Later today, my man is leaving his home turf to forage for shelters. Because we have both realized that living in different places, requiring plane tickets and packing and unpacking, and him tripping over my shoes when I visit because I never know if I'll be in the mood to wear peek-a-boo heels or zip-up yoga shoes on any given day, is beginning to suck a little.
There are good parts to the long distance romance. It is endlessly exciting walking through an airport terminal and seeing him for the first time in weeks, causing me to pounce on him. There are hidden notes I find from him after he has left, and trips planned to meet up in other places. Of course, these things also come with not seeing him for weeks at a time, leaving once we've been together just long enough for him to adjust to my bed hogging, and not being able to cook together while drinking delicious wine and debating the yumminess vs. grossness of just about every food item that isn't meat and cheese.
Because he is brave and because he gets roughly 142 days off from work each year, he is taking a trip to a possible living destination for the both of us. I am not as brave, and also, use all possible time off to visit him, so I have sent him a list of places to go check out and a run down of important things to consider. I am a little bit crazy about my living situation. Like most women, things like closet space and bathroom loveliness are important when househunting, but I also have certain aesthetics that I just refuse to put up with, and some that I would prefer so much that I would live in a worse neighborhood to enjoy. He is armed with a camera and the knowledge that I will be a brat about certain things, so I think he's prepared.
Here's the thing. I have issues about co-habitating, so he may actually be looking for two different places. I've done the living together bit. I'm not so sure it's the best thing for me. While he is the most easy-going guy ever, I can be a little ummm particular about stuff, and I don't know if it's smart to go from cross-country to in-your-face-every-day. I couldn't imaging a face I'd rather be in on a daily basis, mind you. It's just that it might be a little extreme. I tried to make him just move here, next door to me, but he somehow didn't think that selling a kidney on ebay to adjust to the cost of living increase would be worth it. Hmph.
This and several other things have been occupying my mind and keeping me from writing here, because I tend to over-internalize and get freaked out about voicing big life changing stuff and any doubts I might have about that stuff. I prefer to pretend I have an awesome layer of invincibility to anything that can make me seem less than sure of all things at all times. A cloak of infallibility, if you will.
Feel free to assure me that this is all normal. Ok, thanks.
Does this Cloak make me Look Fat?
Posted by elizabeth at 1:49 PM Labels: home, my man, self-absorbed
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8 comments:
Finally! A woman with a little sense! You know your hot buttons and are facing them head on, rather than jumping into a situation. AWESOME!
So, with that being said, I think your level of self-actualization is such that you could handle living under the same roof.
Okay, that was a bold faced lie... but I think living with the dude would make for some of the most awesome blog posts. Not so sure if living in close proximity would yield the same results... and really, I am thinking about myself.. I mean your loyal fans and readers who daily feel jilted because you never blog for us anymore.
So I vote: MOVE IN WITH THE GUY!
At a minimum, get two bedrooms. You need a door you can call your own to hide behind when the boy smells take over the common areas.
Honest to god, I just talked to your man immediately prior to reading this post and told him, "Lofts may seem pretty cool, but you're going to want a door to shut yourself behind. Keep that in mind."
Betty is correct.
I say go for it. Your man can always figure out a way to land on his feet if you need to kick him out for hanging the toilet paper wrong later...
As long as you give him his own room to be messy in, and to put his Huge Junk trophies, then you will be fine...you pick a room for yourself too, and the both of you can do whatever you want with them and the other person can't complain...that's how Kim and work it...except that now my room is turning into a nursery...
You should have him scope out West Michigan...might be a good place to move :)
as much as i adore the betty-ness, i'm not sure i can move in based on blog fodder alone. after all, bitching about him here would be pretty passive-aggressive, since he reads this, a good number of his friends read this, and it would be akin to talking about him to someone else while all in the same room, as if he were invisible, wouldn't it?
as for the man cave theory, which he would love, it's not happening. i have this thing about all the rooms of my house being unboysmelly. though i wouldn't kick him out for hanging the toilet paper wrong. i would just bop him on the nose with some rolled up. training, you know.
and unless there is a strange underground art culture happening in michigan i'm unaware of, i think that might be an unwise venture. we'll totally come visit, though. i'll even babysit. i like the babies.
I smell of tangerine and lazy sundays.
MAN CAVE! MAN CAVE!
unboysmelly?
Basically, it's an offer of an 80/20 split (the cave being the 20, obviously). Is it correct to assume that your foregoing that small compromise and demanding a 100/0 split?
80/20 is a good deal. Take it :)
(shit, hit post too soon....)
Besides, the smell of English Leather and fine charcoal-filtered malt liquor will grow on you, I promise :)
I totally want a cave in my house, now. I think there's room in my basement.
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