A Bold Move: The Sorrows and The Raptures

A few weeks ago I wrote about my girlfriend and I moving in together. Yes, we’ve only been together for a year (our anniversary is March 10th), and it was a mother fucking roller coaster of a year for us, but we found a cozy little spot and said lets move in, and that we did. Well 3 months later, almost to the day, here is what we learned. Marvel at our genius, laugh at our mistakes, take notes on our experience because you cant make this shit up.

First, let’s talk about something everyone most likely has within their home:


Part of our journey into becoming real human people who can wipe our own asses was galavanting around looking for the perfect towels for our happy little home. Upon finding said towels (some big, fluffy, black towels, awwww yeah) we brought them home and hung them on the new, fancy towel rack we had also purchased and stood back in awe at our accomplishment. In our haste to perfect our bathroom we put up the towels without washing them first and then completely forgot. Don’t do that. For the next month we were scrubbing the bathroom and ourselves off every time we took a shower because there was so much black fucking fuzz seemingly loosely hanging on, waiting for an opportunity to stick to something. It was a nightmare, it looked like our bathroom was sprouting pubic hair in every square inch. We ended up having to put them through the wash about five times in order for that to stop happening. The moral of this story is if you buy new, fluffy, awesome, things to dry yourself with, tie them to your roof and drive across the country, stopping to wash them in every state, before you even think of bringing them into your house.


Yeah, plants should be the way to go for most people when they first move in together, but we are super people, so we went straight for a fish, and then less than a week later, two itty bitty kitty sist..ies(?). We did looked at plants first but they weren’t really doing it for us; and since we’re go big or go home people we went and bought the first edition: a blue Beta fish, aptly named Eli Manning. Eli Manning (full name used at all times when addressing him) is a wonderful fish who lives a life of luxury, mainly because when we were buying (…er, adopting I guess) him, the cashier scared us into buying him a heater that was later told to us by everyone and their mothers that it wasn’t needed since we don’t live in a cave and room temp is a good temp. But anyway less than a week later, when we were confident that our parenting skills to Eli Manning were sufficient enough to expand our family, we went to the SPCA and adopted Aria and Sansa, sister kittens that were five weeks old. I’m happy to report that at the time of this writing all of the above mentioned living things are alive and well and it looks like it’s going to stay that way.
 At first, because of our healthy diet of Looney Tunes growing up (you know before they were considered offensive and pulled off TV because everyone is an asshole), we were afraid the cats would eat the fish, or the fish would pop out of the bowl and hit the cats with a mallet labeled “ACME” and break the glass table. Much to our surprise, neither of these things happened; the cats have discovered the fish by now and have tried to mess with it, but we’ve managed to keep him safe by putting him in the Fishness Protection Program, or to the layman, the top of our dresser because the kittens cant get there…yet. 
 Now, I’ve been a dog person my whole life. And because I love my girlfriend and we cant have dogs in our place (our plan was kitten and puppy originally) I’ve learned to give cats a chance, and I gotta say they aren’t that bad. Sure they have some sort of marathon training every night from about midnight until sunrise, using our bodies as spring boards randomly while we’re sleeping between running laps around the entire apartment, but, again, they’re not that bad. So my advice to you all, go for the pets, it really changes the dynamic of a home no matter what it is (but at least consider going the plant route first).


Obviously we needed stuff in our place to take up room other than ourselves. The furniture shopping experience was almost as exhausting as moving it in and putting it together. We measured every square inch of our place then, of course, forgot the measurements every time we went out shopping. Essentially we guesstimated every piece of furniture we own; and since we are so fucking awesome at life, every piece actually fit perfectly, and I mean perfectly; as in not an inch to spare when all was said and done. Our bed set and two night stands fit into our room with literally less than an inch on either side of the furniture to the wall. I use italics to emphasize the awesomeness.

The couch we bought is perfect, and we found it by accident. We spent about two weeks looking for just a couch, finally finding one we thought would fit and putting a deposit down so we could go home and mull it over. It was a wrap around couch with a chaise (a word I have grown to fucking loath since all this started for some reason) for about $3,000. So we went home, mulled, and before we decided my buddy told us about a discount outlet center of the same store we were in so we decided to give that a shot before pulling the trigger. Good thing we did for two huge reasons. The first being that we ended up not only furnishing almost our entire apartment (two night stands, bed frame, area rug, dresser for two, huge mirror, end table, couch) for the same price as the original couch, but the original couch would have taken up our entire apartment. The couch we ended up getting is about half the size of the other one and has a cuddle corner and fits fucking perfectly in the corner of our living room. Yes, folks, cuddle corners are becoming the new version of a chaise (ugh, that fucking word again).

What is a cuddle corner you ask? It’s cool as shit for starters. It’s a couch shaped kind of like a music note (see: crotchet), the cuddle corner being the little black ball at the end. We cuddle there a lot (as indicated in the instruction manual, next to the warning about the couch being flammable and the cooking directions) and binge watch things on Netflix and Hulu and Youtube because we modern as fuck (hell yeah we are). We blew through seasons of Biggest Loser, The Voice, Pretty Little Liars (don’t hate, it’s a guilty pleasure), this show, that show, and the other show. We also like to play Xbox in the cuddle corner together (yes, she plays, hallelujah, holy shit). That couch, it’s a good couch, we like the couch.


If you’ve ever been to IKEA then you will understand why this is not included in the furnishing portion of this entry. If not, here it is: You are not buying furniture at IKEA, you are condemning yourself to walk through an adult maze with a little tiny fucking pencil and a “wish list” where you jot down furniture model number, then cross them out for something better, then write them again, then go back and stare at it for ten minutes, then cross it out for something cheaper, then find something that matches something else you saw, so you cross it out and redo the whole fucking thing, and just when you think you’re done you find other shit you want and go back again, rinse, repeat, and then they have gross cola and Swedish meatballs. The amount of mental and physical anguish involved in a shopping trip to IKEA is overwhelming, which is why it gets its own special mention. Ten hours of our lives were sucked away without us even realizing in two trips, and we did both trips within a week because we’re fucking insane. We did end up with more perfect furniture though so it was worth it. After all was said and done we acquired a TV stand, shelves, living room tables, a kitchen table, as well as a shit ton of little things, and a big decorative, but functioning, clock. Mission: IKEA was a success and it isn’t a bad place by far, but if you need to shop there just make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into. And bring a snack, possibly a sleeping bag.


Going grocery shopping is akin to the adult version of a field trip; at least for us. Every week we pick a day and a grocery store. You see, in order to keep the relationship spicy, we like to go to a different grocery store every week and explore all the different types of the same thing they have everywhere else (sooo sexy, I know). Sometimes we find a gem or two that we make a mental note of to go back when we need it. Then for the duration of the next shopping trip we are trying to find that mental note and end up just getting lemon things. A lemon thing (because you know I know you’re sitting there going “what the F is a lemon thing?”) is a magical dessert, with a proper name mind you, but we call it lemon thing because we’re just big kids and I’m sure we will forever. Anyway…
 We have a love hate relationship with the grocery store. Nothing says adventure like a slew of women glued to their phones zipping around isle corners like drunken Danika Patricks, then giving you the dirty look when they drill you with their shopping torpedo. Or the zombified men walking around aimlessly staring at the hanging signs above the isle with their mouths gaped open trying to decide if kitty litter might be in the baking needs isle; all the while holding a basket in hand that’s full of enough shit to fill a shopping cart. I know this so well because it’s exactly what I do when I have to run there without my girlfriend to find one thing…for an hour. Anyway all those are the constants no matter where we go, but we really do love exploring new stores and finding cool shit to eat, and I recommend it to everyone. It makes the monotonous task of buying groceries fun, it really does.
 Deciding where to go based on sales, gimmiks, how far we feel like driving, what there is to do around it and whatever other factor make going shopping a legit adventure. Go ahead, make fun, but when was the last time you heard of anyone getting excited to sidestep Danika and the walking dead in a super market. Try it, you’ll like it.


I despise doing laundry, always have. In fact if I had the money I would wear my clothes until they were dirty, donate them, and buy more. But I also hate clothes shopping so that really would just be cutting off my nose to spite my face. Any who, laundry becomes an even more important part of life because (unless you’re lucky enough to have a washer and dryer inside your home) you need to schedule that shit into your day. No setting and forgetting when you have to babysit your clothes from the weirdos who are waiting to steal your underwear and add it to their undie shrine in their mothers basement. Fortunately for us, the laundry mat is so close to our place that we can set and kinda forget; but that doesn’t make it any less of a pain in the ass.
 Luckily, for us, we do laundry the same way: stuff every fucking thing we’ve worn that week into a single washer, double up the soap and fabric softener, hold it shut until it locks, then come back and do the same thing for the dry cycle. For those of you who separate whites from coloreds, towels from t-shirts, I can almost feel you cringing when you read that. For those of you who just want the laundry over as soon as possible, I can hear you snickering in agreement.
 There have been times when being busy has cost us laundry day and we were forced to wear every piece of clothing we owned until we got a free minute (we almost had to use two whole washers this one time…but we managed to get it all in one since my girlfriend is tiny so we turned her into a battering ram; teamwork makes the dream work people) and it screwed up our whole day because, unbeknownst to us, when you have half a ton of wet clothes in the dryer it takes quite the bit longer to dry. The lesson here is do laundry strategically, maybe I’m biased because, as mentioned, I really, realllllly, fucking hate laundry for a reason I don’t even know, but it does not help when you’re getting ready for work and realize your work clothes are under the pile of shit you were supposed to wash “at some point” that weekend.


Bedtime. Cursed as a child, praised as a college student, absent as a real person, bedtime is a part of living together. Since, as you may have picked up on, our couch is so comfy, its also the main place for us to chill when we’re at home…chilling. It’s also my favorite place to pass the hell out other than my bed. Now I’m a big guy (6'2'’, 230 -240 lbs, sex symbol) and my girlfriend is not a big guy (5'0'’, 100 lbs soaking wet, also sex symbol) so when I go comatose on the couch, getting my ass to bed is next to impossible without a forklift and full tank of gas. She, on the other hand, could pass out on a cloud and float to bed with a slight breeze and a clear path. As I’ve said many times, my lady is a saint, she puts up with me, even when I pass out on the couch and turn into dead weight that intermittently snores. She wakes me up gently, or by cutting off my air supply, and then asks me if I want to go to bed. It’s almost always a yes but I don’t actually get up all the time before passing back out. On the nights I don’t make it to off the couch she puts my phone and a water next to me on the table and retires and I usually wake up at a random time and slink to bed. On the nights we do go to bed together we laugh and talk and make fun of each other until we pass out, which is why it bugs me so much when we don’t end the day like that; it feels like a part of the day is missing. Yes, people, when you live with someone who is the yin to your yang you look forward to ending the day in bed with them. Looking forward to going to bed is giving my inner child heartburn, but when you’re with the right person you really do. Bedtime becomes more than just your reprieve from a day full of dumb asses and stupidity, it becomes the last fun thing you do for before you call it quits (or if you’re us the first thing you do because we never sleep).
 Well, folks, I think that about covers most of it for now. There’s plenty more but I gotta save some for future updates. So far in our adventure together we haven’t killed each other, the pets, or burned the building down; so there will be more to come for sure. As for us, moving in together has definitely strengthened what we have even though we aren’t the most professional adults yet we are working our way there. Cheers to the future and all the insanity that comes with it. Hope this helps or at least entertained. Time for me to check on the new dishrag we bought, it’s small and blue (teal to be specific) and not fuzzy in the least, but why take the chance of our kitchen looking like a Smurf’s armpit.

Originally published at silverliningsandsarcasm.blogspot.com on March 24, 2016.