Look what craigslist did

On this day in 2006 at 1:30 p.m., I had a blind date with a fellow at Haymarket. He didn't show up until 1:40, seemed scattered, had paint on his ear, wore boots with shorts and, frankly, didn't ring my bell. I looked into his eyes and thought, "Here's a guy I will never see again."

A few hours after our date, I did see him again at the intersection of Main and King. He was by Silverscape and I was by the courthouse. I crossed to the Sweeties side of the street and kept my head turned so that he wouldn't notice me. I didn't want to complicate things by talking to him again.

I bumped into JBo at the Stop & Shop and told her about the date. We assigned him a name and decided that I should probably send him my non-rejection rejection e-mail -- "It was nice meeting you; good luck in the future" -- or not e-mail him at all.

But then, later that same day, I got an e-mail from him that was the sweetest e-mail I ever got in my life. Also the scariest, because this guy figured out in about 90 minutes what it took me five years of quality therapy to figure out about myself. It certainly gave me pause. "Maybe I ought to give this guy another chance," I thought.

And, well, I'm glad I did.

He is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I am extraordinarily fortunate to have him. I can't imagine my life without him in it. I almost didn't have that initial date. I almost dismissed him out of hand. If he hadn't written me that e-mail, I might not have written him. It gives me a pain about the heart to think of all this beauty I could have missed.

Scott Welsch, you make me the happiest I've ever been. Happy second first-date-iversary, darling.

Songs in a bottle

Last night, Scott was making a salad and I was trying to figure out what we could possibly eat with it. It's slim pickin's in our cabinets right now. We're not broke or anything (thankfully); I just don't have time or energy to make a proper trip to the grocery store. Whatever.

Anyway, I ended up pulling two almost-empty bags of potato products out of the freezer. There were Trader Joe's oven fries and Stop & Shop's tater nuggets. I presented the idea of mixed potato products to the Count, he was in, I put them on the pan and into the oven. He moved out to the dining room and started singing a song.

It was to the tune of Time in a Bottle, a song I'm not all that familiar with, except that it's a tune Scott comes back to again and again when he makes up songs.

He makes up songs on the spot basically all the time. I have to tell you the truth: half the time I don't even listen to what he's singing because he's constantly singing these made-up songs to tunes I don't know. Also, sometimes it's a tune I know, but I don't recognize it because, well, Scott has anything but perfect pitch.

So I was only half paying attention, washing some dishes, when I heard Scott from the other room singing on the top of his lungs: "There never seems to be enough ketchup for all the tater tots you want to eat..."

This morning, I was talking to him from the bathroom while he was in the kitchen. He started singing a song about his Auditory Hallucination Girlfriend, which featured the line, "She's out of sight!"

A few weeks ago, I was feeling like Scott and I had fallen into a nice pattern for living. We loved each other. Great. I was a little sad that I didn't feel sick with the love anymore, but it seemed fine. But then, suddenly, I'm more in love with Scott now than ever and I'm sick all over again with the love.

A better photo of my glasses is just a click away...

Amy took an awesome photograph of me and my glasses, which is much better than the photo we took with our camera (which is not as fancy as hers). See it here.

She took it at Matt and Kristen's engagement party, which was really fun (also, check this closeup of Kristen's awesome hair). The love was all around us. I cried during the toasts. Show of hands: who's surprised by this?

Nobody, that's who.

Other highlights from a variety of event photo galleries:

Here's a side view of my glasses, a silhouette of my head, and a smiling Count.

Here's J.Bo and the Human making us want them.

Jeremy and The Count having a snack.

The cake I made is on the left.

Flora's bracelet helping her get her cry on in fake earnest.

Kelsey looking rather feline.

Jaime's in a commercial for tasty snacks.

Good times.

All the love songs are right

People warned me that all the happy in-love feelings would fade over time, and I've been sort of waiting for it. Well, not waiting. Just kind of expecting it would happen. And not really expecting either, because I don't want to make it out like I want it to happen or anything. Maybe just a silent knowing. Maybe I've silently known that, over time, all the happy in-love feelings would fade.

But they haven't faded, not at all. In fact, they've grown over time. I don't want to make you barf or anything, but I am more in love with Scott now than ever.

Love songs will come on the radio and I'll listen to them and I'll think, "God, they are so right! Everything in this love song is the truth!"

And then I'll think, "I am agreeing with a love song on the radio!"

I was shouting at Scott about how much I loved him and how I love him more and more each day. He replied with a quiet, "I love you, too."

And I shouted, "More and more each day?"

And he quietly said, "Sure."

I was all, "Sure? Sure? That's all you've got?"

He said, "Jennifer, you are the over-the-top one and I'm the understated one. Those are our roles."

"Really?"

"Yes," he replied.

He officially blew my mind.

Yesterday morning we were watching ABC This Week with George Stephanopoulos. Chrystia Freeland from the Financial Times was on the roundtable with a few others. She is really pretty. That photo on her official Financial Times page does her no justice. She is really quite beautiful.

I said, "Look at her. She is so pretty."

Scott looked up from his nerdy notes about the presidential race and said, "Which one?"

I waited for her to come back on the screen. "That one," I said.

He looked up at her, said, "Oh," and then went back to nerding out with his notes.

Then he said, all casual-like, with completely seriousness and without looking up, "She's not as pretty as you."

Now, I've got full reality about myself and I can see fairly clearly that that lady is really, really pretty (that crappy photo on the Web site aside). The part where Scott says I'm prettier and, what's more, actually believes it? My god!

I'm the luckiest girl alive.

Sometimes we fight and everything, but then the fights are over and then love recommences in earnest.

Barf bags are located in the seatback pocket in front of you.

Growing pains

I was catching up on some blog reading, because I've been woefully negligent. Sassypants moved in with her fella. I knew it was going to happen, but I didn't know that it had.

Man, do I know all about the pains of moving in with another person. Good god, do I ever.

With Scott and me, Scott hardly left my apartment for about a year before he moved in, so I thought it wasn't going to be all that different when he moved in. It turns out it was, and it was all subtle, I-can't-quite-put-my-finger-on-it different.

One thing is he came with a lot of stuff, which he put anywhere he wanted. I had lived alone in the apartment and had already determined where everything belonged. I would find things in the exactly wrong place and just want to shoot him. He couldn't seem to understand that I had a system and why I was so annoyed when I found something in the wrong place.

"You haven't gone home in a year!" I would bellow. "How do you not know where pots and pans go!"

If we were independently wealthy or something, it would have made good sense for each of us to give up our apartment and to get one new apartment together for us both to move our stuff into. But I had (and we still have) such a sweet deal on this place, I didn't want to find another place that I know would have been inferior and more money. Also, I made this vow that the next time I moved, I would be moving into my permanent home. I've been working on the Jennifer Myszkowski Permanent Home Fund for a while now and is finally starting to come along, you know, and I didn't want to blow money on first and last.

Anyway, if Sassy and her fella were Scott and me, I'd be playing the role of her fella and Scott would be Sassy. I'd be all, "You figure out which cabinet canned tomatoes go in, motherfucker!" (except I would not actually say that; I'm not that bad of a person) and Scott would be all cool as a cucumber. "You're pretty angry about the cabinets," he would say. "Do you have low blood sugar?"

And of course his identification of my irrational rage would only serve to enrage me further, but I'd have to be smooth about it so as not to appear to be an asshole. And as I acted cool about it, what I'd really be doing is quietly hatching a plan to put signs on all the cupboards until he knew where to put things. Lesson one: if you open a cabinet and there are pots and pans in there, it's a good chance that that's where the pot in your hand belongs! But I never actually label anything. And then it blows over. And then we are friends again and crazy about each other.

Sometimes, during my darker moments, I think to myself, What the hell am I doing with this guy? And then I think, What the hell is he doing with me?

Gosh, are we ever a pair...of lovebirds!

Seriously though, it is just so hard, the working out of the kinks. I don't think I was prepared for how hard it is. And it's lucky we're so crazy about each other, because I can see how other people would just crumble under the pressure.

I sure am lucky.