Monday, August 17, 2009

Cohabitation Station / Little Miss J guest blogs!

Guest Blogger Alert!!!! It seems that what happens in Vegas does not actually stay in Vegas.

Joining us from the land of the lost is Little Miss J, a good friend that I had the pleasure of meeting at last fall's Backspace Conference. A wise, witty woman who is considered "Inner Circle" by our standards. Be sure to visit her blog at Miss J Writes.

And although I promised no poop talk, well, I lied. Read on...


It sounds foreboding, doesn’t it? There’s nothing like having the love of your life look at you with those glimmering eyes, full of love, hope and a picket fence, “I think we should move in together.” You imagine lazy days in bed, giggling over newspapers that you don’t even subscribe to while your crisp white 500 count sheets make a love haven for you, a la Obsession for Men 1994. Had the love of my life turned to me with a sack of trash and a checkbook in hand, “I think it is time we consider cohabitation,” I would’ve understood the black and white of the situation.

Before I found Mr. J I wanted nothing more than to cohabitate with a living, breathing man. My best friend, Mags, showed up bleeding on my doorstep one day while I was cursing my single status. She was wearing a helmet.

“What happened?”

“Matt and I got in a fight so I left. I was on Blue Diamond and I fell off my bike into some rocks when I went across the train tracks.” Tears were streaming down her face.

“You got in a fight and jumped on your bicycle?”

“I wanted some exercise.” She began pulling pebbles out of her knee.

I ushered Mags to my kitchen where she sat cross-legged on the floor while I poured Hydrogen Peroxide on her cuts. My fabulously gay roommate, Chris, had already filled her hands with a plate of lemon cake smothered with thick cream cheese frosting.

I looked at my train wreck of a friend, “Ok, what happened? Why were you and Matt fighting?”

“He was such a jerk. He is so inconsiderate!” She started crying, tears welling up, voice shaking.

“So were you mad because he said something or did something? Or didn’t do something?”

Mags put the fork down on her plate and closed her eyes while she found the words. Her bottom lip quivered, “He ate my canteloupe.”

I paused for a moment. “Give me my cake back.”

I was ready to throw Mags out of my house, because Dear Lord, she had a man that loved her. I mean, I did too. Mine made me lemon cake and woke me up for pancakes on Saturday, but he kissed boys.

It was a year later that I held my hands to my head over nachos and kvetched to my friends, “Mr. J is disgusting. He can’t find a trash can to save his life and God forbid he flush the toilet. Have you ever heard this, ‘Yellow’s mellow, brown goes down,’ nonsense?”

Mags gave me a snarky look, “And you tried to take my cake away?”

“He ate your canteloupe. Mine thinks it is funny to pee on my feet in the shower.”

“I had already cut the canteloupe into bite size pieces.”

“Give me your nachos.”

After screeching, threats and a few “we need to talk” moments I decided to be creative. I found a stack of multi-colored Post Its, some glittery pens and set out about the house.

The garbage can - “I eat garbage. It sure is delicious. I get so hungry sometimes. Please feed me.”

The dishwasher - “I clean your dirty dishes. That’s right! Plates and cups and pans, oh my! I do it for you! Let’s be friends.”

The toilet - “Please flush me after each visit. I get indigestion otherwise. Even pee.”

The Post It notes were true conversation pieces whenever we had company, dinner parties or game night at our house.

And that’s about it.

Mr. J and I have been living together for three years now. We’re in negotiations over a housekeeper so I don’t impale him with a ladle and it is quite possible that a Roomba just saved our marriage. I remind myself of the qualities that he has that I love when I find a plate under his side of the bed. He tries to find the trash can more regularly and we’ve agreed that yellow is certainly not mellow, although I’ve forgiven him the occasional sleepy morning pee when he’s shuffling and scratching his ass.

That’s what you do when you’re in love.

Or have given up.


Jeanette Schneider’s article Backspace Writer’s Conference Uncovered was published on the Backspace Writer’s blog STET. She recently completed her coming of age memoir, White Like Snow, and is the author of a yet unnamed collection of humorous essays. She is a member of Backspace Discussion Forums and the Las Vegas Writer’s Group. Her blog has become one of the Top 50 Networked Blogs on Facebook in Las Vegas.
Jeanette lives in Las Vegas with her husband, Trevor, and two rescue dogs, Toby and Ginger. She is a Senior Vice President at a large financial services firm, sits on the board of a major charitable foundation and works as an advocate within the community to promote environmental awareness.


PurpleClover said...

Hilarious! Of course I know it to be true. But I love that you shared with all!

SharonK said...

TK is notoriously neat, thank goodness! However, yeah there's a however, he is neat, not organized and there's a difference. He wants everything put away, off the table, counters, etc. Doesn't matter where. If he's sorting mail he'll show no mercy and toss most of what doesn't look important. I once found a check and a doctor's bill in the recycling. Not to mention a valuable 20% coupon for Macy's.

But you get used to it, and negotiate (he leaves the mail alone now) and God bless him, he overlooks the fact that I refold the handtowels only two times instead of three.

Yeah, that's true love baby.