After living with women for years, I tried a new living situation. The women that I was lucky enough to live with throughout college were warm, wonderful women who I did not appreciate or spend as much time with as I should have, but with whom I still enjoyed spending my time. When I graduated college, a lot of living options weren’t feasible and I didn’t want to move home because my job was in PA and I’d been living on my own for a few years at that point, so I moved in with a good friend that I’d known for years that also needed a roommate. It just so happened that he’s a guy. Now, this was something that I did not think about twice as being out of the ordinary, but thanks to all of the double takes that I get from everyone outside of our core friends’ group, apparently it is.
I couldn’t begin to count the amount of times someone has asked me one of the following:
“Wait, are you married?”
No, this is a turquoise ring on my finger. And ahahahaha me, married? Is that a joke? I hope it is. Please tell me it is.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
No. Just…no. We’ve been told we bicker like he could be, and we totally do sometimes, but he and I have only ever been friends and that’s just how it works, folks.
“Is he gay?”
Wait, what? How did we jump to that conclusion? Okay, well, no. Unless you count the night that he and a mutual male friend of ours laid in his bed whining about how they wished the other was a woman. There’s also the obligatory “are you a lesbian” question I get asked and the answer is also “Wait, what? How did we jump to that conclusion? Okay, well, no.” Unless you count that one night where I was basically humping all over the living room moaning about how lonely I was and he just kind of ignored me and ate venison.
“How does he bring women home?”
Uh, by a car, usually. I don’t really need to know how else. Basically, we have a pact that if one person wakes the other up for a reason like the aforementioned, the disgruntled person is allowed to run screaming into the other’s room, jump on top of them, and spank them whilst yodeling. That terrifying visual has kept us both in check. That, and to be honest, he and I are both pretty good about being respectful vis a vis our romantic/sexual lives. Except when I run around in a sports bra singing, “Someone’s getting laaaaaiiid,” but, he doesn’t change the toilet paper roll so I call it even.
“Do you get along?”
No, we’re miserable. Can’t stand each other, argue all day. Actually, we get along really well (at least from my perspective – maybe he calls me ‘squash twat’ behind my back…yes I just made that up). I think we’ve only ever fought once and that was because I was being emotional and refusing to communicate like an adult. Granted, he works third shift now Monday – Friday night and I work a constantly changing schedule, but usually 2nd shift and weekends. So we don’t see each other much. It’s a lot like living alone, but with a little help. He’s reliable too, not that all of my other roommates haven’t been, because they have, but it can be hard to find reliable people to live with after college and I’ve been lucky. Basically, I can sum up our friendship using Tangled pictures:
I may or may not have been dying of laughter every time I posted another photo but anyway, I guess I just never thought it was weird to live with someone of the opposite gender. Even my very understanding parents have asked me multiple times if something was going on between he and I, thought not recently. They saw the burnt kitchen dish towels floating around our kitchen (his doing, not mine) and knew that he and I would never get along romantically. Some of our friends have even had an ongoing bet that we would hook up. Like with money. Which, if any of you are reading this, give up. There may have been a night wherein he laid in bed yelling, “I’m drunk! Have sex with me! We won’t tell anyone!” And I responded, “Shut up! Buy a fleshlight!” And proceeded to tell everyone about it and now write about it in a blog post. I win.
This is also how I get myself into trouble. I am, thanks to years of hanging out mostly with fraternity gentlemen and sexually and otherwise liberated women, a very open person. The word “clitoris” doesn’t make my soul cry, or whatever saying that does more sheltered people. Not that one’s better than the other, and not that I run around screaming, “CLITORIS” near public parks, but it’s how I’ve always been and how I have a tendency to act: silly, vaguely inappropriate, and very very blunt. I feel bad, because recently it led to a friend thinking I was being inappropriate with her (as I call it) “man thing”. While I clarified and explained and it’s all worked out, I still feel guilty because I unintentionally caused someone else to distrust me. And that’s an area of my life I have tried to outgrow, and still work on today. But I think that personality trait is what makes my roommate and I get along so well. I don’t freak out when he walks out of the bathroom naked right when I’m standing at the base of the stairs (not that that’s happened more than…twice). Usually, I just dissolve into freakish laughter and perhaps cat call a little bit.
While my longterm living situation is definitely hazy due to he and I both being young, ambitious, and single college graduates, as of now it’s going pretty well. And anytime he tries to eat my food without asking, I just threaten to put a mouse in his room while he’s sleeping and block the door.
He’s terrified of mice.
That’s all for now. Life’s good.