Month: January 2016

The Secret Life of Couples

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

If I read one more of these lists of things you’re not “allowed” to do in front of your significant other, my head is going to explode. Or my insides, if I follow the ridiculous advice they offer, since then apparently I’d never be able to fart ever again. If you have never farted or peed in front of your live-in significant other, I seriously question your relationship. Or perhaps just your ability to tell the truth. Because, COME ON, there is no escaping certain realities.

Recently, I have been seeing more and more of these ridiculous “listicles” floating around titled things like “15 Things You Should NEVER Do In Front Of Your Boyfriend” or  “Things Married Couples Won’t Do In Front Of Each Other – Even After Decades” or “10 Gross Things Not To Do In Front Of Your Boyfriend.”

Let’s forget for a moment what bullshit it is that they all seem to be aimed at WOMEN, basically teaching/threatening them that they can’t keep a partner if they don’t present an attractive enough air of mystery. Let’s try to forget that thread of sexism for now, and actually just look at what terrible expectations they’re creating for both men and women.

These lists are often disguised as a guide in how to “be respectful” to your partner, or the importance of “keeping romance alive” but that’s total crap. I would be willing to bet they are written by mostly single people, or people whose average relationship lifespan is about 3-6 months. Because anyone who has been in a long term relationship and actually lived with that person will have run into basically all of these taboos, and probably blown by them without even thinking about it. So why is no one writing about THAT?

I have decided (and I’m sure Gil is gonna be totally thrilled about this) that I’m going to debunk some of these common “never ever” relationship commandments with examples from my real-life, awesome as shit, cohabitation situation with the man of my dreams. Good thing he doesn’t embarrass easily. Buckle up guys, here we go.

Thou shalt never, ever, ever, ever, under any circumstances poop in front of your significant other.  

I am going to call bullshit on this, pun definitely intended. I mean, I don’t actually want to see Gil poop, and when he forgets to light a match and I’m not expecting it, our bathroom can make my eyes water. But let’s be real – we live in a small condo with ONE bathroom. If he’s indulging in what I call one of his “luxury poops” and is taking foreverrrr, I will for sure pop in to grab whatever it is I need. If I’m sitting there minding my own business and he really needs his contacts, he’ll come in and snag them. News flash: we still want to have sex with each other. Like, a lot. We understand what happens in there and that we are humans with human bodily functions.

Tonight, he even gifted me with one more example. I hadn’t been feeling hot today and Gil knew it. He was in our room with his headphones on playing video games. As I walked through our room to the bathroom, I made a comment to him about the leftovers from dinner. I thought he caught the whole thing and I went about my business, closing the bathroom door (because I suppose we should have SOME boundaries). A full 5 or 10 minutes later, Gil bursts in without even knocking to check on me, literally scaring the shit out of me. As he was playing his game, he started thinking that maybe he hadn’t caught the tail end of what I was saying and that I was sick and needed immediate assistance so he decided to just barge in and make sure I wasn’t dying. Not sure I completely follow the logic, but I’m pretty sure it’s sweet. I think.

Thou shalt never fart or belch in front of each other.

I mean, seriously?? So if you live in a small space with that person, you are supposed to actually put on shoes, and pants, and a bra, and go outside to fart? That fart or belch is going to damage your fragile little relationship so much that you have to go on a field trip to relieve yourself? Sorry pumpkin, you’re not gonna make it to forever.

Gil told me once about how when we were first dating, he would actively hold in his farts, to the point that it was really uncomfortable for him, and when he would finally get in his car to leave, he would just unleash hell on that poor upholstery.  When I asked him when he felt comfortable enough to start letting them rip (because honestly, I can’t remember a time when he didn’t) he said it was immediately after we starting sleeping together. Once we’d gotten that intimate, all bets were off. And that was within the first couple weeks of knowing each other (sorry Mom) so I can’t imagine how he could have continued much longer without doing serious medical damage.

At this point, we both fart freely in front of each other. And yet, we still want to see each other naked and go down on each other. How crazy. I actually have pretty strong feelings about this whole farting in front of your significant other thing… you can read my whole theory on it here.

Thou shalt ever speak of the shame that is menstruation. Or cramps. Or yeast infections.

Obviously this one is aimed directly at the ladies, and the logic behind it (usually from female writers, which bums me out) is that it’s gross, and no man wants to hear about it. That “place” is supposed to be a special, wonderful playground for him and if you tarnish it with the idea you might be a human woman with human woman issues, it’s not going to be as appealing to him. If that’s your approach to vaginas, you should just buy a fleshlight or save up for one of those real dolls, and call it a day. Real lady vaginas have things going on up in there. And if I’m miserable and grumpy because I’m expelling part of my uterus in a bloody mess, or have a yeast infection that won’t quit, then yeah, I’m going to tell Gil. Because then he’ll probably make me tea and ask if I need ibuprofen, cuz he’s awesome. Because healthy couples support each other.

tampons

As a side note, I don’t understand how you can possibly have a fun, adventurous sex life if you think this way, because in order to try new things you really do need to completely trust your partner and be OK with all the different bodily functions that can happen. And guys? You really need to get over it if you aren’t comfortable listening to any of this. Because first of all, you should be a caring human being who wants to help take care of the person you love and help make her more comfortable if possible. And second of all, the more you understand about a woman’s body, the more able you will be to actually please that woman, and I don’t know about the rest of you, but orgasms are a pretty important part of my relationship.

 Thou shalt never, ever, allow your partner to see you removing any of your unsightly body hair. Do that shit in private.

Another one that is targeting women in particular. On not one of these lists have I seen a “never ever” commandment about men shaving their face. But you gotta wax your upper lip, or pluck your eyebrows, or shave your bikini line? Lock the door and hide the evidence after you’re done. He wants to enjoy the finished product, but wants no part in understanding what went into it. Kind of like eating hot dogs.

OK, story time. Once upon a time, early on in our relationship, Gil noticed the hairs on my chin (thanks for that, PCOS). I usually wax or pluck them, but it’s not really at the very top of my priority list. He started referring to them as my “little beard” – lucky for him I have a sense of humor. So when he asks where I’m going as I head out the door to the salon, I tell him I’m off to wax my eyebrows and beard. Now he pretends to be sad when it’s gone, staring wistfully at my newly smooth  chin. It’s entertaining for both of us.

And another thing… I would not hesitate to trim my lady garden in front of him either. He’s intimately familiar with the area, so I don’t see how actually seeing it being trimmed could even be a blip on the radar.

Thou shalt never bring up past sexual partners or, even worse, discuss your…. number.

Oh for fuck sake. Really? Are we that insecure? Are you not being an adult and having a conversation about your sexual history and STD screening before you hop in bed together? Gil and I know about each others past – it was never awkward, or even one specific conversation that I can recall. I know which of his exes he’s still friends with, and he knows I whored it up in college after my brother died. We talked STD’s on our third date. Jealousy is just not a part of the equation, and there is no need to try to protect anyone’s feelings. It’s life. It’s what made me who I am, and what made Gil who he is. Why wouldn’t we share that with each other?

The reality is, laying yourself out raw and vulnerable to another person is one of the scariest, most exhilarating experiences a person can have. To be completely, unapologetically yourself in front of the person you love, and to have them embrace all of you (flaws included), is a rare gift. Gil and I dropped our bottom lines pretty quick – we talked religion and kids during our first lunch, which I wasn’t even sure was a date. By our official first date (which turned into a whole weekend btw) we had shared even more.

So what are a couple of burps or period cramps between people so close to one another? Why would we care about that kind of trivial shit? I care that he’d protect me against anything, and that he sees the beauty in me even when I don’t. I care that we support each other in our life decisions and know we can count on each other no matter what. Opening the door while he’s pooping to grab my phone doesn’t change any of that.

And for any of the people writing those articles who actually DO believe in what they’re writing, I feel sorry for them. Because putting up those ridiculous walls and expectations means you’re spending more time trying to hide who you are, instead of actually focusing on sharing yourself with your partner and just living. I mean, relationships are hard – you better have a partner who is all in. And life is too short to walk outside every time you need to fart. Seriously.

And this is why I should never (by never I mean ALWAYS) go shopping with my mother

/ Courtney / 1 Comment

I have to buy a new car. Gil and I are planning to move to Colorado this summer, and I have to have a car that can handle the snow – I don’t think my Hyundai Veloster is going to hack it.

I started thinking about this last year and narrowed it down to 2 different cars. One was practical and had an amazing safety rating. And the other got about half the gas mileage and was apparently discontinued this year because they would have had to overhaul it for “regulatory reasons” involving safety and they decided it wasn’t worth it. Too bad – it came in bright yellow and would have been wonderfully obnoxious.

On the plus side, it helped narrow down my choice. I’d already test driven the non-deathtrap one, knew I loved it, and a few weeks ago made the mental decision I was going to buy it before spring. But before I could really pull the trigger, I had to make sure Gil would be comfortable in it since I make him drive a lot. Like when the roads are windy. Or it’s dark. Or raining a lot. Or there is red wine.

So I dragged him to the dealership on a Saturday and made him sit in it and then test drive it. The only acceptable answer when your partner has decided something already and is just looking for your seal of approval is obviously “I love it!” Unless of course it’s so uncomfortable it’s pinching nerves or something. I’m not sure Gil ever actually got that memo. He said that of all the crossover-type SUV’s, this was the “least hideous” and he had enough room for his 6’3″ frame, so I’m gonna choose to hear that as “I love it!” Side note: I bought my tiny Hyundai almost exactly a year before I met Gil – the fact he’s been bending himself into a pretzel for the past few years has always made me feel a little guilty, so I’m really happy to be upgrading to something with more space.

While we were on the lot, the guy was talking about the different trim levels, as sales guys do, and we were walking through what was important to me. I think you should probably know that I’ve been working in sales for a decade, and yet I am still the EASIEST person in the world to upsell. I can’t explain it. (Actually I think I CAN, but it’s probably got something to do with endorphins and a shopping addiction, and I figure it’s best not to pull at that thread.)

But apparently these guys don’t actually work on commission at this dealer group, so he was super low-pressure. Actually recommended I not get the highest trim level, since the biggest difference is leather upholstery and heated seats and I said those weren’t important to me.

Until I got home and launched into what is one of my greatest gifts – rationalizing spending more money. I do this on vacations too, but basically the thinking goes “If I’m going to be spending ‘X’ (X being a significant amount of money) on this, it really makes sense to just spend 10-20% more to get what I REALLY want instead of just settling. It would be irresponsible to spend that kind of money and not fully enjoy it.” I mean, I’m pretty persuasive. I can pretty much upsell myself – the sales guys don’t even have to work me over.

I called my mom that night, and she knew we had been looking at cars that day. First thing out of her mouth when she answered the phone: “Well, how’s the new car?” SHE GETS ME. I told her I just had to make a final decision about important things like heated seats, and she reminded me that my wimpy California ass will not be used to cold weather and it was definitely worth thinking about.

So I started dreaming about heated leather seats in the snowy tundra of Colorado and all of sudden I had sold myself into the highest trim level. Gil happened to hear snippets of my internal sales pitch to myself later that night, followed by my announcement that I was going to go back the next day and buy the damn thing. He suggested I wait a week before making any rash decisions. Because according to him, I make impulsive decisions when it comes to shopping.

“Excuse me??” I practically squawked at him. “You may not realize it, but I NEVER make impulsive decisions. I internalize my thought process and research and mull it over for quite awhile. Only once I’ve gone through that whole process do I reach a PRACTICAL decision. And I just happen to be someone who acts very quickly once a decision has been made.” It was a beautiful monologue, full of passion and conviction. I mean, that’s how I heard it. I was totally convinced by the time I was done with myself. He basically just rolled his eyes and walked away.

I was fully prepared to ignore that kind of crazy talk, but that week as I was running errands and dreaming about my car, I called my mom to see if she wanted to go to Bed Bath & Beyond with me since there were a few things I needed. OK, see, so the thing is…. the “beyond” part of Bed Bath & Beyond is actually kind of amazing these days. There is stuff that you didn’t even realize you NEEDED until you actually see it. It’s more dangerous than Target.

We’re working our way around the store, and I’m finding gems like full fur throw pillows that would actually tie in really well with the blanket I just bought. And Gil and I are always fighting over the 3 tiny pillows on our massive couch, so really those pillows would be practical AND benefit our relationship. My mom totally agreed. I had the self-restraint not to buy any (very reasonably priced) wall art that we have no room for in our condo so if anything, Gil should be impressed with my lack of impulse purchasing. If I gave into all the impulses I actually have, I’d have to get another storage unit.

Gil keeps telling me to stop buying things and bringing them into the house since we’re going to have to pack and move all this shit in the near future. Pfffft. I have a system for that. I just leave my purchases at my parents’ house and then have them give them to me as “gifts” for different holidays. No way he can tell me I can’t accept a gift FROM MY PARENTS without looking like a total ass. My parents are seriously the best. Also, I think there is a chance Gil might figure out my brilliant plan now.

So anyway, back to BB&B. We were making our final lap around the store when I saw it. A plastic toy with the words “HUNGRY BEAR” across the box – inside was a (duh) hungry bear with a huge open mouth, see-through belly and big pink dangling tongue. With an air gun to shoot yellow balls in its mouth. And it made noise. And it was on clearance. Plus my mom reminded me I had a 20% off coupon. It would have been irresponsible NOT to jump on something like that. I mean, Gil’s really had a stressful year, and I figured this might bring out the child in him and make him laugh a little. Basically, if I didn’t buy it, I’d be a bad girlfriend and I just couldn’t live with that. So into the cart it went.

hungry bear

hungry bear in action

As we were walking to the check out counter, I looked down at my cart. Full of fur pillows and a giant brown bear with a gun. And I thought…. maybe Gil has a point.

But then my mom reminded me I should spend my money however I want and I snapped right out of it and marched right to the register.

Basically the moral of the story is that I should always take my mom with me when I go shopping. When I head to the car dealership and have to make the final decision to sign on the dotted line, she’s the one I’m bringing with me.

Bah-Humbug?

/ Courtney / Leave a comment

We just rang in the new year, and for the second consecutive year, I didn’t have any decorations up in my home, except for one lone rhinestone Noel sign that I found on clearance a few weeks ago.

Which, in case you have never seen the inside of my house in December, is a really big deal. Actually, assuming you HAVEN’T seen my house in December, here is an idea of the level of obnoxious Christmas decorating that happens:

pink christmas tree

It’s bright, it’s tacky, it’s full of Christmas spirit. I love my pink Christmas tree more than pretty much any other decoration I own, which is an impressive distinction to hold, considering I have a 3 foot dancing snowman that sings “I’m Gonna Lasso Santa Claus” and twirls a real live lasso – don’t question it, just trust me – it’s awesome.

But both of them sit in my storage unit along with the rest of my equally ostentatious Christmas decor, boxed up and probably feeling slightly forgotten.

I have lived in a lot of different places over the last 10 years, but I always decorate for Christmas – it’s one of my very favorite times of year. Last year was the first year that I didn’t unpack all my boxes and turn my tiny living room into my version of a winter wonderland.

We spent Christmas in Paris, so while I didn’t get my fill of decorations at home, Paris was like one big Christmas display on steroids. I was in heaven; Gil literally could not care less. He let me drag him through Christmas markets and waited while I ogled their legendary window displays, but I definitely had to be careful about overdoing it on Christmas cheer, since that is so not his thing.

christmas in paris

I had a really valid excuse not to bother decorating last year, but I think it might have set off a bit of a pattern.

This year, I used the same excuse in another form – my parents and I went to Turks and Caicos for Christmas (rough life, I know), and once again it seemed like a lot of work to put it all together when I was going to be spending Christmas on a beach surrounded by palm trees instead of pine trees. Especially since Gil would prefer no decorations, and he was the one who was going to be in the condo for Christmas, not me.

But really, it’s not like I need to have an excuse not to decorate – the only one I could possibly be letting down by not decorating would be me. I have lived alone most of my adult life, and the lengths I went to in transforming my various apartments over the years was purely for my own enjoyment. That, and I like to entertain, so it was always fun to show it off when I had people over.

But something has shifted, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. This year in particular, I just never seemed to get into the Christmas spirit. Normally, I legitimately feel like this is the most magical time of the year, but this year I couldn’t seem to capture those feelings. Maybe it’s just because I was travelling at Christmas again, or maybe part of it is because I live with someone who legitimately hates Christmas and it’s starting to impact how I feel about the holiday season. Gil CAN’T STAND anything Christmas related, which if I’m being totally honest with myself, kind of breaks my heart a little.

He tolerated the bedazzled Christmas explosion that happened in my condo the first year we lived together, mostly I think because he had only moved in a few months before, and was still in that “I’m not going to say anything that could fuck this up” phase. Years later, he is much more comfortable, and much more… vocal.

I get it – he was raised Jehovah’s Witness, so growing up his family never celebrated Christmas. He didn’t have the same experience I did as a child – the excitement of Christmas morning, the anticipation leading up to Christmas Day, and how hard it was to fall asleep on Christmas Eve. His family had other traditions, but none of them had anything to do with Christmas itself. So as an adult, Gil just has no connection to Christmas and finds any kind of Christmas decoration, or music, or movie, to be unbearable.

And it has nothing to do with current religious affiliation – Gil is not religious in any way so is free to celebrate whatever he chooses. He just abhors traditional Christmas celebrations.

As I feel my own Christmas spirit slipping away this year, I’m realizing that I am struggling a bit with our polar opposite positions on the holiday. He certainly doesn’t have to participate in Christmas in any way, and it would be unfair of me to expect him to. It would be about as fair as him expecting me to listen to death metal because it’s something he loves.

But we are going to have to come up with some sort of compromise on his level of Grinch, because I refuse to lose all my December magic.

The reality is, it’s just going to be me and him for the long haul. Since I lost my brother and I don’t have any other siblings, it’s just me and my parents. No grandparents, no local extended family. And now that I’m with Gil, he is my family.

Part of starting your own family is creating new traditions together. It’s something I’ve always looked forward to. And since we never (ever) want kids, our “family” is me and Gil, on our own. Not being able to create those traditions together is essentially a loss I have to mourn. I mean, he’s not a monster – OF COURSE he comes to my parents’ house on holidays when I ask him to, and he would never ask me not to put up decorations, but I know he’s really just tolerating those things for me, not actually enjoying them.

I know there are going to be countless traditions we build for ourselves, especially once we make the move to Colorado and hopefully buy our first home together. There will be many firsts, and a lot of memories to make. But sharing in the joy and excitement of Christmas is just never going to be one of them.

I am going to have to find a way to rediscover my own Christmas spirit and enjoy it myself, alongside a partner who does love me unconditionally, even if he will never, ever, ever, let me blast Christmas music through our house and help me decorate my very pink tree.