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A week and a half ago, I packed up my single girl apartment full of everything that represented ME, circa 2010-2013 and headed five miles east to a brand new apartment for my boyfriend and I to share. Having only a few weeks notice, I had to act fast. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you think about it, I had already done this before (THIS being lived with a significant other), and had some experience with the process. Whether you’re a seasoned, serial cohabitator, or you’re considering taking the plunge of a co-lease for the first time, here are some tips I learned in the past few weeks:
Once you move past the awkward dating dance, and actually become intimate with another person, everything changes. At 28, I’ve dated enough guys to know the type of person I’m drawn to, the type of person I actually need and, most importantly, the type of person I want to be. But, it doesn’t end there. When I finally found a person I’m compatible with, a whole new set of complications arose.
I moved in with my boyfriend a little over a year ago – he was my very first domestic partner, and I his. Before I made the plunge, my seemingly romantic decision was shot down by countless cryptic warnings on the woes of living with a guy. “You will constantly be cleaning up after his disgusting habits!” He is neater than I am. “He will expect you to cook for him all the time.” He cooks for me regularly. “He will try to control everything, even what type of peanut butter you buy.” We both prefer almond butter.
“There’s a hole on the side of your head,” he says looking at me discerningly. There’s water streaming in my ear.
“No, that’s a chicken pox scar,” I say confidently, rinsing shampoo out of my hair.
“No,” he replies holding up a soapy finger. “That’s not a pox mark.”
“Yes it is. I’ve had it forever; I can’t believe you never noticed.”
“Heather, it’s a scab. It looks like you picked your face.”
I stop for a moment, letting the warm water run down my shoulders. I think about the current state of my forehead and remember that bananas underground pimple I smugly popped a few days earlier.
“Oh yeah, I picked it.”
We do our almost choreographed shower dance to switch places so that he is now under the water, and I am left out in the cold to shave my legs.
“I guess maybe we are ready to live together,” he says nonchalantly. “It feels more normal to be together than apart.”
The Gillette Turbo stops halfway up my calf…are we?
There comes a time in every couple’s relationship that forces them to evaluate whether they are ready for the next step: a lease is up.
And in my case, the stars aligned: both my and my boyfriend’s respective leases were set to end at the same time. Call it a coincidence or a conspiracy, the question was suddenly on the table: Should we move in together?
The first sign that the answer was “no” is that I didn’t even think about it as a possibility. I went to view an apartment and called my friend to tell her I found “The One.” Before I could tell her how many rooms (two!), she interrupts with the question I failed to even consider: “So are you guys going to move-in together or what?”
My first instinct was to laugh. (Sign #2). I snorted, really. I mean, we’ve only been dating 9 months – not even the length of a standard lease. And living together is something grown-up couples do. Not us. We’re still kids! Late 20s-year old kids!
So I answered with what felt right: “No, we’re not going to move in together yet.”
I was somewhat surprised by my answer. I adore my boyfriend; we get along famously, and we spend 6 to 7 nights a week together anyways. We are two peas, alternating nights between two pods. So why didn’t I want to merge into one?
The path to commitment is littered with the corpses of relationships that just didn’t work. Sometimes the people were wrong for each other, sometimes the timing was off, but if you look really closely, the strange thing you’ll notice about the path is that there is only one body present. Occasionally, a relationship ends because one person just loses their way. They stop at some point to smell a flower, and then they see a butterfly, and then they see a waterfall in the woods, and they just walk off. Nothing was wrong with the relationship, necessarily, but the people involved did not realize that they were on the same path to begin with. They sort of bumped into each other and enjoyed walking together so they just kept going. They never really discussed the path they were on because you know, they didn’t want to mess up the good thing they had. It just worked.
The other day, my boyfriend and I were just generally chatting about nonsense, and, as it often happens, a series of Lord of The Rings refs commenced. He said something about their being “one ring to rule them all,” and I followed up with something about throwing it into the fires of Mount Doom. AND THEN SOMETHING INSANE HAPPENED. He laughed, and said, “No, it’s Mordor!” I can’t really describe my reaction to something like this (I’m a little obsessed with LOTR so for him to deign to correct me on this point was beyond comprehension.) Nevertheless, I was like, no, MY LOVE – it’s obvi that the ring can only be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom – the volcano from which it was forged. DUH! (Thank god we found each other, right?) He continued to challenge me, and a quick Google search was necessary to end it.
Oh Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson! He stole my heart with that fantastic 98º track at the end of Disney’s classic Mulan way back when, and her pop music inspired many a dance party alone in my room at 11pm in front of my full length mirror. I watched their relationship blossom and wither on MTV’s Newlyweds during my early, angsty, love stricken teenage years, and boy did that ever fuck me up. In retrospect, my first encounter with these two cemented this truth in my mind…
When you move in with your boyfriend before you’re ready, everyone fights and love dies.
Granted, that was definitely a helpful point of view for high school me who was much too young to be falling in love, and obviously stubborn enough to do it anyways. I am a twenty-something now, and have grown up and out of needing this precautionary mantra. However, even though I am currently in real love, the kind that is light in your heart, and never comes up for discussion, I still deeply feared moving in with my boyfriend. This limiting belief was probably not entirely created by Nick and Jessica, but lets have fun for a minute and see what emotional road blocks they Did graciously provide my psyche.
Newlyweds, or Barbie and Ken: The Dark Ages as I like to think of it, ran for three seasons. For those three years of my life, I, a highschooler avoiding Biology lab write-ups and reading The Canterbury Tales, watched Ken guzzle down beer, sit entranced in front of the TV, and call out Barbie’s dumb blonde bullshit. Just as my dreams of having a boyfriend and falling in love were ripening, all I could see were flashing WARNING signs reading, DO NOT LET THIS BE YOUR LIFE.
For those of us who grew up with the images of the princesses telling us that we should wait for our “Prince Charming” to come along, the reference to dreams and wishes is commonplace in reference to relationships. Snow White wished into her well, Cinderella informed us that a dream is a wish your heart makes, and Ariel’s heart-wrenching desire to be part of our world all led us to believe that if you want something badly enough, you’ll get it. And, for the princesses, a man was all they ever really wanted. They really are bad role models, aren’t they?
For the princesses, finding a man was the solution to all your problems: Prince Charming was the white knight: gallantly riding his brave steed to rescue us from our evil father/mother/sister/brother – whatever. And, for the princesses, that was the end of the story. You got a man, now your life was perfect. But, we were instead raised to be intelligent, self-sufficient women who don’t need rescuing and want more than just a man – we want to have it all (to the best of our abilities).
Herein lies the dilemma: we grew up believing in “happily ever after.” You meet the man, you walk down the aisle, and everything, as far as you know, just works. We never see Cinderella or Snow White negotiating the intricacies of daily life with Prince Charming. Real life and real relationships require a lot of work. As happy as I am about getting the boy, I can’t say I always know how to put everything else in context. How are we supposed to deal with everything that comes after?
So, here’s the thing. Clearly, I like talking about my life. I have numerous different ways of expressing myself to a mass audience. But, I am starting to realize that, in order to have a successful relationship, there are some things that are better left unsaid. Sometimes that means you keep things to yourself (more on that below), but it mostly means that you shouldn’t always talk about all the problems you’re having.
Now, in terms of the things that you keep to yourself: I’m NOT advocating lying or deliberately concealing information from your significant other. Honesty is clear THE best policy and it absolutely necessary to developing a strong relationship. However, that being said, I think that there are thoughts and things you sometimes just have to let go. For instance, here are a few things that you just don’t need to mention on any regular basis:
Mon petit ami went to a wedding in Quebec last weekend so I was chilling hard by myself. And, it was AWESOME. I did a little work, made some good food, had brunch with friends, and cleaned up around the apartment. Well, I cleaned everything except the dishes. I hate doing dishes. And, technically it’s not my job. It’s DISHMAN’s.
Who is DISHMAN, you may ask? Well, I don’t know his exact origin, but he’s my superhero. I believe that he showed up after a particularly ambitious dinner party that I hosted, which used most, if not all, of the dishes, utensils, and cookware that I owned at the time. As a good host, I certainly couldn’t ask my guests to do it, but I was feeling an increasing sense of dread as the dishes began to pile up next to the sink. I was ready to admit defeat and just throw everything in the trash when DISHMAN appeared. It may not be the stuff Hollywood blockbusters are made of, but it was nothing short of a miracle at the time.
Obviously, not in the literal sense – I mean, all it really requires is that you never leave your significant other’s apartment (although, you should definitely be upfront about the fact that you’re homeless, RAY). But, in general, it seems people tend to spend time planning a life together because, you know, IT’S A BIG DEAL. I suppose the more accurate thing to say is, then, that the psychological and emotional process of preparing to move in with someone is incredibly difficult – at least for me.
There’s no way Beyoncé could have known the impact she had when Destiny’s Child released Independent Women, but it’s very difficult for me to imagine relying on anyone else, for anything – let alone sharing my life with them. I haven’t had room-mates for the last two years and even when I had room-mates who I liked very much, I was really glad when those arrangements came to an end.
This is your brain. This is your brain in love.
When you’re in love it’s easy to forget that, unlike some people, you have a brain. Or that you are capable of exercising rational judgement. Or that you were once a sassy, independent, irreverent bitch and you didn’t care what anybody else thought (well, perhaps that’s just me).
However, the earth-shattering, mind-blowing, roller-coaster existence of being in love with someone ain’t got nothin’ on the reality of learning to love someone when you see them being a real human every fucking day, and falling far short of the 100% grade-A hunk you thought you had when you were SO in love (BT dubs, do you think they serve hunk at this weird, lady-themed steakhouse? Gross.)
Getting your live-in boyfriend to propose! Falling for your Unavailable Guy! Turning a play-non-date into something more! Our latest dah guy takes on your burning post-dating questions and gives you cute little nicknames to boot. Let’s get started.
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