Oh Baltos, how you woo me with your deliciousness
Artistic label alone you are not
You move me, center me, on a cold day
In the middle of summer
Get off my back
I'm not a poet
Earthy with velvet upon finish
Sure to win you butt sex from the ladies
Two or more bottles of you
Makes for shitty poetry

All seven of you, loyal readers.

I officially put in for a transfer to my future home a few weeks back. Everyone seemed ok with it and I resumed my normal business duties, which include looking fan-fucking-tastic and kicking competitor ass.

Then, a higher up is speaking with a teammate of mine and when I get brought up (Because I always do, you see. I'm like the largest bag of beef jerky in the world's largest beef jerky store. If that makes any sense) and this higher up proceeds to explain to my fellow employee how I won't be able to transfer for at least a year.

It isn't because I'm bad at what I do. Believe me, I'm the Lexington Steele of my industry. Bigger, stronger, blacker.

It happens to be because of some potential restructuring that will be going on within the company. Because of this the timing happens to be about as bad as you could ask for in terms of transfering.

This craptacular luck is right up my alley.

The Detroit Tigers were on a 6 game winning streak when I finally bet on them. They had won something retarded like a hundred zillion games out of a hundred zillion and one.

They, of course, lost.

Now I owe the Drizzle a ten spot and I have to come to terms (yet again) with how shitty my timing and luck is.

For example...

Ah, fuck it. I ain't giving any examples.

You'll just have to trust me. I have shitty luck and timing.

Anyone who has witnessed me gamble can attest to this.

Thankfully I still have the love and support of s particular female to help keep me from going postal and shanking someone.

Thank you, Japanese restaurant waitress lady Elizabeth, for letting me luck out and win the relationship lottery.

I haven't been lucky in a relationship since old man Jackson failed to see me hiding behind the haystacks. Both of his daughters would like to thank you for that as well.

Of course, Bella can't form sentences any longer, on account of the thrashing I gave her, so you'll have to interpret her hand signals and grunts to get the full picture. If she happens to grunt with wide eyes it's because she pooped herself.

Just so you know.

Now that Elizabeth has offended all of our military and relief workers I thought I'd share the Sand Bag Workout with everyone.

Here is the article on Men's Health

It isn't the fact that I need a gimmick to workout.

It's that I need something that fits with what I'm willing to do. In part because I'm lazy, in part because of other things.

I play soccer. I play basketball. Neither of these can be as consistent as I need them to be in order to offset the heavy drinking and shitty eating. I need to add something in there that I can do quickly and easily, without having to head to the gym and wait for machines.

Honestly, I hate people. I don't want to stand around with them waiting for machines or working on something while they stand there with their little fucking towel staring at me and alternating swipes of their brow sweat with gulps of bottled water.

I also hate things that are just straight exercise. lift this weight twelve times, rest, do it again. Run 4 miles. Push-ups, sit-ups, crunches, etc.

I get bored in four seconds.

But give me something more challenging? Or something that's a little different?

Then it's game on.

Yes, I know. It's only a slight variation of pushing weights around, but it's enough.

She complains about my core but then makes fun of my idea to work on it.

I think she wants me to get fat, which would be cool. I love eating whole pizzas and drinking beer. It could be a match made in heaven.

I bet she won't be complaining about my workout routine when I can clean and jerk her with my junk.

Or when I learn Iron Crotch style.

Had a great weekend with the man visiting. I've moved into a new, also temporary place until we make the big move, so he got to see my adorable pad, which is still about 20% from being completely unpacked. The clothes and the shoes...they are a project.

As usual, we ate and drank too much. This is what happens when time together is like a multi-day celebration. It's hard to get into a normal routine when you have to pack in all of the stuff normal couples do over several weekends into a couple of days. This brought us to the discussion of keeping in shape. I'm a yoga girl. I'm fine with only doing that, it keeps me healthy and stops me from slapping people around, with its calming and balancing nature. He, however, has always been a sports guy. Soccer, basketball, whatever. The only thing is, this isn't a convenient or consistent way to work out, since it is heavily dependent upon getting a bunch of other like minded people together to get a game on. Also, it takes up a LOT of time, with the traveling to the place the game is happening, playing, and often, with the end result over some victory or losing beers, which ummm pretty much defeats the physical activity of the whole thing.

The fact is, if he could just find a workout he could do on a daily basis, that only takes a few minutes, he would be more likely to stick to a regular routine and stop complaining about the gaining and losing of the LB's. He really does obsess over it. The problem is, he cries boredom with any such workout, and I guess being bored for 30 minutes a day isn't acceptable. I don't see the big deal. He has a job. That can't be endless excitement all day long, right?

So he tells me he found a great workout. The sand bag workout. Awesome. So he read about some gimmicky nonsense in a men's magazine and now he wants to purchase bags of sand to heave to and fro? Silliest thing ever, right up there with the thigh master. It is, in fact, the men's magazine equivalent of the late night infomercial for the thigh master and all of its similar work out "tools". Only it's a bag of sand, so since it's not formed plastic in a girly purple color, it's totally a manly workout accessory. I'm sure that bag of sand will stave off his workout boredom...for 3 whole minutes.

How did he become so gullible and actually get on board with this idea? He's actually really pumped up about it. Help, people. I see sandbags cluttering the floors of my future home. I'm so not pumped about it. Unlike most clutter that I can just throw away if it gets annoying to me, they are heavy.

In college I moved out of the dorms and in to a home on one of the many side streets near campus. The vast majority of these homes were in terrible condition and kids were packed in like sardines, albeit happy sardines. Nobody really wanted to live on campus, but you gotta do what you gotta do. I did my year and bolted for off campus housing.

We got 7 of us in a house with only 4 real bedrooms. I shared with my buddy Steve in the largest room, while three lucky bastards got large single rooms. The unlucky last two lived in large closet-like spaces. Not to be confused with actual closets, which both Steve and Mike lived in the year before at a different home. Steve's was hilarious. It wasn't even a closet you could really use. It was more of a small storage space where the roof of the house slanted down from the top floor and caused a small triangle of space that was big enough for a couple milk crates of clothes and a twin mattress. You couldn't stand up at its highest point.

But it didn't matter. Cheap beer and banging chicks was what mattered.

Now might be a good time to point out that neither Steve or I ever really found ourselves flooded with poontang, but that was the focus of the times at any rate.

Our house had a living room floor that had more give in it than the American Cancer Society. Turns out it was being held up by a three inch thick pole in the basement. Our driveway wasn't paved, the basement had a dirt floor, the main floor shower was so bad that most of my roommates wouldn't ever shower in it.

But we enjoyed the hell out of that place.

A year later I upgraded to an apartment and since that move in 1996, I've lived in something like 10 other apartments, 4 homes, and dorms for one last year. That's in 12 years.

It's getting old.

Today I move out of my apartment and into storage. Well, my stuff into storage. I'm going to go nomad for a few weeks until I can move into my buddy's condo when he leaves the country for a couple years.

For how long, I'm not sure.

Hell, even when I move in with Elizabeth it will be a semi-temporary home.

Well, off to box up more cookware.

I've been going through things and preparing stuff to be moved, throwing out stuff I don't need, and setting aside blankets and jackets to give to the homeless in the D.

The size of my charitable heart is only exceeded by the size of my also charitable junk.

It's been interesting seeing things I hadn't realized I still had, but more interesting seeing how Elizabeth has influenced my move despite currently living 501 miles away.

It's in what I'm keeping.

Or more appropriately, what I'm not keeping. You see, Elizabeth is quite the picky homemaker. I'm sure you've sensed this in our writings on the new place together. I have to balance what I bring with what she will accept. Like my Playstation 2, which I don't really use anymore. You could sense through the phone that she was worried I'd want to have it hooked up to a television somewhere in the new place.

If you're a guy, you're probably thinking it's no big deal. It's connected but put away, right? But as a girl you're currently cursing about us guys and our stupid fucking video games.

So I will probably end up giving it away, rather than bringing it and risking an argument over it. It's not worth it. Besides, I really don't play it anymore so I think I'd just be holding on to it for sentimental reasons. I'm OK with that.

As I'm OK with getting rid of most of my kitchenware, most of my decorations, and my manhood.

Kidding.

But I have thrown out an extraordinary amount of junk thus far, and I know there is a bunch more to toss.

I'll be moving in to a friends condo, if all things work out well, instead of staying in a friend's basement. But either way I wasn't going to bring anything more than what I'd normally bring to a hotel. My computer, my clothes and shoes, my phone charger, toiletries. That's pretty much it, and I'm really looking forward to it.

Simple living.

For now, at least.

It's been pointed out amongst those that know me that I don't exactly eat like a normal human being. I'm cool with that opinion. Hell, all of you are entitled to your wrong opinion.

It's been well documented that a man can survive on nothing more than pork products and the occasional spice. I'm not here to dispute science.

What I did tonight was a celebration of food. A way to satisfy my hunger combined with a sacrifice to the prosciutto gods. It was a pretty good night.

It started with a recipe from Mario Batali's Molto Italiano. It called for kabobs of flank steak rolled up with a strip of prosciutto and a sage leaf, brushed with olive oil, and seasoned with salt and pepper. Pretty simple.

Until you show up to your local grocer and they're out of sage.

Fucking grocery store. I swear to god they stopped carrying, or stopped stocking with any sort of frequency, every fucking item I've tried to buy over the last year.

Organic washed romaine lettuce? The only sku in the section constantly out.
(Yes, I understand I just outed myself)

The olive oil I like? All 6 varieties banished.

The chicken I started buying like wildfire? Out of stock for a month.

Cheese and garlic croutons? "Not sure what product you're talking about, sir."

Three Peppercorn Pasta? The only sku disco'd out of the 6-variety brand.

And on and on and on.

If this place wasn't walking distance from my apartment I'd be punching it in its face. (Quick side note: I never walk.)

So they were out of sage leaves, among other things I'd want to buy, so I was at a loss for what I could do to replace the sage. I called the BoyGenius for a replacement spice. He talked about spice for spice swapping and how there wasn't an easy swap for sage.

In the end he suggested oregeno. I decided to use that idea for a couple kabobs and then used a few different spice blends for my other ones. There was a clear winner and loser.

Without sage I had only a few options at my disposal. I made two with oregano, two with a spice rub called Nantucket something or other, and one with an Italian herb blend.

Cut the steak into 4in strips, place a matching piece of prosciutto on top, spice (or lay a single sage leaf if your grocer doesn't suck donkey balls) and roll them up. Brush them with olive oil and salt and pepper before broiling or grilling. I had to broil since my apartment complex is worried I might burn down our building if I'm allowed to have a grill on my deck. (I probably would)



This part was pretty easy. The only problem I had was that I didn't go to a butcher so the steak was too thick. I had to utilize my knife skillz (Honed during ninja school as a young shaolin monk) to cut that bitch in half. I need a sharpener and a much better cutting board, but I still have all my fingers.

Cook those bastages until they're done to your liking, which in my case was the toughest part. I'm getting better at it, but I'm still not that great at nailing the proper temp and time with dishes like this.

Despite a little too much time in the oven they still turned out delicious.



The recipe called for cubes of pancetta to go in between the rolls, but my awesome grocer again couldn't come through for me, so I figured I still needed something else on there and went with a red pepper. Yes, Elizabeth, I actually ate a couple of them.

Clearly the spice blend from Nantucket Offshore won the battle. The Italian blend was second and the oregano came in as the least tasty of the group.



From their website: Rosemary, sesame seed, red pepper, oregano, minced garlic, dried tomato, lemon peel.

What the photos don't show is the cheese I was eating while making the rolls. I also feel like I should mention it took me way too long to prepare this easy dish, and as a consequence I had a sizable amount of wine in my system before any real food made it in there. I have quite a nice little headache this morning, but it was worth it.

See how valuable I'll be in the kitchen? I can totally cook.

A little.

Well, I don't have any bad habits, of course. I have nitpicky-ness more than bad habits, actually, but I do hate putting dishes away. That can be the man's job. I am very particular about the way stuff is put away, though.

I also let laundry build up until I'm forced into a laundry marathon. When the marathon begins, though, it cannot be stopped. It's hours of hot laundry action.

And I throw stuff away. That won't bode well for any mountain of stuff that accumulates, because I'll just chuck it all. I've thrown away plenty of my own things I should have kept (receipts, business cards etc), so I have no doubt I will be careless about the throwing away of other random stuff.

I also tend to leave lights on all over the house. The electric company sends me a fruit basket every Christmas.

Less a bad habit than absent-mindedness, I constantly lock myself out of my apartment. I live in a doorman building, so that isn't a problem really, except for the slight inconvenience of going back down the elevator to retrieve the keys from said doorman. Made more annoying when I've got the dog with me. All of that up and down confuses her.

I'm sure we'll work out the picking up of some slack for one another. It should only cause an argument every couple of hours or so.

There are plenty of things I will have to change as I move in with my lovely girlfriend, most notably my laziness when it comes to cleaning or putting things away.

I'm terrible at it right now. I blame it on the fact I have no fear of a pop-in. I live too far away from my friends, so I'm not worried anyone is going to drive a half hour to an hour just to pop-in to see what's up. Elizabeth is in another state, so she isn't coming out unless I know.

Thus I can pile clothes on the floor for later, leave luggage bags lying around with clothes still folded imperfectly inside from my last trip, and keep the bathroom in a state an outsider might qualify as unacceptable.

I won't be able to be so slow in cleaning my dishes. This one probably won't be as hard. I'm not that bad with this after living with a friend who was Captain Particular about things. He'd fix the silverware tray so all the knives were facing the same direction.

No more waking up to sportscenter and blogging/surfing from bed. This will be a no-no and it remains to be seen if I'll be allowed to get up and leave while she's still sleeping so I can do it in another room.

I've got a habit of dropping my mail, things from my pocket, or whatever comes up, onto a side table in my place so I can deal with it later. Much later, after a small mountain has formed, I will sift through and separate the necessary from the unnecessary and clean things up. The sad thing is most of the stuff is crap I know I won't be keeping but I hold onto it for awhile anyways. It should go straight into the trash.

My habit of eating weird meals will probably get me an earful about nutrition, causing me to have to give up some of my favorites. These include eating just a large steak for a meal, eating a bowl full of cooked but otherwise untouched pasta (no sauces or butter sometimes, just plain), or eating the exact same thing 8 nights in a row. I'm thinking she won't stand for this.

All a small price to pay, as I shouldn't be doing this stuff anyways.

Elizabeth, I command you to tell the world (Or at least the 40 people who read oddcoupling) where I can expect problems from you!

It's an odd feeling to walk into your apartment one day and find what feels like acres of empty. Gone is the foosball table (Of which I played exactly 0 games) and the desk, coffee and side tables, as well as the vast majority of kitchen gadgetry or dishware.

My roommate has almost officially moved out.

Our palatial estate seems even more palatial now that a significant majority of the stuff is missing. A lot of what we had in the place was his, mostly due to my nomadic lifestyle previous to sharing space together. Also because I'm laid back enough to not care, thus he proudly displayed everything he had.

I know him because of my second job in my current industry. It was his first, and we were paired up during training and shared a hotel room.

It's easy to become friends when you're stuck in a training class where they go at the pace of the slowest retard and neither of you has the patience for it. Frustrated with Sally Dumbfuck and her constant inability to grasp basic selling concepts, we took off on one of the free weekends in search of poontang fun.

I won't say the name of the town because that might give important information to the types of jackasses who have fucked me in the past. Because no matter where you go or who you are there will always be holier than thou douchebags ready to shove their noses in your business.

I will say that it was on the east coast and it was a small but well known university which serves the camaro and mullet crowd. We used our substantial dinner allowance to eat like paupers and drink like kings. From there we made our way to the college bars in search of gullible fatties a good time.

Many, many beers into the evening I found myself talking to some random mediocre chick. The type who rates average on any scale of any given attribute. A bit chubby, a bit fugly, a bit annoying, but more than a bit attainable. Oh, and she did have nice tits. So there was that.

Problem was, I wasn't trying to hook up with a girl who looked like Sarah Jessica Parker's slightly more attractive, but chubbier, relative. So I'd have normally just backed away slowly, possibly using a cheeseburger as a diversion, but I noticed my buddy was talking with her friend. Her chubbier, but more facially attractive friend. He seemed like he was into it and at this point I had no idea what his ideal chick was. So I figured I would have to jump on the grenade.

I became interested in her stories. I bought her a drink. Hell, I think I even looked her in the eyeballs and somehow managed to flirt with her.

My buddy is still talking to his fatty and I keep looking over in hopes that he's going to extricate himself and give me the sign that he's going to abort mission, but he doesn't seem to be anxious to leave. I sigh and turn back to Seabiscuit for some more shots to make her more attractive conversation.

We come to a group decision to head back to the apartment these girls share. It coincided with the end of the year so the one girl had moved out leaving my buddy's fatty as the only one with her stuff left in the apartment. He and her found their way to her room and Azeri and I were lounging on a blowup mattress.

I'm not going to lie when I say that I was now drunk enough that my filly was looking above average. For some reason though, she became hesitant and didn't want to do anything. A complete flip-flop from everything she had shown up to that point. Oh well, I thought, no skin off my back. I did my job in keeping Funny Cide distracted while my buddy got his groove on.

Later they drove us back to our hotel where we had this conversation...

ME: So did you hook up with her?
HIM: Just a BJ. What about you.
ME: Nope, she was really weird once we got back to the place.
HIM: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING?!? I was jumping on the grenade for you!
ME: DUDE! I WAS JUMPING ON THE GRENADE FOR YOU!

(Massive belly laughs)

It's truly an odd time for me. My priority is moving to a new city to be with Elizabeth and sex her up with my Thrice Confirmed Huge Junk. Currently, though, I find myself in a state of transition as I can't move yet and also can't stay where I'm at. My roommate took things from possibly moving out to almost fully moved out in a matter of weeks. I'll soon be moving in to a friend's basement so that I can be leaseless. Nothing keeping me here but the cautious pressure of my finger on the trigger of change, poised for that future moment when the transitional period comes to a close.

It's empty here. I can't wait to leave. In my future there waits a better roommate. A different kind of roommate. One who I will also allow to dominate the design and outfitting of our place, but for good reason.

She lets me see her boobies.

As the legal representation for Mr. Bracelet it is my duty, and of course great honor, to announce he has achieved a minor victory in his continuing negotiations for future home decor.

As many of you know, Elizabeth has been very strict in her requirements for their new home. She has an artist's eye (As well as both elbows and the third knuckle on her left hand) and very specific likes and dislikes. As an example, Elizabeth and Mr. Bracelet both enjoy style, however Mr. Bracelet would be quick to sacrifice style for more function and Elizabeth won't is less apt to do this.

Which is why Mr. Bracelet has gleefully informed me from the comfort of his green leather recliner that Elizabeth has agreed to allow some of the furniture currently in his bedroom, to be utilized in the future home's second bedroom.

This has pleased Mr. Bracelet greatly. He was prepared to take legal action, but this new development has moved him to gladly call off the dogs.

Mr. Bracelet is very excited that his Uhaul will now include more than just his bed and his clothes.

This exciting news has kept Mr. Bracelet in a state of GLRDE or Green Leather Recliner Drunken Euphoria.

He would also like me to point out that she has agreed to this as a way to outfit the second bedroom with furniture while new stuff is eventually sought.

Mr. Bracelet is convinced this will lead to more victories, such as a Man Cave, a dedicated St. Pauli Girl Poster wall, and a room that has a trampoline for a floor.

Thanks for your time.

Mr. Bracelet's Legal Team

Since we're talking about moving on this little slice of internet heaven I figured I'd mention my other move.

After some random person set up my last blog and refused to tell me who they were initially, I just gave up trying to find out. I didn't really care. Then (Probably because they were hurt I never gave them credit or tried all that hard to find out who they were) the creator of the thing went all child temper tantrum on everyone and yanked my access to the site, before eventually making the blog private so nobody could look at it. Or maybe it was done to be funny, though if it was it failed miserably. Anyways, I still don't know who it was, nor do I care.

Because, um, blogs are free. I can always start a new one.

Which I have. And it's linked on the sidebar for easy clicking, baby. Yeah, that's where daddy likes it.

Elizabeth can't tell me what to do over there. It'll be like my internet man cave. A place where I can make fun of retards and bitch about sports without being told to wrap it up and go mow the lawn.

Elizabeth did find and insert the template for me, so she deserves some thanks! As does this half Hawaiian half Latino gentlemen who helped fix the stuff I missed upon setting up everything and expertly noticing the page wouldn't load.

So, I'm moving in with a man who is not my own. No, I'm not having a torrid affair, but my lease is up at the end of this month, and since I'm not ready for the big move just yet, I needed to find a place. This means I'll be giving up my ridiculous view, but it's only temporary, and since I won't be there for the long term, I had to find a roommate who would be cool with replacing me once I'm gone.

Luckily, I was able to find someone who needs a place and isn't in a panic about my leaving when I'm ready to. I'm going to look at it like training wheels to ready myself for living with a man again. Granted, this man will not be leaving his socks on my bedroom floor, or sharing my bathroom (thank goodness), but will be occupying the rest of the place with all of the accompanying maleness that entails.

Coincidentally, my new roomy has almost nothing to move in, since he's been living like a nomad over the last couple of years. It'll be just like when my man and I move in together and he's forced to leave the bachelor pad furniture where it belongs...anywhere but the new apartment! Sweet deal, methinks.

I've had male roommates before, as some of you may remember. It didn't go over so well. In fact, it was a complete nightmare, so keep your fingers crossed that this time it will lack the suck factor that was living with the 2 drunken, middle aged, poorly socially adjusted men I've lived with in the past. And those weren't even the boyfriend nightmares!

It has been decided, I'll be living in a van down by the river in 30 days. Well, technically it's my friend's basement. He lives a few steps from a lake, but he doesn't own a van. Nor do I. Though I missed getting stuck with a Chevy Uplander for my work vehicle by mere inches.

I had a couple choices in where I could crash while I wait for the timing of the move to take shape. In the end it came down to who I'd be putting out. One friend has a kid and a husband working third shift. The other has no kids and works the same sort of job I do, which is to say we'd have plenty of time to work in late afternoon rounds of golf.

I'll certainly be spending less money to live there than I do here. We're putting in our 30 day notice to vacate today. I could tell he wanted to move in with his girlfriend sooner rather than later. Coming home to an apartment with near empty cupboards because he moved all of his plates, glasses, etc. to his lady's place was a pretty solid indicator. Nothing gets by the Bracelet.

It'll be a minor pain in the ass to move. I won't be bringing much to my friend's place. My bed, some clothes, and maybe a bedside table will be good. No need to set much up. Hell, I'll probably live out of boxes until I ultimately move to a new state. Even if that takes a year I have no problem with suitcase-style living. I think I secretly enjoy it, actually.

Plus Elizabeth will probably give me a list of things I can either sell or destroy, which will cut down the volume of items being shuffled around. Most of the things I feel are Elizabeth approved will go in a storage unit. I have space in the one I use for work, but if need be I found some pretty sweet deals for additional space at the same place. Plus they have a Uhaul-style moving truck which they allow you to use free with new rentals. I think I can talk them into letting me use it even if I don't rent a new unit because I never used it the first time I rented and I could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves.

With some of the money I'll be saving I've been jotting down a list of things I can spend it on...

Losing at blackjack
Losing at poker
Hobo materials
Man Cave essentials

It's an incomplete list, but I think it's coming around nicely.

I've had an interesting bunch of dreams lately. It seems that daily topics are making their way into my head each night, which is very much unlike me. Usually my dreams rarely reference my current thoughts with such focus. After writing a story to submit for Pauly's Truckin' I hit the sack that night and had a dream about the subject of that story attempting to seduce me, which was kind of what the story I wrote was about.

Rather than the pudgy, real life version of the girl, I had a hot version of her trying like hell to get me in the sack. My stupid brain thinks banging hot chicks in dreams is cheating apparently, as I repeatedly deflected her advances because of Elizabeth.

My subconcious is a pussy.

That is all.

Turns out my current roommate is looking to move as well, possibly sooner than I was planning on moving.

Uh-oh.

He's been seeing the same girl for awhile now and she's been bucking for cohabitation like mad. She owns her own place and he's renting. He spends a majority of his time over there anyways and she probably has nicer stuff. Yet lately he was spending more and more time at our place. Things obviously weren't great. He told me it was because she wanted him to move in, but that was just skimming the surface of the real problem.

She has a kid.

Being the responsible single mom that she is, she doesn't want him moving in without there being a commitment there. She doesn't want to send the wrong message to her kid. Smart. Sucks for my buddy, though.

He's having a tough time coming to grips with the ginormous step that she's asking him to take. Basically he would be going from freewheeling bachelor (essentially) to married with a family almost instantly.

So I've got an unknown timetable for my move, and I figured I would be safe and, if anything, his decisions would be forced by my hand. Not the other way around.

She's backing off the requirements a little, and it appears he'll be able to move in with the understanding that they end up married. So he may do it as soon as next month, which leaves me in a bit of a complex situation with my um...complex.

Month to month is not something I should be doing here for more than a month. Too pricey. I also don't currently have a job in the new city. That requires a transfer process that can only take place if there's an opening. I'm not aware that there is currently an opening. In other words, I may have a chance to move somewhat soon, but maybe not. Also, if Elizabeth can't move near the same time (And she does need more time where she's at) then I'm doing the same thing down there that I'm doing up here, paying for two people when it's just me. Not a great way to save money.

So what do I do?

Move into a cheap-ass dump of a place with a 3 month lease? Go month to month for the entire rent of my current place? Become a hobo?

A hobo sounds appealing. I could let my beard grow out, wear that red lumberjack flannel I've had stashed away, and I could twitter the whole thing.

"Just punched another hobo. Nobody touches my hobo stick. Nobody."

"Beard coming in nicely. Currently offering free mustache rides to qualifying hobo women."

"Mmm, squirrel."

Or, I have another option that I'm sort of embarrassed to even think about. I could "rent" a spare bedroom at a friend's new house. I know they could use the extra money because who can't? Especially with a huge new house on a lake in a terrible economy. I could use the flexibility of continuing my current level of rent payment and being lease-free.

Still, though. It's really embarrassing to even consider.

Because we don't have our own great pictures, I have googled some out. First of the winning place:








And of the close second. I have to say that one of the deciding factors was that the place that won out is a rental, and the runner up, though we could have rented, is for sale, which means we can buy it later on down the line. You know, after we have been living in blissful cohabitation for a while. That in mind, I figured that if we were going to rent for a year or so, I wanted to have all the bells and whistles, like the pool and roof deck. Still, this other place does kick some ass.






That last place isn't even worth showing pictures of. Housewarming party anyone? (when we actually decide when we're moving)

Not for the reasons he stated, but the third loft is from the place Elizabeth wants. The first picture is the loft that falls a close second, and the middle loft is an absolute no-go.

The stained concrete floors, the exposed brick walls and wood beams in the ceiling, along with the attention to detail is what makes her want the last loft. The place is immaculate. Every hallway, any common area, the pool, or wherever you look and walk it's perfect. Nothing out of place, everything clean.

When you consider the loft itself, you'll find they restored and sealed the original beams brick and metal. They made some minor (but well done) additions like staining the concrete to enhance the look of the place, but it seems to be a near perfect melding of old and new.

You can't say that for the loft in the second picture. While the photo I took gives it a relatively cool look, the place is like the bizarro version of the place Elizabeth likes. They painted all the awesome original brick, wood, and metal (With a select few omissions) a whitish grey. The hallways are dirty, the common areas worse, and the management seems to have no desire to do anything about it. The woman who walked us around the complex told us the pool was not open yet because of construction and you could tell she wasn't telling us the whole story. It was all over her voice and choice of words.

The layout wasn't too bad, but they have something like 20 floor plans and we magically couldn't view any but the most basic. Hiding something?

They really brutalized what could have been a pretty sweet place.

The loft featured in photo numero uno (As the Asians say) comes in a close second. They preserved the original building as much as possible. The two odd things about the place are the garage-style doors and the lack of a closet in the second bedroom (it's across the hallway and tiny).

When we originally saw the place in construction we figured it would be a live work space. They had these big garage doors on the face of each unit. We figured it would be smart for moving big projects and equipment in and out. Then we saw the concrete barrier built right in front of each door when we got closer. They obviously weren't designing the place for moving equipment in and out with a big concrete slab making things awkward.

They must have changed their minds partway into the design of the place, it's the only explanation. It is pretty cool, however, that you can bring it up on a beautiful day and turn your living room into a covered porch. Well, until evening brings the sun down and you notice that everything in your place is covered in a fine mist of pollen.

The place was otherwise well done. The bathroom kicks ass, the place has a more wide-open feel, and there is a space we could put an office in, allowing for the second bedroom to not have to double as both. Plus it's a 2 minute walk to her sisters.

Can you tell I like this loft the most?

I guess we look at things differently. I'm imaging how much easier it will be to fit our stuff, eat food, disappear into a different area of the place at times, and get to and from the places we'll often be frequenting.

She's looking at things in another way, at least on the forefront. She's got the artsy eyeball on things and she's right, the other place was finished a little bit better than the other. And since I'm not allowed to bring anything I own we probably won't have as tough a time fitting everything in as I make it out to be. Plus I get storage through work and the place is somewhat short term anyways.

So in the end, either place has the Bracelet Seal of Approval and I have to do something I'm loathe to do. Give Speaker props.

His reasoning wasn't spot on, but his picks were.

Betty, April...You should be ashamed of yourselves for letting a guy (albeit a metrosexual) get the best of you here.

We looked at three places while visiting our future city. Three places which I had already seen, places where her artsy fartsy antennae would tingle.

The first place is really close to her sister's house.



The second place is also close, but a little farther than the first. It happens to be the one I have the best pictures of because they gave me a tour of completely empty units instead of units packed full of shit.



The third place is designed with a more difficult layout to get a picture. Trying to do it justice was tough because it was packed full of furniture as if it was (insert your tacky pack rat relative's name here because we all know you have one) and trying to get the high ceilings, huge windows, and concrete floor all in one picture was hard.

That and I suck at taking pictures.

But you can see the brick in the background and the color of the concrete floor, finished with a nice shine by the way.



So she had a favorite, and one that was a somewhat close second. The third one has absolutely no shot whatsoever. Without seeing floorplans, because for the most part they are similar, and knowing one of the pictures sucks, which one do you think Elizabeth has her gigantic swollen eyeball on?

If he thinks he's got foreshadowing from that little scenario, then I am certain I have a clear picture based on the actual events that occurred.

Here is where he is correct:

"It was early. Like, really early. Elizabeth was sleeping soundly...
I wake up early and can't fall back asleep. She's sleeping so I turn Sportscenter on"

And that is where the accuracy falters. And by falter, I mean that accuracy falls off of a cliff steep enough to break its pelvis and be confined to a wheelchair. That wheelchair should roll over his junk for the complete lies that follow.

The volume was loud enough to invade my peaceful dreams, where I was then harassed by silly sports jargon. Why do sports announcers have to be so annoying and ridiculously excited about moments in a game they've already seen? In fact, I submit that putting on Sportscenter at a volume that is barely audible isn't possible, because there is constantly screaming over all of the awesome dunking, scoring, goal-making excitement!!!

When I finally did wake up, it was not in the happiest of moods. I am not a morning person by nature. I do not like waking up, nor do I do it smoothly. Never have. Bob has seen me happy in the mornings, because up to this point, he has been smart enough to wake me up properly. There are two choices when waking me up, especially early in the morning. One of them is coffee in hand and the other shouldn't need to be explained. He chose neither. So I was cranky? Hmmmm well, Einstein, perhaps you should have turned off the tv long enough to actually enjoy the fact that there was a living, breathing woman lying next to you. kthankssomuch.

As for saying something before I went to dry my hair...I had just gotten out of the shower, came back into the room where the tv was still droning on about the same crap it had been droning on about since before dawn, and yes, I voiced my unhappiness...not even aggressively, then went to dry my hair, in hopes that he would take my unhappiness into consideration by the time I got back. I hadn't even had coffee yet, fortheloveofallthatisgoodonthisforsakenplanet!!!

So, you want foreshadowing? How's this for a pretty picture: Sports fan of the year, having failed in his petition for a hideous green leather recliner, shoved into the couch cushions, surrounded by empty beer bottles as he rubs his man boobs, and rests his snack of meat and cheese in a bowl atop his growing belly.

Sexy.

Caught a glimpse of the possible future Braceletmore household this weekend, and let me tell ya...

SCARY!

Let's start with a quick bit of background before I explain the situation that had me a little scared of a year from now.

She's a girl and hates sports. This is because she isn't a lesbian. Coincidentally, I like that about her, though it wouldn't hurt to dyke out with some hot chicks in front of me now would it?

Anyhow, I am an above average sports fan. I don't paint my face (Unless it's for tribal reasons, because my Comanche Indian heritage is important to me) or scream at the television during an early season matchup with no real playoff implications. But I do have a strong desire to see my favorite teams play important games, follow the comings and goings of all the major sports (And this doesn't include Nascar because driving in circles is only slightly more retarded than watching people drive in circles while wearing the same jacket), and need to know scores and the who what where's of the game.

So, we spent some time in the new city this weekend. She had some family obligations and I was essentially tagging along. I was more than happy to, what with the ridiculously awesome nieces she has, and everything was going great. We even looked at a few places to live, her narrowing it down to the one I figured she would. Life was grand. A little crippled boy got up out of his wheelchair and walked for the first time. A young woman came out of her coma. The Bracelet took a satisfying dump.

Then the following morning jumped up and kicked the little boy in the nuts, punched the little girl in the face, and gave the Bracelet a little bit of foreshadowing.

It was early. Like, really early. Elizabeth was sleeping soundly, which she is prone to do around me. Seriously. She's a night owl by herself but get her around me and she's eating the early bird special and falling asleep before Matlock.

I wake up early and can't fall back asleep. She's sleeping so I turn Sportscenter on and keep the volume flirting with inaudible. She moves around a little, but mostly maintains the soundness of her sleep.

After a half hour of this I decide to go shower. I turn the volume down to almost nothing (lower than the sound of the air conditioning) and when I get back she's still sleeping. I tell her it's about time to get up and she notes that I'm watching sportscenter like when she woke briefly earlier. Yep, still hoping to see the highlights and score of the Pistons game. It's an hour show, but with my showering and such I missed half the show.

She gets up to go shower and get ready. I continue to watch. She walks out from the bathroom and complains that I'm still watching it and she's been "hearing it all morning" and doesn't want to have to continue listening to it.

I'm still flummoxed by that statement (Because she was mostly sleeping) when she walks back to the bathroom to blow dry her hair.

BLOW DRY HER HAIR!

SHE'S NOT EVEN GOING TO BE IN THE ROOM BUT I NEED TO TURN THE CHANNEL!!!

I ask you, how is she able to listen to the television while sleeping or blow drying her hair in another room?

I'm not going to lie to you.

This is a little disconcerting.

I was counting on her down time (sleep, bathroom, coma) for catching up on all the stuff she outlaws. Now, if she's going to be able to be annoyed by this even when she's sleeping, showering, and coma-ing I don't know what to do.

Am I in over my head?

I realize that I have some quirky habits. I also know that I am not alone in these odd little preferences, though. Take, for example, my hatred for bottles of soap, detergent, shampoo, etc, that most people have throughout their home. These annoy me. I don't like seeing someone's advertising dollars splashed about my house with their logos and their "NEW" "IMPROVED" exclamations. What can I say, it's the little things that make a home feel like home. On my kitchen sink, instead of a big plastic bottle of dishwashing liquid, I have an ornate glass bottle that I refill with the stuff. It has a decorative cork in it, and it just feels nicer than a big old plastic bottle of soap. I'm totally not crazy, because LOOK! There are other people who do this, too, and they make LABELS for those bottles.




Helpful, since the metal bottle next to my bathroom sink is actually lotion and not soap, which has confused plenty of people. Ever try to wash your hands with lotion? Doesn't work very well. Now, I'm not part of some big movement to encourage everyone to stop buying stuff and make everything yourselves, because let's face it. Those companies make plenty of good, yummy smelling and effective products. I just don't want their tacky bottles everywhere.

These are just some of the things my man is going to have to adjust to. Anyone have similar habits your significant other has to work around?

Elizabeth is a stickler on every single certain aspects of our future home.

I'm OK with most of these requirements suggestions because she has good taste. She does like me, after all.

Big closets are great. She wants one. Nice. The larger the bedroom closet is the greater my chances of not having to store my meager wardrobe in the other bedroom are. Sadly, I don't think they make closets the size of small countries. At least I can (probably) have the second closet all to myself.

I shall call it the Man Closet.

Lots of kitchen space. Cool. I like not having to just stand there watching the dinner preparation because there isn't anywhere for me to set my boxes of pizza down.

Kitchen that overlooks the living space. Word. Watching your third Sportscenter of the morning is immensely more enjoyable when you can do so from the kitchen. With the laptop running a $50 poker sng. In your boxers. With your Diet Mountain Dew (in the can).

Artsie Loftie qualities like exposed brick and/or gigantic windows. Of course. Who wouldn't want to live in a cool place? I'm not sure how we'll attach the framed pictures of my high school soccer dominance and my many movie posters to the brick, but I'm sure we'll figure out a way.

Dual sinks in our future bathroom. Excellent. I only need about 3 minutes in front of the mirror and sink, but if it's mine I can outfit it as I see fit.

I shall call it my Man Sink.

I really don't have as many things on the must have list. But for the bathroom, there are certainly a few.

Dancing space. I need room to get down. Usually this only lasts for 10 seconds before I quickly realize how embarrassing it is and I stop. But I don't give up easily, and often get back on the horse the following morning. A slippery tiled floor is helpful but not necessary.

Large mirrors. I absolutely must flex in front of a quality mirror at least 3 times a week. Not after working out or anything. Just in the mornings sometimes. I like to see how my strict regimen of doing nothing is shaping up.

A loud, powerful fan. I don't need people two rooms over able to hear how healthy I am or am not. Bathroom noises should stay in the bathroom.

Lastly, I think there should be a spray of some sorts. I submit Poo Pourri.




Poo Pourri is not a disgustingly scented air freshener. It's a spray you use in the toilet before using it. Apparently it works to create a "barrier to embarrassing bathroom odors!"

I will absolutely positively without fail never ever ever ever become one of those guys who drops a bomb while his woman is in the bathroom getting ready. Or vice-versa. I know of people who do this and I can slap a Bracelet guarantee on its chances. Never. Luckily, like many many things, Elizabeth and I are in agreement on this.

Nobody should even be in the house when I go, let alone milling around eyeing my Man Sink and striking up conversation.

Anybody feel like admitting if they do this with their significant other?

Out yourselves!

Jane, you ignorant slut.

I kid.

I should also stop thinking out loud as much. When a trip you plan on taking for less than $500 becomes $500 just for the flight, you're going to have the thought run through your mind that maybe you should reconsider things.

There's a site called farecast that can show you a charting of prices over the last number of days. Like this for my flight to see Elizabeth's niece get religionized.



I really like these things. Normally you can only feel the ass-raping of booking a retardedly priced airline ticket. With farcaster you not only get to see just how pricey your ticket will be, but you also get to see a fancy graphical representation of how deep they've inserted their junk.

Note the beginning of the graph. It's so cheap to fly that there appears to be no space between the price of the flight and zero. It bumps up a bit and then hangs there for a number of weeks. Then, from out of nowhere you see the chart rise out of control. It's as if some major, crushing blow was delivered to the airline industry causing an outrageous skyrocketing of prices.

What's that you say? Nothing happened? Then why does my ass hurt?

Coincidentally, this chart looks almost identical to any other location I could have flown these last two weekends. I checked my usual flight to Laguardia to see Elizabeth, which I've only paid over $250 for one time ($278, or something) and found those same flight patterns going for $850.

Vegas? $500.
Charlotte? $500.
Fargo? Who the fuck would go to Fargo willingly?

Also, this chart is a pretty close approximation to any given 10 minute period of teen life when you graph penis activity.

Bored on the bus...
Bored on the bus...
Bored on the bus...
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAARD!

Where is my notebook?
There is my notebook.
Close my locker.
HAAAAAAAAAAAAAARD!

Boner Crisis Management is a 24hr job as a teen. You literally can't anticipate anything longer than ten or twenty seconds in advance. Anything longer than that and it's possible you'll find yourself forced into action. Hands in the pockets to adjust, while simultaneously covering up your excitement, is a very popular technique. Sitting down, getting your shirt untucked, and many other time-tested maneuvers are available.

I think this well known male teen problem is why women grow up with a sense of fashion and guys end up without one. Guys are too busy planning how to properly select their jeans (Thicker denim conceals a raging hard-on better) and shirt (An untucked shirt is a must) for solid boner management and never have time to learn about color schemes and such.

At any rate, fares had unexpectedly risen like a young Bracelet's junk from a bump in the road, and I thought out loud about whether it was smart to take the trip. Admittedly, I only got one thought out before she had to get off the phone. So all she heard was the first story of our call, which detailed the kindness of a friend who wanted to fly me out on his dime to hang for his birthday weekend in the city. This would, of course, give me some time to see Elizabeth while there. Win win, right?

The second part of the call had me explaining the flight prices from my hub and getting my one thought out about whether or not the price of the religionizing trip had skyrocketed past a point of being realistic. Then work jumped in, or as could be possible, she got pissed and didn't want to talk to me.

I left the call wondering about prices and working the computer hard. Honestly, I usually only search with that level of focus and ferocity when I'm trying to find hermaphrodite on midget anime porn.

I was determined to make it happen, yet there has to be a point where it just becomes too much, right? I mean, we're talking a flight that should never be over $250 going for $500. So you add in hotel costs, food, and whatever else that always seems to snare a chunk of your change while away for the weekend, and you've got a much more expensive weekend in the works.

(Before all you artsie lofties get your panties in a bunch, I'm explaining my thought process and not what was my final decision.)

And here is where Elizabeth gets it wrong. We both had this planned for a long time, though we also had plenty of other stuff planned beforehand. These plans all require airfare and spending money. We live in different states and can't drive to see each other. I make a huge effort to see her as often as possible. It's hard to buy the ticket for 3 trips away when you have two big trips coming up and need to be strapped with cash for those. I don't have the amounts I've spent to have time with her. It's the vast majority of my money though.

I don't do that much at home. I golf when I can, which this year has been a lot, but early in the year you can play for $30 because it's still spring here and courses lower their rates. I play in some soccer leagues, but that's around a hundred a pop and they last for 8 to 10 weeks. I don't go out to clubs. The only thing I do sometimes is get together with friends out of town, hit up the casino, or both at the same time. I don't do this as often as people might think and I usually don't spend any more than I would in a weekend with Elizabeth when I do.

So I feel like I spend all my money to see her, and it's pretty much true. I don't have much credit card space hanging out to help in these situations. I don't have a huge chunk of cash saved up to use. I've been spending the majority of my free monies to see her as often as possible. I'm currently low on funds.

Two grand for dental work (Thanks Mountain Dew!) and an "always seems to happen to the Bracelet" snafu at work that paid out a smaller than deserved bonus plus the timing of checks and recent trips had me confused as to how I would make this week happen.

I don't see the trip of the week previous as a terrible thing. Airfare was free and I'd be spending a minimal amount while there. Plus I'd get to see her. The following week was going to be tough to swallow regardless. A month later would have been easy. A month before would have been easy.

That all being said, I was able to book a last minute deal offer that had to include a hotel stay. We needed one anyways. This brought the hotel for three nights and my flight down to a combined $475. With that manageable amount, I happily booked and informed my lovely lady. But apparently spending almost all my money and time to see her while possibly having to make a tough decision to cancel one trip for the first time almost earned me some sort of worst boyfriend ever award. Ridiculous. She's totally worth being broke for, though. I'd just prefer to not bounce checks along the way.

So I learned my lesson. Don't talk.

So if you're reading at home, here are the numbers so far:

0 - Number of things I get to bring with me besides my bed and clothes.
0 - Number of times I've been right.
0 - Number of rooms I can design in our future home.
0 - Number of arguments I'm allowed to win.
0 - Amount of traveling cash I have left.


It's shaping up to be a good solid "partnership" for me, Team Bracelet. I know most of you are already doing what we're planning on doing. How in the hell do you ever get a chance to buy anything for the house, go anywhere with friends, or masturbate furiously in private, without completely offending your significant other?

I seriously think I need an opyca of the ecretsa anualma.

(Don't worry guys, that code is unbreakable. Nobody will know it was you or what you were sending me.)

Next weekend, we are going to check out some of the places we may want to live, when we move, which is still an undetermined date. That weekend has been planned for months, because it is centered around my niece's christening. It also happens to be Mother's Day and both my mom and my stepmother's birthdays land within the week. But still, there are places to go see. Artsy lofty places, especially.

My man called me the other day to tell me he would be here this weekend, but it's because he has boy plans. I'll see him tomorrow, because he will be spending most of the weekend drinking too much and being a boy. I'm ok with that. What I wasn't ok with was the follow-up musing about whether or not he would be able to go next weekend. To look at places, to the family stuff, all of it. See, he hadn't bought his plane ticket yet, and the prices had suddenly skyrocketed.

I couldn't exactly lecture him about planning ahead and buying the ticket earlier. I am the worst procrastinator about those things myself. Luckily, I live near 3 international airports, so that keeps the airlines in check a bit, with all the competition. Him, not so much. I restrained myself from guffawing at the fact that he would be coming here to party with his friends, no doubt throwing down a good deal of cash for stuff, like beer and baseball stadium food and whatever else boys spend their money on. Strippers? Silly prop bets about nothing? I don't know. I'm fine with all of those things, by the way, and want him to have a great time with those friends he doesn't get to see very often. I'm just not fine with those things in lieu of plans we've had for months. But I restrained. I asked him to look again, and held my breath.

We are going, as scheduled, next weekend. Whew, it was a close one. I need to save all of my arguing skills for the battle of where we will live. I will come back armed with photographic evidence of why I'm totally right pictures of potential places.

When I get my way, things are going to be great!

There will be kegerators on each floor serving only the finest draughts money can buy. St. Pauli Girl posters will adorn at least one wall in every room. Green leather recliners will bring each room together, especially the dining room where six of them will replace the chairs of the dining room table.

Imagine a land where you can move through an entire house, from green leather recliner to green leather recliner, without ever touching the ground.

Excuse me while I get some tissue...

Instead of cleaning anything we'll just shove silica gel packs into whatever we're trying to keep fresh. Our sheets will be of the cotton jersey variety. Dirty dishes will be tossed out (after their prerequisite 2 week cool down period near the sink) and replaced with disposable containers whenever possible or brand new classy containers when the mood strikes us.

That's not even mentioning the room we'll have that has a trampoline for the floor. It'll also be tough fitting a pool table, dart board, poker table, neon bar sign, bean bag chair, four gaming systems, and my life size movie cutouts into our place but we'll make it work.

~~~~~~

Elizabeth would have you believe I'm eager to create some sort of sports dungeon, outfitted with every possible type of collegiate male dormitory stereotype. Not true at all.

Take the green leather recliner, for instance.

We aren't talking about a chair that saw active duty in a frat house or some sort of eyesore. It's a quality (oversized to fit my gigantic frame - Hear that ladies?) chair that's built for comfort. While not the most artistically impressive chair, it is the perfect accoutrement to a man cave. No guy wants his friends squirming to find comfort in chairs from the Real World home while watching the Detroit Lions continue to set records for futility.

Plus, it shouldn't be going in any sort of main room. I get that. But in the man cave it's perfect. Not an eyesore, really comfortable, and the type of thing you need available for men to relax in.

Men who slaved all day (often putting in overtime) to bring home the bacon for their family. Rarely asking for much, we men give and give and give with little take. We just want a chair that cradles our tired and sore (muscular too, ladies!) body when we finally get home. Maybe a meal cooked for us that has the right seasoning for once and doesn't have a ratio of what we like to what we don't like of 1:9. And would it hurt to serve it in something sexy and keep the recliner's built in cooler stocked with beer?

Keeping a guy happy is pretty easy.

Vote Green Leather Recliner in 2008!

First, let me just say that as confounding as this whole process is, and will continue to be, the reason I am willing to wade through it is because my man is adorable. That, however, does not make the green recliner and man cave ok. But I'll get to that in a moment. First I must extend thanks for the lovin we've already received here.

I think the verdict is in, by reasons of obvious overwhelming evidence, as seen here, that the girl power will overcome. I believe, that in solidarity, all women should own this symbol of artsy lofties. How great is that name? I know, pretty damn great, huh? I could, technically take credit, since the person who deserves it refuses to comment on the girly posts of this site (hmmmmph) anyway, so it's not like he'd speak up to argue, right? But anyway...back to the man cave/green recliner.

My man would like to believe that a man cave, complete with enormous tv and green lazy-boy-esque recliner, would be a great addition to the new home. Here, he would display all sort of sport related paraphernalia, including the lovely poster of the Three Stooges in golfing gear. Now, you might think that this is fair, since the majority of the design choices in the apartment will be mine. However, this would require the division of the apartment.

How is dividing this new space, meant to be shared by the two of us, a good idea? Also, it should be noted, that my design sense? It isn't about flowers and pastel colors and lace. In fact, there is nothing about my decorating style that is decidedly feminine, so he is not looking to find masculine solace in a frilly, poofy-pillowed environment. He is looking for a place to sit, surrounded by testosterone, in front of a tv displaying a game of some sort, while I clean, do laundry, etc. Not happening.

I am all about compromise, despite what he may have you believe. As an example, I present you with the solution to this particular dilemma.





He can totally sit in that much lovelier chair and watch sports, after he helps with the dishes.

I declare Shenanigans.

Yes, Shenanigans. I bet you weren't fully prepared for that, were you?

That's cool. I appreciate your naivety.

In fact, your naivety and unpreparedness are feelings I can get with. And I mean "get with" in the same way I've used it countless times while referring to sisters of friends, actresses, and the occasional fatty while drunk.

In other words, I'm going to admit that I'm completely unprepared and naive about this whole process. It's awkward. It's scary. And yet it's extremely exciting.

That being said, I'm not the hypocrite. She is. Like, totally. Way more than I am. let me explain.

So Elizabeth gives me her list. I already knew it for the most part, so I looked at places based on this criteria. I know she doesn't like the typical apartment complex thing. I'm cool with that.

So I look at old steel and cotton mills that have been turned into condos and apartments. I gather info on condo and townhome rentals. I pass by apartment complex after apartment complex. Until I get lost searching out a condo complex, and that's when I see a place that looks beautiful.

I pull in and make my way to the office. I steal a few cookies and wait to take the tour. Sure, it's an apartment complex, but it isn't typical. It's high end. It's in a really nice part of town. Lots of wide rows and new developments. Plenty of money around. The complex itself is designed like no other I've seen. I tour it and really like how it's set up when it comes to Captain Flexible's requirements.

Honestly, I looked at it solely from her point of view when it came to kitchen space and layout, closet and bathroom design, etc. I knew this wasn't perfect, but I figured it was a pretty solid option to consider in case things in the more hip communities somehow can't work out. Plus it had the benefit of location in a fancy part of town.

Now, before I left town Captain Flexible and I talked about a place she saw. A place that is admittedly in a less safe part of town, but is unbelievably cool. I saw pictures and it is. Her good friend who is in real estate in this town had told her that he believed that within a few years this area would be much better and that made it a solid investment.

She visited once, and exuded the desire to make that our place no matter what stood in our way. I spoke to my friend John, who has lived in town many years, as well as another friend K. Both told me that the area was not two years from becoming safe, and that it really wasn't a nice area to live. Living in a shit part of town is a definite veto from Uncle Bracelet.

So, keeping this in mind, I knew I owed it to her to visit the place and include it in our options, though I'll admit without reservation that I was already ranking it as a slim chance. In fact, I was probably audibly unexcited about it. From my point of view though, I wanted to make her happy by looking at her favorite place. I also know that nothing is ever concrete and you have to keep an open mind. So I knew I'd end up seeing the place during one of our future visits. Besides, we plan on renting right off the bat and these are for purchase.

I bring my materials I had gathered and show her some of the things. I pull out the folder of info from the apartment complex. She takes a look at the picture on the cover, which has a photo of part of the outside of one of the buildings, and she emphatically states, "No, this is ugly. I won't live there." And she tosses it aside.

(Or some such similar statement)

Even she'll admit it isn't ugly. But without huge windows on the outside of the building (and thinking of standard apartment complexes immediately) she wouldn't even consider it. And she wasn't willing to budge, which is the attitude which has helped me coin her Captain Flexible.

So she called me a hypocrite because I wanted her to at least check it out, while she felt I wasn't going to consider her favorite place.

Not true at all.

Double Fail.

(In your face, single Fail!)

She and I both have aspects of living which we are willing to put up with. One of my must haves is a nice area. I don't want to worry about break-ins if I don't have to. One of hers is aesthetics. I think both of us would agree about each other's opinions on living, at least for the most part.

However, I was willing to look at her place, despite mentally ranking it well behind other places, because it was important to her. She wasn't willing to even hear about my place, let alone view a floor plan or anything, yet she called ME a hypocrite!

SHENANIGANS!!!

She's lucky I sorta kinda maybe possibly really like her. Otherwise things could have gotten hairy, and I've already experienced the hairy lady thing and it wasn't cool at all.

Captain Flexible.

This, dear readers, is only the beginning. If I am to make this happen I will be risking much more than opinions on location and style. Yes, it is entirely possible that she would expect me to leave every single item of everything I own behind, maybe getting lucky enough to at least bring along 2 items of current clothing.

Coming soon? The battle of the Green Recliner and the Man Cave.

I'm going to begin this with the story of our first house hunting experience. "Our" in this case, is a very loose term, as I wasn't actually present. You see, my man gets a ton of vacation days a year, so we thought it would be wise if he used a few of them to fly down to the new city to check out some potential places to live. He was armed with a camera, a list of places I've found with the help of my sister, a friend, and various websites, and a few very specific things I'm looking for. Here's that list:

• closet space
  
• dog friendly
  
• nice bathrooms, nice, open kitchen
  
• in or around the artsy part of town
  
• big, lofty space would be preferable to boring boxy apartment
  
• windows, natural light and more windows: VERY important
  

Fairly simple, right? I spoke to him several times a day while he was there, hearing about how the places were. He liked some more than others, based on location or aesthetics. He found a bunch of apartments through realtors and signs as well, and he went to look at those. There were a few converted industrial loft buildings I was really excited about, he saw a couple of them, told me he liked them, and we started a short list of places we would check out when we go there together next month. All seemed to be going well.

Then he came to visit last weekend, with some literature in hand from the house hunt. I also got to see some photos he had taken. Some of the information was very exciting, though I had hoped to see more pictures. Then he pulled out a brochure that didn't seem like it fit into the rest. It was a big apartment complex, standard boxy apartment layout. Hmmm well, maybe it was in a great neighborhood, in the heart of where we'd agreed we would really like to live? Nope, not even close. Lovely neighborhood, sure, but stuck in the middle of a bunch of large, lovely homes, nowhere near where we were looking. But he liked it. He liked the wide, winding road of the neighborhood and look! Storage! For golf clubs and man cave stuff!

Let's review how it meets the list requirements:

• closet space
  
• dog friendly (marginally)
  
• nice bathrooms, nice, open kitchen
  in or around the artsy part of town
  big, lofty space would be preferable to boring boxy apartment
  windows, natural light and more windows: VERY important
  

FAIL

Needless to say, I wasn't impressed. I chucked the big, colorful pamphlet aside and he grumbled. This place, to me, was the Super Target of apartments. Sure, it may have stuff that is useful, and it may be clean and new and nice enough. But it's vanilla and boxy and there are 100 duplicates of it. I thought it was understood that we were looking for the urban boutique store of apartments. Funky and unique and quirky. There was a definite breakdown in communication. He was surprised by my "inflexibility", because I wouldn't even give it a chance, had no desire to even go see it. Did he just meet me?

To top it off, one of the places I really wanted to check out was a building I'd been to before. I didn't remember where it was (my sense of direction is awesome like that), but found out while he was there. He didn't have time to go see it, and wasn't terribly interested anyway, because a couple of people told him the neighborhood sucked. That was that. He didn't care about any other details.

I declare hypocrisy!

We will see how things go next month when we visit, but this could be more difficult than even I anticipated.