Cohabitation: a survival guide

*Disclaimer: this post has some adult language, and if you want a curse-free version, that's too bad because I didn't f**king write one*

Salted CRACK Caramel Ice Cream, Ample Hills Creamery, Brooklyn

Folks, I've officially got two weeks under my belt as a Brooklyn resident. In that time, I have located the closest post office, handed over $4.75 for a caffè latte, and attended several knitting/crocheting meet-up groups. So you could say I'm settling in. I've had some of the most delicious food already -- pizza, burrata, breakfast sammies, Carribbean food, Indian food, artisinal gelato and ice cream (someone with as refined a frozen dessert palate as mine must recognize the difference), banana walnut waffles, bagels with insane amounts of shmear, pickles (pickled things are popular here, and I'm okay with that), and a delicious 8-course Japanese meal for our anniversary last week. Still on the agenda: meet a guy named Sal and yell at him over the counter "Hey, gimme a slice!" But my penchant for southern manners may impede an endeavor of this sort.

Aside from all the great eats and nearby cultural attractions, Jon and I have been dealing with some less-than-ideal situations during our first weeks together as a cohabiting couple. Don't get me wrong, he is a fantastic partner, and I wouldn't be with him if he weren't. He pulls his weight and shares the household duties with me and he's very responsive to whatever I need. He is incredibly thoughtful and caring. But friends, that doesn't mean that being lifelong roomies isn't difficult.

Coffee shop in Williamsburg, Brooklyn

How to test the very foundation of your relationship, in 4 easy steps:

1. Toilet paper
2. Wrestling
3. Foot injuries.
4. A mouse guest. (Like a house guest, but never f**king invited in the first place)

Allow me to expound upon these cringe-worthy anecdotes:

1.

This is irrelevant, but I'm telling you anyway: last week I shopped for toilet paper at a grocery store called Western Beef. And yes, it's just as glamorous as you're imagining. Their logo is a smiling cactus with a cowboy hat on. Needless to say, it's not a place where anyone should be purchasing meat products, and I'm questioning my own desire to buy paper products there. Anyway, I walk into the bathroom to find the roll has been completely used and somehow not refilled. I considered the scene as a situation with several outcomes. One, I could instinctively scream about Jon's egregious error and inevitably be seen as a nag. Two, I could avoid the issue, refill it myself, and slip into a passive role within our relationship. Or, three, I could find a way to gently let him know this disregard for household upkeep wasn't how I wanted to live.

I'm going to be honest, it was my first attempt at household diplomacy, so it was really a mix of one and three. BUT, he was responsive and replaced the roll. It's just... well, he put it on with the paper coming from the bottom of the roll. The BOTTOM.  LIKE A HEATHEN. We all know that the paper needs to come from the top of the roll, @!$(@!$^(#%)_@!!! At that point I got a look from him which indicated I was, in fact, insane. Maybe, but I feel like I got the point across. I also realized that I would need to adjust my behaviors to some of his needs. Which brings me to number two.

2.

Previously, I never had a complete grasp of how much Jon watches wrestling. It's shocking to me that he can find so much time in the day for wrestling. He watches current matches. He watches well-known matches from the 1990s. He watches documentaries about wrestling. He watches shows that talk about famous wrestlers. When I ask him why, he doesn't even know the reason. He describes it as a guilty pleasure, an inexplicable and insatiable desire to watch horrible reality television. He likened it to the Real Housewives, and then I understood his man logic. When I see this behavior, part of me is saying "Why the hell do you care to spend so many hours a day doing this?!? Is it even worth it if you're not watching Dwyane 'The Rock' Johnson?!? UUUUGGGGHHH!" and the other part of me is saying "Hey self, this is just how he unwinds, I don't have to understand it... *deep breath*..." So I need to let him be him. And, interestingly, that involves a lot of wrestling.

Our neighborhood (for now), Crown Heights, Brooklyn

3.

I was laid up in the apartment for a few days following an incident in which I rolled my ankle while walking along the Brooklyn Promenade. Yes, that does make me sound like I'm 75 years old, but damn it I'm not used to all this walking! While I was incapacitated, I couldn't put any pressure on my foot and I tried to hobble around the apartment. Instead, Jon insisted on carrying me from room to room and bringing me anything I needed. I felt like I was being annoying, but he was willing to help and constantly checked on me. Definitely an A+. I didn't want to have to rely on him to get me around, but I let him take care of me, because we're partners now and we need to lean on each other. Sometimes literally. 

Prospect Heights, Brooklyn

4.

Uggggh, guys. This one makes me shiver with disgust. Our mouse guest. Yeah people, we had a f**king mouse in our house. You thought that shit was just in cute cartoons and books about giving them cookies? No. Those little shits are interloping sons of b*tches. Like I said, if you want to test the very fabric of your relationship, see how you both deal with having a mouse guest. We had completely different reactions to this incident. As you can probably tell, I freaked out, because there was a filthy rodent in my living space. 

When we first discovered the mouse and cornered him into the kitchen, I wanted to remove everything and find that evil creature. But we didn't have a clear plan - I wanted to kill it, yet I didn't want to kill it, and Jon felt the same way. He appeased me by going in there with a shoe (one that he didn't particularly care for) and made like he would kill it, but I knew he didn't want to. In fact, Jon was a little laissez-faire about the whole thing, admitting defeat once the thing was out of eyesight. Conversely, that's when I was the most freaked out. It REALLY bothered me that we couldn't locate the mouse. Jon actually took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and told me I had to calm down. "We live in New York. There are mice here." Shockingly, I did not find that at all soothing. But he was right. Jon was having to adjust to my behaviors too; he even managed to have me laughing about our mouse guest. 

Eventually, Jon made me realize the futility of searching for the mouse, because he likely has one of those secret mouse passageways. For three full days I barricaded the kitchen because I knew there was a possibility he was hiding in there somewhere and I didn't want him to think he could roam around and have little mouse dinner parties in our living room. I read up on "humane" pest control methods and after trips to 4 local markets looking for peppermint oil, I gave up and decided this guy was going to meet his Maker in a self-contained trap. (Sidenote: you would be horrified to see all the different types and kinds of mouse traps in the hardware store. Horrified.)

UPDATE: Mouse guest has yet to be accounted for.

We carved pumpkins. Guess which one is mine.

On top of all this, we're both experiencing stress: Jon's new job, my lack of a job (thus far). Also, our gas got turned off last week since the apartment lessee hadn't paid the bill and it can't be turned on until Nov 6. We still have heat and water, but we can't use our stove or oven for that time. We've had to be inventive in our cooking strategies. To say the least, we've had to rally together and be adaptable. We are getting used to each other's rhythms and habits. We're learning how to live together, and we're learning how to live with each other, if that makes sense. We both know we can do this, and we will do this. Just be aware that I might be occasionally complaining (and boasting!) about our life transitions via this blog. You've been warned.