Archive for October, 2008


Double Your Standards, Double Your Fun

I believe at this point, I have already admitted at least a dozen times that I am not good at relationships.  Not just the romantic kind either.  Family, friendships, acquaintances – you name it.   So I am not sure whose bright idea it was to move in with my boyfriend.  And I don’t know whose bright idea it was to make him agree to it.

Don’t get me wrong, things could be a lot worse.  Overall, we are both genuinely caring and considerate – necessary traits for two strong willed peeps to share a small one bedroom apartment.   But what I never planned on was discovering what a petty and random bitch I can be.   And how like no one else, I can put the ASS in passive aggressive.   All those little things that you never have the chance to notice when you’re living in your own worlds – how much time you chat online, how often you don’t do laundry, where cum towels go, how smelly bad bowel movements are – are now in your daily realm.  And both of you learn just what you signed up for.  What have I learned?

I am now pissed off when I go into my kitchen.  Not because it’s messy, but because a greater chef has things in it I’m not sure how to use or pronounce.  I beam about my ability to cook and be a healthy bachelor – but now I’m the fast food and lazy minded of a pair.  My turkey burgers and stir fry dishes do not compare to the red curry shrimp or the breakfast quiches.  I used to secretly admire that at least I had more book smarts than my boyfriend, but realized recently that it depends on the type of book you’re referring to.  The amount of cookbooks that now occupy the newly bought extra target super shelf for kitchen related things is intimidating.  I opened one supposedly written by Pam Anderson (until now I did not consider that a common name), to find no hillarious pictures of clevage inbetween glazed cornish hens; but smal type text with recipe after confusing recipe.

When I gave him the card key LONG before he moved in, I felt proud for taking a step.  Now I regret it because every time we approach the door I pull out my old fashioned key only to be outraced by the swipe of his wallet where the key is strategically placed.   Take the card key back, you say?  I don’t mind having a key type key – I just like opening my door.

A friend came over the other evening, and noticed how clean my place looked.  Her surprise saddened me, as I now had to face the fact that I am a relative slob.  Now that I have started to pay attention, my boyfriend has risen the bar on chipping in.   This is a lazy person’s nightmare.  I used to think I ran a pretty tight or at least snug ship.  But now I can see that I ran a loose ship.  Not even a ship, an inflatable summer vacation toy boat.   Now there is a vacuum in the house, always a dish being cooked in and cleaned, new cabinets for stoner organizing tasks that last for hours, and at least bi weekly runs to the garbage and recycling area.

I know I should stop my bitching and appreciate the upgrade in living, but my ego and independence are taking a hit.  I’ve always been able to be loving, compassionate, uplifting, honest, patient, and all that jazz.  But one thing I seem to be allergic to is selflessness.

I am an adventurer, a roamer, a free spirit.   But I am also vulnerable, lonely, and hardening.  I am trying a different take on relationships – one where I don’t run all the time and start integrating my life more.  Practicing being the same me with my family as I am with my man as I am at my work.  But it’s hard to unsplit your personality.  It’s like I rented an apartment but am still staying in the closet, unsure of what to do with this newfound freedom.  So I search for the freedom that I’m used to – casual sex, secrets, drugs, and denial. Not that all of that’s bad, but I can feel myself slipping away.  And this step of moving in together, my latest in a series of jabs at maturing and letting someone in – really in, keeps throwing everything I’ve let myself become back in my face.

So the Sagitarrius in me rebels – longing for the freedom it knew.  And I take it out on the poor one bedroom apartment and the hubby.   Mad at how long he spends online – more because he makes friends in chat as opposed to my just looking for sex.  Pissed that he pushes me to go to the gym, when really I want it.   Upset that a healthy and creative dinner is prepared when i get home from work, because i wanted to cook and complain about it instead.   I get bitter about all the crazy and wild encounters I’m missing, when the best sex partner I’ve ever had is living under the same roof.

Somehow the walls are closing in on me, but I know this is just a stubborn and scared reaction to a whole new world of freedoms opening themselves to me.  We just have to get a bigger apartment.


Couch Potato

So I’m not sure if it’s the self medication, the abundance of stress, the boyfriend move in, but I can’t seem to get off this couch for the life of me.   You don’t understand how ridiculous this really is.  The amount of time I spend daydreaming about life while I ride BART all over the Bay Area for work.  How I come home and want so bad just to let loose.  But I open a beer.  I pack a bowl.  I put on a DVD.  And I plop.  And I remain plopped until it’s time to daydream on BART again.

I think I might be in a co-dependent relationship wih my couch.  And this i not a comfortable couch.   I got this couch on craigslist in 2005 from some hillbilly in Santa Rosa when I moved into my overpriced fancy apartment with my equally broke roommate.   We were excited to have a couch – until we remembered that we were two meaty people.   We would sit and it would not be a welcoming, gentle plunge into a supple and supporting interior.  You would fall fast until your body hit a board that would support you.  Then you would sink in slightly – a sensation you could mistake for comfort, but that was really the couch’s way of trapping your lazy ass enough to ensure a failed escape.

So when you consider the disdain I have for this $20, stained plaid, oversize couch covered heap – why did I move it with me?  And better yet, why has it survived the last 2 years unscathed?  Perhaps because I can stand on the sturdy armrests and stretch and perform Cirque de So Gay.  Perhaps because it puts the style back in doggystyle.  Maybe even because my spine has already caved to its shape.   Either way, I wash my oversized couch cover religiously, tuck in the excess fat folds, and plop two hearty pillows on top of it and beam with pride.  As long as I don’t get into any fights with my boyfriend and have to spend the night on it I should be okay.


October 2008
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