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Tuesday, November 10, 2009

The Big Damn Guide To Cohabitation

When you are first dating, you have infinite patience towards each other. Sure, some things annoy each of you about the other but you can overcome that minor shit, right?

I'll bet she even likes your pad, right? Wrong. From the very first nanosecond she was in your living quarters, she was scoping it out and making mental notes about what shit will change, what new shit she will be adding, and what shit you love the most that will soon be sitting in a dumpster.

Yeah...when you live together, she makes the calls.

Herein is your official BDF guide to romantic cohabitation.

Because we are friends, I am going to lay it all down with brutal honesty. Basically, everything you have heard up until this point is amazingly incorrect. You have been lied to. No shit.

The truth is more complex. And in some ways, way shittier.

For instance, if you are a male you will never ever ever get to pick out your own furniture again. While you might want an egg chair for the sweet maneuver of slowly revolving around in the chair petting a white cat and carefully explaining your devious plans ala Ernst Stavro Blofeld, your partner is far more likely to want a divan. And you won't get to put your feet up on it because it is too classy.

You know how awesome you think it would be to fuck in a waterbed? Yeah....you don't get one. You are going to have a queen sized bed that may or may not have a canopy. Good luck getting in the mood in that thing. It is almost as if the designers were specifically attempting to create an anti-fuck zone. If so, well played sirs. You have achieved your stated goals.

On the upside, sex in a waterbed actually isn't cool at all. It is twice the work. And fucking shouldn't be work. Of course, I'm sure you all know this because Big Damn Fans rake in the poozle like nobody's business. Right?

Remember how you always dreamed of getting together with all the other married guys and having a poker, beer, and possibly pornography night every week? Yeah...less so that and far more so the Oprah book club. Enjoy your Steinbeck, Doyle Brunson.

Also, no matter how morbidly obese your lady gets, she will still judge you on what you eat and call you fat when you begin to show faint signs of love handles. Is it fair? Fuck no. But she controls The Down South Mouth so you will have to just deal with it. Enjoy your gym membership. Or your Bowflex.

You will never look like this dude

You know how guys move into a place and wherever they initially put their shit, that is where that shit will live forever? Not so much women. They live for redesigning and rearranging.

Prepare to move furniture. Often. It probably wouldn't hurt to get that Bowflex, actually.

One thing you have heard that is absolutely true is this: what's hers is hers and what's yours is hers. Fact. It blows.

You used to own stuff. That was the shit she made you throw out or give to the Salvation Army the first week she moved in. Remember that stuff? That was some cool stuff, wasn't it?

Sure, your friends are fucking with you now. Making comments about how girlified your apartment is now...but one day someone will actually want to live with them. And then their worlds will be turned upside down.

Of course, you won't really be able to laugh about it because you will be too busy helping your girlfriend redesign the living room for the fourth time that year.

Good luck!

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