Farewell, in Four Parts

Part I:

Tiffany: "What are you doing?"

Me: "Trying to write a blog about not writing this blog anymore."

Tiffany: “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

Part II:

Tiffany knows how to say thank you in Korean. She's not Korean, has never been to Korea, and, as far as I know, has eaten Korean food only once, at a little barbecue joint near our first apartment in Los Angeles where we cooked the food ourselves over a tiny grill at the table ("Can you put my beef back on for a little bit?" I whispered, "It's still bloody.")

Still, I went to pick up the pants we had hemmed the other day (at 5’3, all our pants require hemming) and was greeted at the cash register by the seamstress, who was beaming.

"Your friend," she said, gesturing at me in a double-handed wave that suggested another female with slightly larger breasts.

I blinked at her, then nodded. Besides thank you, I also don't know the Korean words for fiancée or partner or lesbian.

"Yeah?" I asked, suddenly nervous that Tiffany had forgotten to pay for our last batch or had dropped off more pants than I could afford to pick up.

"Your friend says thank you in Korean!"

I smiled.

"Really?" I asked. "How do you say it?"

"Kamsahamnida."

"Well," I said, handing over some cash and folding our plastic-wrapped pants over my arm, "Kamsahamnida."

We beamed at each other, and then I went out the door, beaming at everyone I passed on the street, all the way home until I could beam at Tiffany.

Part III:

I haven't written a blog in a while, and it's not because there isn't plenty to write about. I still make silly mistakes in the kitchen; ask blonde things like whether the pay-to-play pool table at the bar knows I scratched on the 8-ball or is it okay to keep playing; and walk home twice, sometimes, to be with the woman I love. But, after four years of sharing those stories here with you, it's time for a change.

But not before I say thanks.

I'm lucky to have a life with more happy things than sad, to have people to share both kinds of things when they happen, to be in love with a woman who thinks it's important to say thank you, and to have had at least 49 of you read my blog, on occasion.

Farewell for now. I hope to share my words with you in some other form or fashion in the future. Until then…

Part IV:

Kamsahamnida.

Skinny-Schminny

Outfit parity is essential in a relationship. Maybe it's a lesbian thing, but if Tiffany and I are getting dressed and I turn around to discover she's a 10 and I'm only a 2 or 3 on the hotness scale, I go back to my drawers and hangers.

Sometimes this can lead to less than pleasant exchanges.

"How does this look?" Tiffany asked one night. 

I glared at her.

"Well, you don't have to be so rude," she said. "If you don't like it..."

"Don't like it?" I hissed. "You look gorgeous! Now I have to start all over!"

It's moments like these that led me to believe I needed a pair of skinny jeans. 

Tiffany has some and because she's so fit and because they so fit, she looks fantastic whenever she wears them--fashionable. Next to her in my old-school boot cut jeans, I look, well, exactly like I did in the 8th grade.

Always of generous spirit, Tiffany promised to help me find skinny jeans, so the other day we went shopping. She loaded me down with multiple pairs in various shades of denim and black and then accompanied me to the dressing room.

And that's where I discovered that there is nothing about skinny jeans that makes me feel skinny. First of all, they're generally about 10 inches too long, so to start off I feel short. Second, by the time I pull them over my thighs, I've started to sweat, so now I feel, in addition to short, somewhere in the range of not-skinny-to-fat.

"Imagine having to pull these on and off on a regular basis?"I asked Tiffany, breathless, after the fourth or fifth pair was stuck somewhere between my knees and ankles. "I can't."

She laughed.

"No, babe, I'm serious," I said. "I can't get these off my calves and I'm starting to have a panic attack."