Hers & His Blog Anniversary: A Taxing Experience

Being a giant fan of anniversaries, I rarely pass on the opportunity to commemorate any moment. Like the time Zane and I celebrated our 1 year anniversary of our first kiss, this time without that pesky girlfriend of his in the picture. Or when I made a cake to commemorate a month of Zane having put his clothes away. So I won’t be the one to drop the ball and not take note that today is our one year anniversary of our blog. A full year already?! You betcha. That means Zane and I have been living in sin for what feels like a lifetime. We’ve had highs and lows, but we’ve prevailed. Through 4 moves (since the blog, but 6 total since knowing each other) we’ve always found the humor amidst the tears.

It was just one year ago today that Julie and I sat down to write an email detailing all the daily news about our wild and crazy lives together. We were constantly being pestered (or "pleasantly asked" for any of those I'm referring to) about what we've been up to. We didn't want to be jerks and CC our loved ones on generic emails, however we were far too lazy and self-absorbed to actually call everyone repeating our tales like Crunchberry at a corporate meet-and-greet. Instead we took the lazy route and amassed all our stories for a blog. What transpired would go down in relationship history, our relationship history.

Since living together has become so blasé we’ve spiced things up by adding weekly challenges to keep things fresh. Last week Zane fared pretty well being left in the wilderness with nothing but a fork and a can of beans. This week we thought we’d take it to an even scarier level... Taxes.

Since we are both adults who have had full lives before crossing paths, it’s rare to have a first, let alone a first for both of us, that we can experience. So as we grumpily sat across from each other on our laptops, a twinge of sappiness seeped into my bones. Sure, we were filing separately… maybe for the last time? Ha. I took the opportunity to invoke a little friendly competition. As the deductions mounted I excitedly announced each dollar added to my pot. “Ooh! Another $100!” “Wow! Do YOU qualify for that $400??” Somehow my delight didn’t seem to amuse him. So what if he has to pay in since he’s a consultant? He can still be a good sport.

While Julie and I are a very nostalgic couple there is a no more nostalgic bunch than the US Government. "Oh you worked on a small project for a friend and they gave you some money for it? Wow that was nice of them, may I have some of it?" Or even, "have you ever purchased anything online? We'd like to have some money for it as well, I mean it's only right since you're using your duck-shaped foot scrubber in OUR state."

Never have I felt more abused in my life, well maybe not since last night when Julie pushed me off the bed. The US government is like that nagging roommate that who is the ultimate mooch. "Hey what you got there? Is that honey? Mind if I have some of it? It's cool I'll buy honey next time." However they don't get the good honey, the primo honey, they get the fake store-brand stuff. I don't mean to sound bitter at the US, I mean they did just win 37 medals at the olympics so that must count for something. Does it?

Being unable to sit still for lengthy periods of time, we rewarded ourselves with shoveling out the car. That’s right, our delightful break from our painful chore was to chip a 2 foot mound of ice and snow from barricading the car. It didn’t take nearly as long as I’d hoped, Zane is quite handy with a shovel. So then it was back to government.

I felt that doing taxes online somewhat cheapened the experience. Not in the preferred way of leaving me with more money to spend at the OTB. Doing taxes online takes away from all those personal touches I had planned to make growing up. For questions I'd like to fudge, I'd switch to my favorite turquoise crayon: Method of Payment - Cash [] Accruement []DelicioUs CHicken [X]. No, I was forced to play by their rules, the man's rules. How are they supposed to think that I am a man desperately in need of money? They only give me so many opportunities to write "You best not be referring to MY money" or "that's really none of your business". Not to mention doodles are COMPLETELY out of the question.

Hours of crazy questions and learning a new language have left me questioning everything:
*Do I suffer from accelerated depreciation?
*Why do they keep insulting my income and calling it gross?
*Is there any way to claim Zane as my adoptive child?
*Why do they ask me 20 times if I’m blind? Should I be? Is this beneficial? How would I be able to read that question online anyway? Trick question?
*Is this one of those instances of “When in doubt, choose C”?
*Is personal interest the same thing as self esteem?

After guessing my way through hours of deeply invasive and intense questioning, I told Zane to stop it and that I must get back to my taxes. They didn’t take as long as I expected and warranted an expressive victory lap around the living room and immediate “I did it!” call to my mom. Zane’s got a little ways to go, but he’s done a great job defining himself as a man to the IRS. I am still trying to figure out why it’s okay for the IRS to ask where this relationship is going, whether he’s single or married, but when I ask that it causes a ruckus. Maybe next year I can start calling Zane my “write off” but I think we’re a long ways away. For now, I’m basking in our joint success in doing something so adult while still being in our jammies.

Hers and His: The Movie Teaser #1

Certain people have been asking me (and by "certain" I mean no one) what ever happened to that Hers and His movie you hinted at however many months ago. Well sit tight kiddies do I have something for you! Here is a sneak peak at what you might all be in store for should the loan from our neighborhood church get approved!

The Hers and His Guide to Having a Gouda Valentine's Day

Greetings loyal readers! Please set down your red heart boxes of candy, wipe that candy heart powder from your lips and pull up a chair. While all of those are good and sweet, we have a few modern day twists to make your Valentine's day... and night... a little better.

The secret to a happy Valentine? Distance. Hear me out. This year, the His has to be in Maine to visit relatives while the Hers doesn't get Monday off from work. Thus: Long Distance Valentines. While I first sought pity from friends and my love alike, I have now embraced this decision.

You may remember last year, we also incorporated this Valentine's tradition of distance and traveled to Atlantic City to partake in the most memorable holiday to date. This year, we opted to stay separate and keep what's really important in focus: gifts. Kidding, kidding... but welcome.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder and Absinthe makes the heart get a bit fuzzy. Tonight I plan to pour one out to my funny Valentine and consume a well chosen bottle of wine and fabulous cheese pairing. (Riesling and Smoke Gouda, try it.) Along with those treats I will ration my heart shaped box of chocolates that was delivered today nestled snugly next to my dozen roses. That's right, Zane got me flowers! I'm not sure if it was the constant commercialism that finally got to him, or the well placed hints he may have located in his laundry, the fridge, and pinned to his coat. Either way, it brought a great big smile to my face and warmth to my heart that he planned ahead to make sure I felt loved this weekend.

This Valentine's Day it's like we're newly dating again. Anticipating the next time we'll speak, looking forward to hearing about each other's days, not having to pick up each other's dirty socks. And the best part? We still get to celebrate after he returns! So, as in true Julie fashion, it is not just Valentine's DAY, but WEEK. Or, if properly stretched out, MONTH. But don't tell Zane that. I just love any holiday that forces him to profess his undying love: tomorrow, Arbor Day, T. Hanks Giving Day. Just to name a few.

So tonight as each of you falls asleep dreaming of your one true love or can feel their chilly feet hitting yours under the cover, just know that Zane and I are happily sleeping sprawled and diagonally miles and miles apart counting down the hours until we can celebrate Valentine's Day in style just so we can report our adventure to you, dear reader.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Keeping Abreast of Our Neighbors

While still mourning the loss of our beloved Ocho, we have decided to take an uncomfortably close interest in our new neighbors. After all, Z's New Year's Resolution for 2010 was to make friends, so obviously that meant having to uproot ourselves and all the bad blood we caused in Chelsea and start fresh in a new land that has no knowledge of Zane's history with little boys and trenchcoats.

First, we met our Landlord, a young hot Greecian who could only be dubbed "McGreece-y". Oh, that sounded better in my head. Well, needless to say, I'll be glad to call his cell for any problems I might have.... apartment or relationship related. Then we met Old Man Greece-y. You guessed it! McGreesey liked me so much he wanted to introduce me to his parents. Sure, they live downstairs from us and just so happen to be the Supers of the building, but that's all semantics.

So, with our things in place and the friendliest of Supers in the history of the world, we've been enjoying our new digs. Yes, Old Man Greecey has taken the welcome wagon and parked it a little close to our hydrant, but sometimes it's nice to come home to a little old man in your bathtub caulking. And he has found a way to be considered charming when I come home from work and catch him napping in our bed. Come to think of it, maybe I shouldn't have given him a spare key to my car.

In the first week we made friends with our fellow second floor dwellers, Drake Cakes and ????? okay, we only made friends with Drake Cakes. But is it possible to want to be friends with someone so badly, you feel like you know them? 2B is compiled of 2 late-20s professional chefs. So far the smells coming from their door have been nothing short of amazing and my attempts to compete have left the halls wishing I'd stop.

In the midst of moving a giant piece of furniture we met our upstairs gal pal Shannon Dougherty and her roommate Princess Fiona. They are both awesome girls who invited us to a party we ended up not being able to attend. I have high hopes for future Girls' Nights In and Sex and the City-ish brunches in the neighborhood. If those fail, I've developed a way to befriend the girl who lives in the building across from us. Our windows line up exactly, so it's like looking into a mirror. Only her side is a bit girlier and comes with a half naked man who shows up on Saturday mornings. I think we'd be great pals in different circumstances, but every idea I have to initiate contact just comes across as creepy.

1. Sign in the window. "Hi, my name's Julie. I like your couch pattern. Want to be my friend?"

2. "Your boyfriend's cute. So is mine. Want to all hang out? No, we aren't swingers."

3. "Call me. 555-1234."

4. "I see in your fridge that you have some butter, can I snag a stick? I'm out."

I'm still working on that one... definitely will keep you posted.

One of our favorite new neighbors is a furry little critter that keeps following me home. No, not Zane. His name's Gato and he's the neighborhood bakery's cat. He is quite possibly the friendliest little pal anyone could ask for and he literally followed us home, into our building one day. He loves to be pet and meows up a storm. A girl on the street informed us that the bakery lets him out at night to wander and make friends and people "borrow" him and bring him into their apartments. "Don't worry," she says "he'll let you know when he wants to leave. He just scratches at the door." Zane and I melted inside at the thought of a part time pet and have been anxiously waiting for his return so we can scoop him up and steal him for an hour or two. Hopefully he won't pee in our bathtub like our last cat did. Unless that was Old Man Greecey...

So now that you have met all of our fun loving neighbors and have grown to love them as we have, let me tell you a quick tale of late. Casually going to the recycle barrel the other day, I was sorting my plastics and papers when lo and behold, in the barrel alongside my corrugated cardboard and old news lay a collection of magazines. Now I am not much of a magazine thrower-outer and always welcome more materials for collages and bathroom literature. As I flipped over the recycled rag I discovered something new about my loving neighbors. They like porn. Lots and lots of porn. And not like normal porn. We're talking boobs that would make "Jugs" blush. How these ladies manage through the day without backaches and shoulder strain is beyond me, but they appear to be very happy. Buoyantly happy. But why on Earth they'd choose mesh lingerie as their preferred method of support is beyond me. You'd need a forklift to maintain any semblance of perkiness.

Of course I brought one of the magazines up to Zane as a little present for making me bring out the recycling. We enjoyed flipping through the pages and laughing our heads off at what any other magazine would have the title "Morbidly Obese Women Who Only Gain Weight in Their Chests." We laughed and laughed until we realized the pages started getting a little crinklier. Then we cried a little and vowed never to speak of it again. After 10 rounds of hand sanitizer and 3 sessions with a neighborhood shrink, we've returned to our definition of normalcy. But still, that lingering question.... who, oh who, is the Watermelon Wanton?