Works in progress

The day of my big move was last Saturday, with the help of the Sensitive Bostonian, the Sensitive Bostonian's Brother, and of course my sister Ms. Swamp. A little more than 24 hours later, when Dreamy called to check in, all but 8 of my boxes had been unpacked and I was hanging paintings on my wall. Now, 9 days in, I've bought the missing furnishings and kitchen and bath implements during an epic Ikea visit, unpacked all but 4 of my boxes, and assembled my futon. It's beginning to look pretty good in here.

When Dreamy first saw my house, he exclaimed, "Wow, this is like a real, grown-up place to live." I am gradually coming to realize that, while I am a fully formed adult, Dreamy is in some ways lagging behind. Just like my house, he needs a bit of fixing up and assembling. And luckily, I have just enough energy to work on my house and dedicate some to working on Dreamy, too. Moreover, he seems more than happy to have me do it; in fact, he almost begged me this weekend to become his life coach.

I have been living independently for about 13 years, cooking for myself, doing my own shopping, paying my bills. Even as an undergrad, I lived for only 4 months in a dorm, and the rest of the time my lifestyle wasn't so different from what it is now. Dreamy, in the meantime, has spent most of those years as a student living in a dorm, and still eats his meals in a dining hall. He spent the first year after college living abroad and teaching at an international school, where he lived on campus. In total, he's only lived independently for a couple of years. And sometimes it strikes me that his life is a bit too similar to that of an undergrad's.

For instance, take Friday night. Dreamy passed an important professional test, and we went out with his friends to celebrate. After a few beers, Dreamy had the brilliant idea of ordering two gigantic drinks that came in bowls that were meant to be shared by several people. The cost came to $60 for the two of them, and these things were REVOLTING. One of them was gummy worm flavored; I don't even want to know what the other one was. They were stomach-churningly awful, and something an 18-year old would no doubt down happily. Being well past the age of 18, I was only able to down a couple of sips. I mean, seriously, what kind of a 30-year-old orders these drinks? In my normal life, I don't even go anywhere near bars that SERVE drinks like that, let alone actually order them.

Then, on Saturday, I was getting out some winter clothes from my boxes and casually asked Dreamy if he does the summer-to-winter changeover, or if he's the kind of person who doesn't have a lot of clothes and keeps them all out year-round. (I am most definitely NOT that kind of person. Even with the changeover my drawers are overflowing, and I have a lot of drawers.) In my mind, this was a perfectly normal question, but Dreamy looked at me like a child who just saw a television for the first time. "Wow, that's an amazing idea!" he exclaimed. "You mean I should take out all those t-shirts that I never wear in the wintertime and put them in my closet?"

So, Dreamy needs a bit of work -- a little painting here, some sanding there. Really, very few men come ready for use. My first suggestion as his life coach was that he get a murse. I know what you're thinking; he'll look ridiculous, kind of like this guy (the one at the top). But I firmly believe that there are manly, messenger-style murses out there to be found, and if Dreamy got used to carrying one around, he would be far less likely to forget the myriad necessities he is constantly leaving behind -- his keys, his wallet, his Tylenol, etc. To that end, we went to the bookstore this weekend and I bought Manhood for Amateurs by Michael Chabon so that I could direct him to the chapter, "I feel good about my murse."

After we get Dreamy a murse, I'll have to figure out where to turn my attention to next. I suspect there will be plenty more work to come. Stay tuned for updates.