I’m not an adult yet

It’s almost been a full 2 weeks since I moved out of my parents’ house and into this cute little apartment with my boyfriend. And let me tell you, it’s expensive.

We’ve gone grocery shopping like 4 times because we always forget something important like laundry detergent or trash bags. Then when we get to the store we see something like ketchup or dryer sheets and we’re both like “gotta get that too.” We’re trying to save money so I haven’t been real loyal to the name brands. If buying Gain instead of Tide saves me $5, I’m gonna do it.

Anyway fast forward to last night. I was relaxing on our brand new couch – that’s a light blue color… almost pastel – watching Friends. I’d just made a trip to my mom’s house for dinner and a few forgotten items, and then Winco for MORE groceries. So I wanted to relax and unwind.

I opened a bottle of this cheap Trader Joe’s wine – which actually doesn’t even taste that great, so what happens next doesn’t even seem worth it – and poured myself a glass of the thirst quenching red liquid (yes, I said red) and sat on my beautiful light blue couch. I cozied up with a blanket and a pillow, and only about 3 sips in, I rearranged myself for some reason, and just like that, my life flashed before my eyes. My knee knocked that glass right out of my hand; I saw a stream of red in slow motion. I did all that I could to catch the glass but to no avail.

“COME HELP ME!” I screamed. David comes out of the bedroom to a frantic me, pulling back the sofa cushions, Googling “HOW TO REMOVE RED WINE FROM COUCH.”

We don’t have baking soda or vinegar, so the next suggestion says to dab the couch with wet paper towels with a touch of laundry detergent.

My mom had given me some Tide Pods when I moved because I mentioned that David doesn’t do laundry often.

“Let David use these when you’re not there, they’re really easy, just toss one in the washer. Idiot proof.”

But I went ahead and bought some liquid, so as to reserve the pods for David.

David goes to grab the liquid soap and stares at it.

“Is this detergent?”


“You’ve been washing our clothes with this?”


“It says fabric softener.”

So, yeah. I’ve been washing our clothes and towels and sheets with fabric softener. So basically everything is dirty. Soft, probably. But dirty.

That’s when I realized I’m not an adult yet. The couch looks great, we miraculously removed the wine, no thanks to me. But it’s safe to say I’m gonna start using those idiot proof Tide Pods very soon.

Chronicles of Cohabitation

UPDATE on my life, if anybody cares. My ~boyfriend~ and I recently made a huge life changing decision to ~move in together~ … ok it’s not that life changing since I was already spending most weekends at his place anyway. But it’s a pretty big step to me.

Anywho… I know not everyone agrees with it… (Dad, I’m talking to you)

How could we do this?

Live together.


Shacking up.

Living in sin, I know. But hear me out on this one… I can list a million different reasons we chose to live together… I’m not living out of a duffle bag on the weekends, we get to see each other everyday (hello, I kinda like the guy), but the main reason is so that this can be a trial run. A test period, so to speak…

Some old fashion peeps might think an engagement or marriage should come before or along with moving in together… I disagree.

What if we get married, and I find something that irks me… Like, oh, I don’t know, the beard trimmings he leaves in the sink… or the fact that he takes his socks off in the living room and leaves them there? (This is hypothetical, of course)

What if I discover that he is physically incapable of rinsing out the sink or picking up his socks? Or what if he simply refuses to do either of those things as an act of rebellion?

What if I find myself married to a sockless bearded monster who can’t stand the amount of clothes I have? Or the fact that I let clothes sit in the dryer and get all wrinkly again?

This is why I think moving in together is so beneficial. We can test the waters and ask ourselves, “How much do I really love this person? Is it worth picking up his socks? Is he willing to clean his own beard trimmings?”

This is all hypothetical, again.

Breaking up or moving out is one thing. Divorce is quite another. Not that I see either of these things happening in our future. So far, the beard trimmings and socks don’t bother me badly enough. But keep an eye out for more Chronicles of Cohabitation.