a cassette tape.

"I don't even know how I made a cassette tape," Tiffany said, furrowing her brow. "I mean, I don't remember how you do that? Where would I have done it?"

I shrieked with laughter.

"Why were you even making a cassette tape to begin with?" I yelped. "That's hysterical!"

Then I paused. I remembered why.

"Oh," I said. "I know."

"Why?"

"Because I still had a Walkman. To play Yanni."

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

On Your Mark

In our apartment, if you're not home first, you're last.

Not that we're racing or anything.

Tiffany and I have an unspoken deal that whoever gets home first starts dinner. That's exactly what I did one recent night when I beat her home. I was happily preparing taco salad and simultaneously packing my lunch when Tiffany burst through the door.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making dinner and lunch," I said.

"Ohhhh! I want to make lunch too, but I don't want you to have to make it for me. Stop making lunch!"

"It's no big deal," I said, continuing to make lunch.

"No, stop!" she yelled from the bathroom. "I hate being second."

"At what?"

"At getting home! You're already in your comfy clothes and making dinner and lunch and I haven't done anything."

I laughed and joined her in the bathroom where she was washing her hands.

"It's okay..." I began, just as she shut the door on my face so she could beat me back to the kitchen.

"Let me catch up!" she shrieked.

I smiled at the bathroom door, thinking about our other unspoken deal: that whoever mostly cooks dinner mostly gets out of the dishes.