Living With Men is Hard

Posted on August 21st, 2008 by admin

Living with a man is hard work. Seriously hard work. I never knew how hard it would really be. Growing up, it was just me and my Mom. No men. I’ve learned a lot about men since moving in with T.

Not living with a man means a lot of things.

You don’t have to worry about the toilet seat being up. AKA: You don’t have to worry about your ass hitting icy cold toilet water at 3 o’clock in the morning. I don’t complain about T leaving the toilet seat up. If I was a guy I would see absolutely no reason to put it back down. But I do want to punch him in the face when I forget to put it down and end up giving myself a redneck bidet.

You don’t have to worry about body hair. I don’t know if T is an unusually hairy man…OK-he totally is…but I swear to god there’s more T fur in our apartment than pet fur. Don’t let his bald head fool you. He’s all yeti underneath those clothes. There are little pubic-like hairs all over the place. I’m sorry, that sounded gross. On the shower walls. On the television. On the bed. We actually had to sticky-roll T’s side of the bed a while ago.

You don’t have to worry about dirty dishes stacking up in the sink when you have a dishwasher 2.5 inches from the sink. That one really irks me.

You don’t have to worry about every pair of socks in the laundry being inside out. Sure, I throw a few inside out ones in the laundry, but all of T’s socks are inside out. Now that I think of it, all of his clothes end up inside out. I’m assuming that it’s impossible for men to remove their clothes without doing jujitsu moves and ripping them off as quickly as possible, resulting in them being inside out. I’ve actually quit turning T’s clothes right side out. We had a big fight about his white T-shirts. He was MAD that I didn’t want to take 5 seconds to turn them right side out. I’m sticking with my guns. He will learn eventually.

You don’t have to worry about having your television and/or computer commandeered for video game usage. Once in a while it would be nice to have an evening that didn’t involve sounds of war (gun shots, explosions, yelling, etc.).

You don’t have to worry about going to throw something in the trash can, only to find that your can of rotten tomato sauce has splattered all over the inside of the trash can because a MAN forgot to put a new bag in it. I usually don’t have this problem as T doesn’t take out the trash. I do.

Ok…we’re bringing this post to a halt. T is very upset as he thinks that I am bad-mouthing him. He said that the post is full of lies. I only speak the truth.

I’m sorry. I know you wanted me to go on and on and on and on and on. But I suppose I’ve gotten my point across. ANd I’m not T bashing. I’m man bashing. I know that not every man does/or doesn’t do these things, but I like to generalize people. And I like to assume. But I will give a disclaimer. I love T more than anything and he is a great boyfriend and I love living with him. I wouldn’t change it for anything. But every once in a while I need to vent. And clear my mind of the negativity. I will admit that I’ve been rather negative for the past week. Due to various issues (job, weight, money, old men grabbing my ass, and being on the rag). But I’m hoping that venting my frustration out on the blog will help me be a bright, shiny, and careless bimbo. You know…the way a woman should be. We’ll see.

The guys have been back from their vacation since Sunday evening. And they’ve completely destroyed the apartment. OK, not destroyed…but it’s a little messier/dirtier than I would like it to be. I’m not a neat freak or anything, but I seriously can’t stand the clutter that is currently happening on every surface of our apartment. I could possibly blame this on the fact that we have a tiny apartment. Maybe it wouldn’t seem so cluttered if it were more spread out. There’s really not that much clutter-but it’s all jammed into this tiny space. But when there’s clutter everywhere (like right now) it makes my chest tighten up and my heart rate elevate. There’s also a sink full of nasty/dirty dishes. Did I mention that they were in the sink and not the dishwasher? T gets really mad when I ask him to put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and pick up his junk/dirty clothes. We’ve gotten into lots of fights about it. But all I want is for him to put his crap away and help me keep the apartment nice and neat. I really don’t know how to reason with him when it comes to this issue. I’ve explained to him that I like things to be nice and neat. I’ve explained to him that it doesn’t make sense to put the dishes in the sink when you could save a step and put them in the dish washer. Maybe I’m not as good at reasoning as I thought I was.

Then again…it’s hard to reason with engineers. They need equations and graphs and stuff. I know he will probably deny the following picture, but I like to think of it as a visual representation of his messy habits.

Dirty Laundry

He has a habit of leaving his clothes exactly where he takes them off. This made me laugh.

I know I’m going to get some flack for this post. I already have. T asked me if I’d like it if he posted a picture of my underwear on the blog. I gave him a look…and then asked him if he’d started his own blog without telling me.

Love ya T!