Evening in alone

So, this is my first evening in on my own since moving in with a man. It was nice and quiet. I made some popcorn, watched a movie, and continued knitting my skirt (like the first one this one is taking me forever… hopefully it’ll be ready for Easter). He’s gone to hang out at a once-weekly computer group that he’s been wanting to go to for 2 weeks now but never made it (too exhausted, not in the mood for new people), this time, though, he went and took an old computer with him (just the tower) and his little EeePC. He took the subway there, even though I offered to take him by car, simply because he said it didn’t really make a difference because the distances he would have had to carry the big heavy computer would have been the same. So off he went. And in a good mood, too. This should improve his mood for several days and satisfy his desire for input from his peer group, as he was planning to ask for some help on a couple of projects he’s been working on at home.

It’s a quarter to 11 now. I’m going to make myself a hot-water bottle and go to bed. He-who-lugged-the big-old-computer-on-the-subway should be back around midnight.

Boxes

The most important boxes have been moved: the ones with the books in them.
(I have more books, but they’re at my mom’s house, because I hadn’t yet found room for them at my previous apartment.)

I love my books. I’ve read some of them more than 5 times (yes, I’m that sort of person).
And now I’ve taken the books and put them away. They look very cramped. Shakespeare’s Othello is next to Terry Pratchett’s The Fifth Elephant; Edward Said’s Orientalism is next to Santa vs. Satan by Jake Kalish; and of course, Candace Bushnell’s Sex and the City (which is very different from the TV series) is packed next to Jasper Fforde’s The Eyre Affair. Agreed, I’m missing some of the great works of literature in my collection, but I do have a Tolstoy and a Dostoyevsky in there too. As well as some non-fiction works on linguistics, dictionaries, and grammar books. I have three collections of poems by my friend Scott Hightower. Some contemporary Latino poetry. But most of it is fantasy literature. Anyway. I like how when I look at them it’s like a weird cross-section through my likes and dis-likes.

I’ve started unpacking some of the other boxes and one of the first things I did was re-evaluate whether I wanted some of the stuff I’d packed. More stuff got thrown away. Hurrah! But now clothes and photo albums are strewn on the living-room floor and it’s not cozy anymore but just messy so I need to tidy up urgently.

Shopping Together

We do the big grocery shopping for the week together on Saturday afternoons. I have a pass for a wholesale place and he just loves going there: you can buy in bulk, they sell all kinds of stuff including electronic devices and household appliances (there are no Wal-Marts where we live… supermarkets only stock food and every-day supplies like tampons, toilet paper, etc.), and most important of all: it’s usually empty.

Because He-who-carries-the-heavy-things is the one preparing most of the meals, he also needs to be there when it comes to buying food. I must admit I am a very un-inspired grocery shopper. I can buy according to a list, but when it comes to standing there and deciding what it is we are going to need and what ingredients we need to buy and what we are going to make with them I fail. I think it’s the creation of a menu that stumps me, because as soon as I’m told what we are going to eat I know more or less which ingredients are needed. Anyway, he’s really good at coming up with the answer to “what are we going to eat?”. So it’s great to have him come along and decide what to buy and to just look at random stuff like different kinds of straws, or microwave ovens with an extra hot plate on top.

It takes us about an hour to meander through all the aisles. Then we fill the car (currently a mini-van) with groceries, drive home and he carries most of the stuff (about twice as much as I do) up the four flights of stairs. We’ve basically given up on buying water and juices because they are just too heavy. Instead we use syrups and powders for mixing with tap water. And we drink lots of tea.

Two weeks ago we went to IKEA and bought some glass containers for our teas (it looks a lot nicer than just having them sit there in plastic bags). We also bought some frames to hang the Aboriginal art my mom gave me and some baby-fotos of both him and me. But what really made that trip to IKEA decisive for me was that we both had a lot of fun. It was a Saturday, around noon. The place was packed. We had lunch there (which was good). We did not let the crowds bother us (it’s the individuals in the crowd that get to me). We took our time. We stood in line for forever at the cash-register and spent that time discussing other people’s purchases. And we successfully purchased everything we needed. It was a very positive bonding experience. And it didn’t really take anything special.

Turbulent Tuesday

This morning He-who-makes-me-dinner woke up in a foul mood. He didn't want to go to work; he'd slept for about 12 hours (fell asleep at 8PM); had a really long shower; and was generally feeling despondent.
So I made him breakfast, made him laugh at least once by being silly, and, wonder of wonders, he was silly too for a brief moment.
Then I tidied up a bit, put laundry to wash, changed the towels, and had lunch. After lunch I went to my old apartment and re-packed some of the boxes (packing all of the heavy books and binders in one box was not smart of me). I carried said boxes down to my car and took them home. Where I took one box upstairs (we live on the fourth flour in a turn of the century walk-up) and decided to leave the others in the car for when hubby comes home.
And lo, he came home in a relatively good mood and decided he needed the evening for himself to work on some private coding projects. But not before he'd made me dinner (broccoli and beef). So I went out with a guy friend from back in highschool and had a good time. And I've just come back home and He-who-warms-my-feet-at-night was happy and had made some progress on his project and we are off to brush teeth and go to bed. So, good night!

Mani-Pedis

A while back (just a couple of months ago) my mom said that I needed to start getting regular mani-pedis because, you know, now that I’m living with a man I need to look after myself and stuff. And I laughed! Because I know that she’s right in a way, but he couldn’t care less whether my nails were polished or not. As long as I keep them tidy (short or long) he doesn’t really care. What he does appreciate is when I shave my legs (but he doesn’t get upset if I don’t) and when I put on some make-up to go out (he really likes it when I put on perfume… he’s a “taste and smell” kinda guy). And what I appreciate is that if he doesn’t like what I’m wearing, he will tell me. But he’ll also tell me if he really likes what I’m wearing without me prompting him. Basically he appreciates any effort I make in the department of physical maintenance. So my mom is right but she’s also wrong. He’s been feeling unfulfilled in his job recently and he’s starting to question how things are done or the decisions that are made. So I think he also appreciates someone who will listen and try to understand what his problems are. Even if he has to dumb it down sometimes. He’s interested in lots of things, but what has been interesting him a lot lately is the issue of ownership of ideas and culture: copyright, patents, and modes of distribution. So we’ll have discussions about that. And I like having someone who will have stimulating conversations with me without getting angry or adamant or dogmatic and who then will laugh with me over something on YouTube. And he likes throwing ideas around or joint internet-searches where we try to better understand certain issues. He understands when I get mad at the news and start talking to the radio (usually I’ll start insulting politicians or financial experts). He listens when I read an article from the newspaper out loud. We watch serious movies together. We watch silly movies together. We take each other seriously. We have fun together.

Why living together is great

We’ve been living together for 10 months next week and somehow it never gets old. I like when he comes home. I like when he makes me something to eat. I like the fact that when I change the bedclothes it’s not just for me but for someone else too. I like going for walks with him and discussing the problems of the world and then coming home and reminding him to put the toilet seat back down. I like having someone there when I feel like suddenly I need to talk to somebody before falling asleep. I like being in the same room as him and not saying anything, watching him do something on his computer or reading a book, while I look around and feel this great contentment at being able to share my life with somebody who likes sharing his life with me. I like that he wants to open up a joint bank account. That is the single most grown-up thing that I will have done until then. And the day we get cloth napkins is the day that we will have crossed a threshold into adulthood and we won’t be able to go back again. It’s just really all very exciting! And I love it! And he does too! Sometimes we will look at each other and grin and say something like “Isn’t this just the greatest?! Our lives are so good! We are so blessed!” And then he invited two of his friends for dinner last week; and he made an entire goose with stuffing and Blaukraut (red cabbage) and Klöße (potato dumplings) and it was just fantastic and everybody was so happy; we even ate at the table I inherited from my great aunt Jeanne, and we used the pink floral tablecloth, and it felt so good!

before we move my stuff

Now, like I said, after going on vacation together we agree that I will move in with him. But first.
But first he needs to make room for me. So we tidy up the place. We move stuff into his basement. We put stuff in boxes. We put his clothes in his closet. Boxes are labeled. A neighbor is moving out so we put some stuff out on the curb with her stuff and whatever the neighborhood hasn’t taken with them is picked up by the municipal.
It takes us several weekends to free his bedroom from all kinds of clutter (we’ve been sleeping on his sofa-bed because his bed is only big enough for one person). Then we move my bed into the bedroom. Of course, in the process we have managed to clutter up the living room (which we had been sleeping in until then) with all the boxes and things that we haven’t decided what to do with yet.
Then we go and start fixing up my place (the wallpaper is peeling). That is a stop-and-go project. Peel off all the wallpaper. That takes up one and a half weekends. Put plaster on the walls and let dry. Re-tile part of the bathroom. Put up wallpaper. You get the picture. It takes forever. And we don’t really finish with that until mid-January (Also I went to Australia for 3 weeks in December… so… no renovations took place then.)
In December his parents came to visit and his sister was supposed to sleep at our place. So… we needed to tidy up the living room! Aaaargh! That took another 3 days. But in the end it looked really good and we were mighty proud of ourselves.
Of course as of right now (mid-January 2009) I haven’t moved all of my stuff out of my old apartment because it’s cold and snowy and I’m lazy and stuff. Also my lease doesn’t end until end of February… so… I’m procrastinating. Mainly because everything that isn’t in boxes needs to be taken to the recycling place where they will shred all the paper stuff and recycle all the jars I have etc. And that is an extra trip just for the junk and ugh!

I did not sneak into his life

The situation was as follows:
In my apartment: no food, an empty bed, no more underpants.
In his apartment: a full fridge, somebody to cuddle with, all my underpants.

We get up together, brush teeth together, spend the day apart, meet up at his place (I got a key after just two weeks), he makes me dinner or we go out, we talk and watch movies together, we go to bed and talk some more, and finally, we fall asleep together.

Now, before I am accused of sneaking my way into some unsuspecting man’s life and apartment, I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I always behaved as if I was visiting. An extended visit, agreed. Nevertheless I made sure not to interfere with his life in his cave. So when he left the toilet seat up I didn’t say anything; I did my laundry at home; and all the stuff I had at his place could have been packed within 5 minutes or less. Also: I didn’t do extensive cleaning. Once in a while I’d remove the long dark hairs that were obviously mine (he’s blond) from the bathroom floor. I’d do the dishes. I’d water plants. You know, nothing big. No vacuuming, no dusting, not even sweeping.

And then the following took place on day in June
He and She are brushing teeth one morning.
She (more to herself): Oh man! I need to do some laundry. I’ve run out of clean socks.
He: Why didn’t you just put them to wash?
She: Because I haven’t been home in a while.
He: What do you mean you haven’t been home in a while? Why do you need to go home to wash socks?
She: Well, because I prefer my socks machine washed… they just feel cleaner… maybe I’m weird and it’s all just psychological, but that’s just the way I feel about washing socks.
He: Well, why do you go to your place to do your laundry? I have a machine right here.
She: Because I didn’t want to just go ahead and use it and I’ve got a machine at home and it seemed kinda imposing to just use your machine and, well, I’d never really thought about it… I just felt it might be kinda rude to just use your machine…
He: You’re funny! Use my machine. Please.
She: Really? Ok. Are you sure? I mean it’s no big deal.
He: Yes. I’m sure. Use this machine. Here are the instructions. If there’s room you can do some of my socks as well.

Reader, I did my laundry at his place with his machine and his detergent. And of course he profited from the fact that I did his laundry with mine. But I profited from the fact that I didn’t have to drive to my apartment and start a load, wait for it to finish and then hang it up to dry before coming back to the place I wanted to be.
So you see: I was invited to use the washing machine as if it were my own. And to go through his laundry and to throw out those socks that had ceased to fully cover a foot.

A few weeks later we were at the pub and a female friend of ours complained that her boyfriend sometimes forgot that he wasn’t supposed to urinate standing up. And He asked her why the poor boyfriend had to pee sitting down. And she said that it was for hygienic reasons. And He was shocked: there were fellow men out there having to sit down to urinate. And He turned to me and asked whether, in time, he too would be forced to sit while urinating. And I answered that I didn’t care either way as long as he remembered to put down the toilet seat. And a male acquaintance interjected by incredulously asking us if people seriously didn’t put the seat and cover down each time. And so we had the toilet seat discussion. Which was quick and painless.

He: You want me to put the toilet seat down after I’ve put it up?
She: Yes. Because you need it up and down. I just need it down.
He: But Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?
She: Because it’s your apartment; I’m just staying over.
He: But I want you to tell me these things if they bother you.
She: Well, now you know. Also your toilet isn’t really clean.
He: It is kinda disgusting. I’ll clean it tomorrow. And I’ll try to remember to put the toilet seat down. But I can’t promise that I’ll be able to remember every time.

And thus concludes the short toilet seat discussion.
I never knew it could be this easy. And all this before I had agreed to move in with him.

Beginnings

This is an account of me (f, 27) moving in with a man (28) and us living together.

The story begins in March 2008 when I finally got it together and told this guy I’d been hanging out with at the local watering hole that I really fancied him. Then we went out a couple of times to determine what exactly it was that we were getting ourselves into (“So are we aiming for a relationship or is this just to pass the time?”) and after about the third or fourth time that I slept over at his place I just kept on sleeping there. I know! Radical move, right? Not really. Although most people and relevant literature on the topic would advise you not to crowd him and to give him enough space and to respect that space, I decided to just do what I wanted to do. And that was to be where he was (except at work, though that was not for lack of wanting).

At the same time, however, I kept my apartment. Just in case. And week after week I reminded him, that if I ever did get on his nerves or if he ever wanted to have his apartment to himself for a while, all he’d have to do was tell me, and I’d go back to my place for a day or two. And you know what? He did want his place to himself for a while. Mostly just for a couple of hours. Which was easy. I’d go out with friends and he’d stay in and play guitar, code, or surf the web. All it took was a couple of hours and he’d miss me again.

After a few months he said he wanted me to move in with him. Which took me by surprise. Why would he want me to move in with him if he had all the benefits of me living with him plus the bonus of me being able to sleep elsewhere? Also: we had only been going out for about three months. This was getting really serious real quick. So I proposed that we first go on vacation together before moving in together. Just as a litmus test. Long story short: in late August we went on an 18-day vacation to visit some relatives and friends of mine. We had a fight (our first fight) and we got over it. And when we got back we re-evaluated our relationship; he said he still wanted me to move in with him and I agreed to do so. This was in mid-September.