Yes, we're really like this. All. The. Time.

I have a picture of Christopher in my head. This mental image is most likely a combination of how I want him to be and how he can be. This is the Christopher I see when I write his name on paper and write about here.

Invariably, I'm always disappointed with the reality of Christopher. He spent a lot of time on Friday telling me how stupid and retarded I am. It wears on me and has me wondering if he actually thinks this about me.

Every time there is an age gap involving an older man with a 20-something blonde, the guy will always receive praises and high fives. The 20-something blonde always puts out and typically has a less than conversational IQ. She doesn't need one because she's always gotten by on her looks.

This is the stereotype I find myself mentally battling. I'm considerably younger than him. I'm just now getting acquainted with the professional world; he's been immersed in it for nearly a decade. I get excited over my first business cards and my first publication. The boss tells me I'm resourceful and it's the highlight of my week. Christopher's well into the same shit, different day mode. The reason we work is because we have the same maturity level, which is beneath both of our age groups.

I'm sitting on the couch with Christopher Friday night (he did call and, yes, I do feel like a moron) and during the commercial breaks on "Hannity and Colmes" I tell him, unasked, about my work week. "You're retarded," he responds.

He's into his 15th beer for the night and I have a feeling that I am indeed not retarded. Either he's not listening or this is his standard 15th beer response to anything I might say.

I try again. "Hey someone from your school is obsessed with my website. He or she checks it like 9 times a day." Christopher knows only about my MySpace account. I don't even know how he found it, but I get a phone call one night from him, telling me he found it and what a loser I am for having one. I tried explaining that it is my sole resource for keeping up with my college buddies. He didn't buy it until he met my college buddies and we had a 20 minute conversation about MySpace.

"Well it's not me," he says.

"I know it's not you. It's a Michigan IP address. You would have to be physically there for that address to log. Besides, it's from the law school. You were pre-med."

"Well why are you even telling me this?"

"Because it's your school! I though it was cool."

"Millions of people go there."

"No, millions of people do not go there."

"Okay, we millions of people have gone there since the school was founded."

"That may be true."

Pause. "You're retarded."

"I thought it was relevant!"

"Well it's not and you're retarded."

I sigh. Classic Christopher is back. This conversation is typical for Christopher's and my relationship. I am completely over whatever danger I thought I was in last week over falling for him.

I get up from the couch and get him beer number 16. Instead of sitting back down in the middle cushion next to him, I climb onto the far cushion and lay in the fetal position on my stomach so my head is on the armrest, and my knees are on the couch and my ass is in the air, pointing at him. I was getting drunk and it was a comfortable position. I also thought it was fitting to have only my ass facing him seeing as how it clearly demonstrated how I felt about him at the moment.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Hiding from you," I mumble with my face pressed in the armrest, slightly wiggling my butt.

"Why?"

"Because every time I say something, you act like I'm annoying you."

"Don't be stupid," he says as he pulls the back of my sweatshirt until I'm laying on him. Even when he's being sweet, he still manages to call me stupid. Only Christopher gets away with this.

Besides, any time he tried to speak in the next 5 minutes, I'd immediately cut him off by abruptly shouting, "You're retarded!"

"You've been waiting to do that, haven't you?"

"Yes, and it was fun. Thank you."