the new super

I'm currently hunkered down on my couch, in my fleece pants, under a blanket, computer on my lap, dog curled up tightly against my hip, Vh1 reality shows on the tv.  Is it sad that this is my idea of the perfect Superbowl Sunday?

There was a time in the not-so-distant past, where events like the Superbowl (or St. Patty's Day, or MLK Day, for that matter) were the perfect excuse to plan a party with friends, pick up a 40 oz of Colt 45 (or three) and get wrecked.  And I still have friends who do this regularly.  Friends who are older than I am, in fact, can and do tie one on whenever they can round up their gang of hooligans.  Hell, they even plan trips to Cancun with their friends!  

So what's changed?  When did this slow slide into the comfy world of the homebody begin?  For me, I think it's actually a combination of two major factors.  The first being my loving live-in boyfriend.  Before we decided to cohabitate, we really had to plan outings in order to get out and see each other.  We looked for new and interesting things to do out on the town, or simply gathered a gang of friends and met at our favorite watering hole.  We were active socially.  In a big way.  We were the driving forces of extracurricular recreation in our social group.  We rallied the troops and planned the fun and made sure everyone was drinking and laughing.  And to be honest, as fun as it was, I think maybe it was a bit tiring.  At least looking back it seems like it must have been.  And once we moved in together, it was like we had our own excuse to stop that effort.  All of a sudden, it didn't matter anymore whether we were out of the house or sitting on couch in our pajamas.  I mean, he's my best friend, and I know he feels the same about me.  There's a sort of comfort and safety in that simple truth.  And so both of us settled in, and began substituting good conversation, pajamas and television for the wild nights of our past.  

The second factor that I think has played a major role in our trend of rarely leaving the confines of our cute little rental house, is that we moved.  We didn't just move in together two and a half years ago.  We moved across the country.  We relocated to an area where we had nobody but each other.  Sure, I met friends through work, and he met friends through school, but mostly we were each other's friend.  We were our own social group.  We didn't have that constant pull from friends to come out and do the drinking and socializing thing anymore.  And so we didn't.  And the longer we didn't, the more comfortable and familiar it became to simply go home after work at the end of the day, change into our lounge wear, and relax with each other.  

And you know what?  I'm not dissecting this in a desperate attempt to find a solution to this problem.  In fact, this isn't a problem in my book.  Quite to the contrary, I love this new life.  Sure, I realize this simply reaffirms the fact that I'm getting older.  But spending a Saturday evening reading a good book in a bubble bath sounds like a little slice of heaven to me now.  I don't even consider the alternative anymore.  

So today, while millions of people are gathering in large groups in bars and homes across the country to watch the Cinderella Cardinals face off against the Steelers in the Superbowl, my boyfriend and I will be sitting together in our den (or, "the cool guys room," as my boyfriend calls it), eating our chicken brats, sipping our light beers, and enjoying each other's company.  Just the two of us.  And the pets.  And that is, quite simply, my new idea of a super Superbowl Sunday.