Dialogue About Consideration For Others

- One week before my boyfriend's birthday. Me and Mom in her car. -

Mom: What are you and [Boyfriend] doing for his birthday?

Me: I'm going to buy him all of his favorite food.

Mom: Aw, that's sweet.

Me: That way, his face will be stuffed so he can't say anything stupid, and it will be less likely that I will yell at him on his birthday.

Mom: I'm surprised you allow him to talk at all.

Me: I know, but I'm trying to train him.

Mom: How so?

Me: For one, I told him he can't ever be gross like Dad.

Mom: How are you going to enforce that?

Me: Whenever Dad says something gross, I look at [Boyfriend] and say NO.

Mom: Hm, that's smart, but it won't last.

Me: It will. He can't say anything gross, until we have children, when they are little and think fart jokes are funny.

Mom: Until!

Me: What?

Mom: Until! You said until!

Me: What?

Mom: I knew it! Dad told me you were only lying about not wanting kids to mess with me!

Me: I meant if I accidentally get pregnant and decide to keep it.

Mom: Until!

Me: If I accidentally get pregnant and decide to keep it.

Mom: You think that annoys me, but it doesn't! I'm pro-choice.

Me: - Then why aren't you pro-my choice? -

Short Blog on How Territorial I Am

When Roommate 1 (mentioned in previous blogs) had two kittens in our apartment, they spent the first two weeks peeing on everything. Her bed, her floor, our kitchen floor, the stuffed animals I had on the couch, the couch itself, Roommate 1 while she slept on the couch as the kittens peed on the couch, and our shoes. Somehow, they always had enough pee to also leave large, damp spots in their litter boxes, and I wondered at how big their bladders could be, in such tiny bodies.

I can proudly say that now I get it.

Possibility #1) The kittens were mad at Roommate 1 for naming them after lovers from her favorite movie, Stardust. Even though they were found as strays, clearly the cats were brother and sister. If my mom had done that to me and my little brother, I would have peed on more than just my bed a couple times and the floor in my kindergarten classroom. I would have peed on her. And my brother. Because my brother was a brat. I was a brat too, but I was an older brat, so it was okay.

Possibility #2) This was a territorial thing (which is the correct answer because this is what the vet told us, and kittens don't watch Stardust.) The cats were new, but being cats, they wanted to own the apartment we humans paid rent for, so they peed on it. They peed all over it, and I saw regular yellow streams of our deposit seeping into the carpeting.

I now know this was a territorial thing because I had a similar experience myself. Last weekend, my boyfriend's roommate was finally (finally!!) away for the week with his girlfriend, and my boyfriend and I got some much needed alone time. Eventually, I had to use the bathroom, and when I was peeing I noticed the roommate's bathroom things were still there.

Probably because he has the same supplies at his girlfriend's place, I reasoned as I washed my hands, not giving it another thought. That is, until I dried off my hands and realized I suddenly needed to go to the bathroom again.

How could that be!? I thought, but then I glanced at the roommate's toothbrush and cologne bottle again. And I thought about how much fun it would be to pee on both of those right then.

Now, I'm not going to tell you whether or not I peed on my boyfriend's roommate's things—that is not what this blog post is about. This post was just meant to show you how territorial cats, and humans, can be.

The rest I will leave to your imagination.

5 Tips for Your Overnight Bag

On TV and in books I noticed that sometimes, women just fall asleep at mens' apartments/houses without any essentials! I was watching Trainwreck the other day with my boyfriend, and I couldn't believe that Amy didn't have some sort of overnight bag! Does this actually happen? How lazy are we, ladies, that we have forgotten the overnight bag?

Now, some girls might not want to carry overnight bags because they are bulky and too-obvious when walking home the next morning, which is why I decided to write down some must-haves for when spending the night at a guy's (or girl's) place!

1. Toilet Paper

If you are a lesbian, this might not be applicable, but guys never have enough toilet paper. And if your guy has a roommate, there's an even greater chance that the toilet paper is actually being used as paper towels, pillows, or holiday decoration. Or maybe they are competing to see who can go the longest without caving and buying toilet paper. I don't know why guys do these things, but you should be prepared.

2. Hand Towels

No matter how many times I ask, my boyfriend (of over 3 years) does not keep a hand towel in his bathroom. It's a miracle he has soap, honestly, so ladies, bring your own hand towel. Or do what I do and just wipe your hands on your boyfriend's roommate's things in their shared bathroom. Or wave your hands around the room until everything is covered in dabs of water. That's fun too.

3. A Tiny Trash Can

This is where you can store all your overnight items! And afterwards, when carrying it home with you, everyone will just assume you're a trash man! Or homeless, whatever, but the real reason the trash can is important is if you have any items (tampons, pads, skin care items) that you might need to throw away the next morning. Because some guys may not have a trash can in their bathroom (which I have seen), or, if they do, it is completely full with pizza boxes. You will need to dispose of your necessities yourself.

4. Your Retainer

Don't forget that retainer you have had since middle school, ladies! Do you want your man (or lady) to see that you no longer care for your teeth? No, so along with a toothbrush and toothpaste (again, in case the guy doesn't have any toothpaste), after being intimate with your date, make sure to have your old, crusty retainer, and make sure he sees you put it in your mouth! Not only does this tell him that you will make sure your teeth are straight forever, but it also hints that you are done and it's time to go to sleep!

5. Sleeping Pill

The younger the guy, the worse his bed is. My boyfriend still lives at home, so the options are his lumpy futon or his old bunk beds (which are too small for just one grown adult, and he tries sharing the bottom bunk with me.) You will need to find something other than a comfortable bed to put you to sleep.

When I Had 2 Roommates, II

When I had two roommates, I realized that I wasn't good at being a girl. I set my alarm at 6am, and I told myself that I was doing this so all three of us would have time to get ready in the morning privately. First me, I was the early bird. Then Roommate 2, who usually had to go to work. Last but not least-amount-of-time-taken (not by a long shot), Roommate 1, who usually woke up late to purposely skip her first class, every day.

In my head, this made sense-for me to get ready at the crack of dawn (exaggeration) and let the two other girls take over the bathroom, but really, I was avoiding them. I was avoiding fighting over the bathroom, true, but I was also avoiding eating breakfast with them. At 6am, I brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, applied a thick double-layer of chapstick, shaved my unibrow (to make myself feel fancy), and grabbed my cereal from the shared kitchen to take to my own single bedroom. I also tried avoiding the cats, who would hopefully be sleeping on the floor instead of grabbing at the bottom of my pant leg (since I am short and normal pants are not.) One of the two cats was a girl, so I still consider this me avoiding girls.

I liked Tristan, the boy-cat, better. I thought he had more character. My boyfriend liked Tristan's sister best. My boyfriend is a moron. His judgment doesn't matter.

Back to the story: I was avoiding the girls I chose to live with for a whole year. Sometimes, out of curiosity about that elusive female-species, I would watch Roommate 1 finally get ready before the class she chose to attend, after I came back from my first class. She did up her hair, and put on eyeshadow. Then she put on eyeliner. Then she might clip her nails or paint them. She painted her lips and brow as well. She applied something to her cheeks to make them a glowing red (I don't know what this something is, because I am bad at being a girl.) And I would just stare at her, taking 3 hours to get ready for the day, while she talked about yesterday. I wondered how she even had time to enjoy yesterday. When did she even finish applying yesterday's make-up!? Who the fuck has time for this!? I am not famous, I don't have a stylist who can do this for me while I do my homework or anything.

One day, Roommate 1 was driving me in her car. I was in the passenger seat, and my boyfriend was minding his own business in the backseat. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe he was playing his Nintendo. Maybe he wasn't there and I didn't notice the difference because I am bad at being a girl-friend as well. Whatever, a different story.

Roommate 1 was telling me about her day, while retouching her make-up in the car mirror. She could multi-task (which I learned in college isn't actually a thing. Perhaps she would've learned this too if she attended her classes.)

Roommate 1 was complaining about her mom favoriting her younger sister again (which her mom did often), and about how another guy just stopped texting her out of the blue (which happened a lot. I never understood why this actually happened so much. Not only was Roommate 1 better at being a girl, but she was better at being a girl-friend. She would sew and knit her boyfriends custom gifts. For her last serious boyfriend, she bought a polo and sewed Darth Vader in the corner, and she was in the process of embroidering a shirt with an image of his favorite Dr. Who for his birthday when they broke up. I just don't have the time for that shit.)

Then, she told me, on top of that, her Aunt Flo was in for a visit. Roommate 1 rolled her eyes.

Me: "Oh, do you not like your aunt?"

Roomate 1 shot me a glance. "What?"

Me: "Your aunt."

Another glance. I wished she would watch the road.

Me: "Do you not like your aunt?"

Roommate 1: "My Aunt Flo!?"

Me: "Yeah. Is she a bitch?"

Roommate 1: "My period?"

Me: "Oh. Oh. . . . I thought you had an aunt named Flo. Like the Progressive lady. Like she was your aunt."

Apparently, I am so bad at being a girl, I don't know how to name my periods. Thanks a lot, stupid Progressive commercials, for making the name Flo a thing!

Short Blog on How Selfless My Boyfriend Is, & How Selfish I Am Part 2

Setting: This late evening in my bedroom. We just finished watching 50 First Dates, my boyfriend for the first time and me for the 50th time, and I was getting ready for my pre-SNL nap.

My boyfriend: I have a question for you, Jordy.

Me: (Silence, because I am trying to train my boyfriend to continue with his stories instead of taking unnecessary pauses)

My boyfriend: (After a pause) If we had a situation like you and I just watched—

Me: I'd dump you.

My boyfriend: You didn't even let me finish!

Me: I'm guessing.

My boyfriend: Anyway, if we had a situation like in the movie we just watched, where one of us lost our short term memory—

Me: I'd dump you. Look, I guessed right! Yay, me!

My boyfriend: What!? So, I would wake up in the morning, and not remember the days before, and think we were still together. . . .

Me: And I would get married to someone else and have kids, but I would continue to text you. If you wanted to hang out, I would just say I was too busy with work that day, and suggest the next day.

My boyfriend: What!? I would take care of you! I would support you and love you, and you would leave me?

Me: (Shrugs) You wouldn't know.

Fun with Childhood Bunk Beds

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Short Blog on How Selfless My Boyfriend Is, & How Selfish I Am that I Can't Even Lie to Him About What I Would Do if I Won the Illinois Lottery Jackpot, & this Title is Longer than the Post

My boyfriend:  If I won, I think I would give each of my friends one million dollars.

Me:  That's stupid, don't do that.

My boyfriend:  Why not?

Me:  Because it's stupid.

My boyfriend:  Why would I ever need more than $10 million dollars in my life?

Me:  No, that's still stupid.

My boyfriend:  I would pay off all my student loans, and your loans too! Then we can both be   debt-free.

Me:  Aw, that's really sweet, thank you. You should buy a ticket now.

My boyfriend:  What would you do if you won that much money?

Me:  I would pay off my student loans, too.

My boyfriend:  What about me? I would pay off your loans!

Me:  I would pay off...my sister's loans. . . .

Doing My Boyfriend's Homework Because He Dates Me for My Sexy Brain, and another story

I’m the nerd who does my boyfriend’s homework now. He’s an English major, so if he doesn’t understand how to find meaning in an abstract poem, or if he needs help creating a lesson plan, he sends them to me. I then stay up late with his assignments, tucking myself into bed after sending his homework off as an attachment, also safely tucked, in an email to my boyfriend. What I’m saying is that his homework and I go to bed together more consistently than my boyfriend and I go to bed together.

My boyfriend pushed off going back to school until after I graduated from college, and at first I thought this was a money issue. No, it was an I-need-to-make-sure-Jordy-has-time-to-do-my-homework issue. Sometimes I think I use him for his car and he uses me for my brain. Neither of us use each other for our bodies. Trust me.

As I sat there last night, creating my boyfriend’s first lesson plan for him, I realized I never considered becoming a teacher. Really, I didn’t, which people find odd because most little girls who enjoyed school as much as me have considered becoming a teacher (for the record, I did not enjoy school at all. I just liked getting made fun of by my fellow students better than getting yelled at by my siblings. Life is a real bitch for a badass middle schooler.)

The whole “teacher” thing stopped being appealing to me when me and my older sister used to play school with our American Girl dolls (yes, we were spoiled, we had American Girl dolls, plural.) My sister, let’s call her Satana, was always the teacher. I could be the teaching assistant if Satana felt like being nice that day, but mostly I was the annoying mom who wanted to be involved in her children’s schoolwork. The mom who insists on sitting in on class. The mom Professor Satana hated—so why did she play with me?

Because my children got F’s. Straight F’s. According to my sister, the teacher, Satana, her dolls were all A++ geniuses while mine couldn’t figure out simple math, or how to construct a complete sentence. My dolls made her dolls feel VERY good about themselves. Written on my dolls’ papers were words like dismal or disappointing or lack of originality. Satana’s dolls got Perfect! and Good work! So much better than those loser dolls on the reject side of the classroom, with the over-involved mom!

Her dolls were just in grade school, but they spent their free time working on Harvard and Yale applications and going to Mensa meetings. My dolls created mud pies in the yard. And then ate them. My dolls were idiots, apparently. I did not raise these dolls well.

And now my sister is a teacher in Bulgaria (I know, right?), close to the boyfriend he met in Romania. His name is Martin, and that’s a whole other story. Who goes to Romania and meets a Martin? Who works at a call center for Microsoft? I could’ve introduced her to seven Martins here in Peoria! But again, that’s a whole other story for a different post. This post was about Satana killing any desire I would’ve had to become a teacher. And me being a nerd who does my boyfriend’s homework.


*Note, if you had a similar situation with your older sister, or if you liked the blog, or had any feeling really, please comment!

When You're Almost 23 & You Look 12

I'm pretty sure that physically, I am still a few years from adolescence. I mean, I got my period almost 10 years ago (very light flow these days, should I be concerned?), I improperly fight zits (I'm very lazy and barely wash my face, but I do save time for washing my face by skipping brushing my hair), and I have stubbly body hair everywhere (also a very lazy shaver.) But body/curve wise, nothing. I can still fit in my original training bras, which I finally threw out last week due to pride and their formerly white, now grey color.

This is all funny because my boyfriend's last name rhymes with pedophile, so his friends naturally tease him about this. This is actually the one thing that really annoys my boyfriend, so I hold back that going on dinner dates with him does remind me of a dream I had when I was five.

Of course, I hold back to him, but I will tell the general public. That's what the general public is for.

It was my first dream about dating. I always had crushes (my first two were in preschool, and I made the teacher blush by being VERY flirty), but this dream was like my entrance into the world of romance (but I wouldn't be kissed until 10 years later, and I don't even want to tell you how many years later until I lost my virginity.)

I was wearing one of those romantic, breezy dresses from old movies. It almost reached my ankles and I could twirl widely in it. I think the dress was blue, or some other color that matched my eyes.

Since this was my first dream of a date, my unconscious made sure I was somewhere comfortable, and dream me started walking to the living room, where my date, Chuck E. Cheese, was waiting.

Chuck E. Cheese was in a black tux, and a swarm of other giant fake mice circled around us, to watch my very first dance, in a fancy grown-up dress, with Chuck E. Cheese.

When my boyfriend and I get pizza, I sometimes think about my first dream date when I was five. When he takes me to fancy dinners, I think of the dress I wore in that dream, and how I am still basically playing dress-up. And when my boyfriend leans in to kiss my goodbye at the end of a date, when he hasn't shaved his face in awhile, I think of how furry Chuck E. Cheese was, and I wonder if my five-year-old unconscious had to deal with the mouse's face tickling me too.

My boyfriend would hate this constant comparison.


Note:  if you liked what you read, or are a regular reader, please comment and share your thoughts below! Also, share any weird five-year-old dates with Chuck E Cheese. Or is that just a me thing?

Awkward Sleepovers in Your Possible Future In-Laws' Basement

It all started with the sound of flapping wings above my grown boyfriend's futon in his parent's basement (his bedroom.)

 "What is that?" I ask, astonished. It is 9am in the morning and I grab my 25-year-old boyfriend's arm. This scrawny white, nearly hairless arm across my chest is supposed to save me from whatever bird or bat I think is about to fall on us and claw my eyes out.

 "It's just a rat in the ceiling, relax," my boyfriend says and goes back to sleep. Because the phrase it's just a rat in the ceiling, relax always calms us ladies down. Every time, guys. Remember that.

I then spent the next hour listening to the same flapping sound, convinced that it was a rat with wings (so a bat, I was right) that would fall through the ceiling and bite me, trying to eat its way through my skin (thanks, episode of Game of Thrones!)

Then, the sound stopped. And I got suspicious.

Or maybe it started when my boyfriend took me back to his (parent's) place the night before, and his roommate (friend who's fiancé's parents kicked him out for being a slob) was already asleep. And the smell of half-grown men after a full day of work hit me stronger than it ever did before. Sure, I always knew not to go nose-first towards my boyfriend's balls after he was working, but the tiny basement room had the strong scent of two men's smelly balls all over the place.

Since we couldn't wake the new roommate who was sleeping on the floor directly by the futon, my boyfriend went on the internet and I read a book, completely ignoring each other until 2:38am, when I read 58 pages and decided to go to sleep. And my boyfriend stayed up on the computer instead of joining me. Because we are romantic.

When the cock-blocking roomie left for work in the morning, we put Netflix on and I watched Spanglish because I have a weird thing for Adam Sandler. I don't even like most of his characters, or his singing on old SNLs. His character usually isn't my favorite character in a movie, except for Spanglish, but I have a weird thing for Adam Sandler, and when I have a weird thing for a particular actor, naturally I want to share this with my boyfriend and make him watch a movie with this guy and spend the whole time comparing my boyfriend to the actor. Because I respect my boyfriend's self-esteem and feelings.

And it all really started because I am a morning person. I like to brush my teeth, get dressed, and finish a whole day's worth of tasks in the first couple of hours in a day.

And because my boyfriend's basement-room doesn't have a door, and his parents decided Hey, do you know what we should do while our son has his 22-year-old girlfriend here? We should clean the room directly by his bedroom. I mean, have you looked at our son? It's not like he has any game anyway.

So, while I want to go to the basement bathroom unseen to get ready for the day, his parents are discussing the cleaning outside my boyfriend's nonexistent door.

"I need to get ready for the day," I whisper to my boyfriend, hoping he knows the magic words that will make his parents suddenly realize they need to go upstairs and clean their own room.

"I know," my boyfriend said as he reached over, grabbed my hand affectionately in understanding, and puts my hand on his balls. So we resume watching Spanglish while I squeeze his balls and his parents are cleaning his storage room, basically connected to his room. The room where I was squeezing his balls while watching Spanglish.

Eventually, I HAVE to get ready for the day. So I walk to the bathroom, first having to pass both of his parents while wearing my Hello Kitty jammies and carrying my overnight plastic bag.

After removing the used pad from yesterday’s underwear and stuffing those period panties in my plastic grocery bag (so, to be fair to his parents, my boyfriend wasn't going to get any action anyway), I realized that the trashcan is OUTSIDE the bathroom. Because boys are gross and apparently don’t need trashcans in their bathrooms. And apparently because even though each time before I spend the night I ask my boyfriend to put a trashcan in the bathroom, he never gets around to it.

So I walk out of his basement bathroom, where his parents could see me, holding a rolled-up pad in one hand, in my fancier, Hello Kitty-less daytime clothes, and toss it in the garbage right outside the storage room his parents are cleaning.

Now, I am typing this while watching inappropriate comedy specials on Netflix as my boyfriend and his dad play ping-pong in the now-clean storage room.

So Your Boyfriend Thinks You Are a Toy

I'm a little person. I have porcelain doll-like skin (when I am not suffering from the adult acne mentioned in a previous post), I'm only 5' 1", and I weigh... nothing. Light as a feather, stiff as a board was based on me because I am only 100 pounds and I'm stiff due to scoliosis.

But none of this is the point of the blog. Due to my small, doll-like appearance, I have begun to suspect that my boyfriend is only interested in me because he thinks I am a toy. Here are my reasons for thinking this:

This is what his room looks like:

Toys.

Toys.

And more toys.



Now, I know this doesn't necessarily mean that my boyfriend thinks I'm a toy. He just likes toys. But let's look at this picture again:

A little blonde fairy boy with shirt hair and a green dress. 

A few months ago my boyfriend convinced me to cut off most of my hair and get a pixie cut.

And dye my hair blonde.

And then he got me a green cosplay dress.

And this is what I look like:

I'm just another Link doll!

He also went crazy when this was my Halloween costume last year:

And he likes getting me other toy accessories. You know what I am talking about; when Barbie comes with a teddy bear, or when a large teddy bear comes with a smaller teddy bear.

Unless I give my boyfriend a specific book or piece of jewelry to buy me, all he will buy me are stuffed animals.

More stuffed animals.

And more stuffed animals.

And then, instead of sending him selfies of myself, he enjoys selfies of the toys he buys me:

And I know I'm just another one of his toys.