Thanks for Nothing, Happy Endings

There's only a certain amount of time in every day. Between work, eating, working out, Oscar time, iPad time (which is sacred!), and sleeping, Bridget and I are left with about 30 minutes each night. And, often, to unwind, we like to fill those 30 minutes with a little mutual TV.

What's mutual TV? It's TV time that couples share. For us, that means it's not Syracuse basketball. It's not The Real Housewives of Ann Arbor or whatever stupid city they're in now. It's TV that we both like. By definition, then, it's also TV that's hard to find. So as you can imagine, trying to find mutual TV is like trying to find penguins in Mexico. Here is our short list of successes:

• Parks and Recreation. Best comedy on TV. Everything else is a distant second.
• New Girl. Pretty good, but not great. Without Schmidt, it would likely be off the list.
• Friday Night Lights. Loved it. Amazing. But, sadly, it's over.
• The Newsroom. Compelling TV, but we've done away with HBO.
• Downton Abbey. Fantastic show, but on once every three years or something.
• The League. Hit or miss, to be honest, but the hits are pretty fantastic.

That's it. Six shows. And that's why Bridget and I were so excited to find Happy Endings last year. The show had everything -- good writing, lots of humor, a fun cast, and attractive female stars. (Truth be told, I'm a huge Elisha Cuthbert fan. I have been since 24. The way she ran through the woods when that bad guy was chasing her. And then The Girl Next Door. Good God. But I digress.) It was a show that, as 30-somethings, meant something to us and spoke to us in a way that PBS and MTV do not.

But then this season came. And now Happy Endings is both awful and terrible.

Whatever, Elisha, it's true. Your show has become predictable, boring, and forced. It's poorly acted. The writing is garbage. And last week I read a story about how the cast is full of jerks. So thanks for nothing, Happy Endings. You've become part of our TV Cemetary. Say hi to The Office, Cougar Town, Community, and Two and a Half Men. (Just kidding. No one ever watches Two and a Half Men.)

So if you have suggestions for the winter, we'd love to hear them. Is there some hidden gem on NBC? A diamond in the rough on AMC? Mutual TV is in need of some help.

The Most Important Purchase We've Ever Made

It's a picture of nothing, right? Mike forgot to take his finger off the lens because he's old and he doesn't understand technology, right? Wrong.

This picture -- this ugly, ugly picture -- of a brown curtain may not mean much to you. But the curtain in the photo has changed my life in ways I could never have imagined.

As you may know, Bridget and I buy a decent amount of things. (We are, actually, quite conservative when it comes to cash, but that's a story for another time.) We took three honeymoons. (Not really, but that's what our friends like to say.) We like our iPads. (Bridget has a somewhat unnatural affinity for hers.) And our wonderful kitchen island has been well documented.

But above all these things, above all these wonderful items and memories, one purchase stands above the rest. Three words: Room darkening curtains. Cost: $60. Place of purchase: T.J.Maxx.

Until about two months ago, I had never heard of room darkening curtains. My guess is most guys haven't. We don't really think about those things. At all. Ever. We mostly think about sports and food and beer and video games and women -- not necessarily in that order. So when Bridget asked me if I thought we should get room darkening curtains, I looked at her like she'd asked if I prefer a shirt with vertical stripes or horizontal stripes. (Read: I didn't care one bit.) I believe my response was, "What the hell are those and how much are they?"

In classic, calm Bridget style, she explained that they were curtains that made a room darker and that they'd help us sleep better. "Sure," I said, "I like sleep. Go for it."

And from the moment they've gone up, it's been a whole new world. We get at least an extra hour of sleep every morning -- and sometimes more. (And really, is there anything more valuable than a good night's sleep?) The curtains do an amazing job of making it always seem like it's 3 AM even if it's 9. (Here's an awkward customer video if you want to see the curtains in action.) They fool Oscar, too, which is probably the most important thing. With little to no light shining in, he's content to just lay on the bed until we decide to wake up.

So, yes, the curtains are another example of my brilliant wife strutting her shopping stuff. But as I thought about this post, it quickly came to me that the curtains are just an example of something larger -- that it's important to marry someone who has a different perspective on money.

I was chatting with a financially conservative friend at a bar last night. We traded stories about stretching dollars and denying ourselves life's pleasures. And, sure, there's a time for that. It's nice to have savings. But it's also pretty nice to sleep well and, in the words of Tom Haverford: Treat. Yo. Self. Said a different way, I would never, ever have paid $60 for curtains. (I used to think curtains came with apartments. They don't.) But I'm really, really lucky to have such a smart wife.

The Trouble With Bedtime

The first disagreement Mike and I ever had was about bedtime. Mike took that position that going to bed at the same time was romantic. He said he liked everyone to be all tucked in and tuckered out at the same time (I'm clearly paraphrasing here. I don't believe he has ever used the phrase "tuckered out." Thank gawd.). At the time of this bold declaration, I was a devout night owl.  When no one is around to tell me to go to bed, I'll likely be found passed out on the couch, makeup smeared across my face, teeth unbrushed, with half a sandwich hanging out of my mouth. So I reacted badly to this idea of forced bedtime. Especially since Mike is an early-to-bed-early-to-rise-take-an-agressive-mid-afternoon-nap kinda guy. Mike is sensible. Mike always brushes his teeth before bed. Mike always goes to bed at a reasonable hour.

After much initial protest, I ultimately decided to try things Mike's way for a bit. And it turns out, it is actually really nice to get eight hours of sleep. I never knew I could feel so rested! So alive! I even liked turning in early and reading our Kindles together until we fell asleep (barf, I know).

But then something came along to ruin this domestic bliss. And that something is the iPad.

Lately, I'll more likely than not be found curled on the couch with my iPad, gleefully tapping away at its shiny screen until the wee hours. What am I doing, you (and Mike) may ask? Oh, you know, the usual. Going to various retailer websites and playing the, "I'm independently wealthy and can buy anything I want" game. (This game involves perusing said retailer's site for hours and putting all the things I would like into my shopping cart....with NO regard for price!! Shocking, I know. Let me be clear, I don't actually buy anything. That is not part of the game. Simply looking at my full cart with things I can't afford is somehow pleasure enough. I may have a problem. )

I can also be found perusing various blogs. Some about house tweaking, others about celebrities. I'll check all my bank and credit card accounts, mint.com and loans. Just to be sure they are all still there. I'll check the news. I'll check Facebook about a million times just in case someone posts something interesting (spoiler alert, no one does).  I'll also check email incessantly just in case I get some good spam. Then I'll move to sites like RueLaLa.com, Gilt.com, and OneKingsLane.com to look at all the things I really shouldn't buy.

But the majority of my time is spent reading magazines. I subscribe to this wondrous and magical thing called Next Issue. Next Issue is an app that allows me to read virtually every magazine worth reading (and many that are not - I'm looking at you, Wood magazine) for one monthly fee. Something like 60+ magazines. All at my fingertips. It almost makes my head explode. I've died and gone to magazine heaven.

Long story short, I spend a lot of time on my iPad. And it is getting harder and harder to turn in early when I still have 55 magazines left to read. This makes Mike sad, not only because he likes us falling asleep together, but more importantly, when he goes to bed before me there is no one there to catch his Kindle when he falls asleep with it against his face. This is my designated job (seriously, I have to do it. I wrote it into my vows.)

But after too many nights with my iPad and with Oscar distraught because he can't handle when the two of us are in separate rooms, I start to miss my husband. Because that time before bed when we disconnect from the world and read together is that kind of elusive quality time that you don't appreciate until you start to miss it. And I miss it. So tonight, I'm putting away the iPad.

Earning The Title of 'Our Place'

Bridget and I went on a date Thursday night. We do that every month or so -- pick a restaurant (sometimes a reliable standby, sometimes a new place), order wonderful food, drink delicious beer and wine, and then vow never to eat again because we're too full. (Somehow Bridget always has room for BerryLine or whatever that weird frozen yogurt place is called. It's like crack to women for some reason.)

We're fortunate to live in Cambridge, where unique and creative restaurants are literally around every corner. French, Italian, Thai, Chinese, American ... you name it, we have it. But of all the places we've been, none compare to West Side Lounge, this amazing, little eatery on Mass Ave. Every time we walk in the door, we have the best intentions to try something new, something a little bit different. Invariably, she gets salmon and I get parmesan-crusted cod, which honestly makes my mouth water as I type it. It's that damn good. Hers, from what I hear, is fairly surreal, too.

We had our engagement dinner here, we've Yelped about it, we've taken friends and family there. It is, officially, "Our Place."

This concept of "Our Place" made me think. Every couple has at least one. But what gives something that enviable title? What is it about West Side Lounge that I (and we) like it so much that I'll defend it like my mother? (Just kidding, mom. But seriously, the food is really good. You know. You've been there.)

Is it the food? That's definitely part of it. The food is amazing -- from appetizers to desserts. There's always a feeling of comfort and joy when the first bite of tender, flaky fish hits the tongue.

Is it the price? Yup, a little bit. We live near Boston, so nothing on the menu is $4.95, but a dinner for two here is a much better value than 90% of the places we go.

Is it the service? That's part of it, too. The people, without fail, have been great every time. The waiters and waitresses wait long enough, but never keep you waiting. They're friendly, smile a lot, and say helpful things, like, "Be careful. That plate is hot."

Is it that other places stink? Sure, that's a reason, too. We've had our share of forgettable experiences. Then again, that's what you get when you order calamari at an Irish bar. (Stupid, stupid, stupid.)

In the end, I think it's the memories. Don't get me wrong. It's all of the reasons above, too, but it's looking across the table at my wife and remembering one of our first dates. It's remembering my hands shaking as I tried to drink champagne 10 minutes after we got engaged. It's remembering Thursday night.

Very few places will ever be in that "Our Place" category. They really have to earn it. So when they do, when you get to that comfortable and happy place, go there often.

In fact, when's the last time you went?