The other night, when it was an unholy -70 degrees in Richmond and everyone wanted to die, I was lying in bed with my roommate Cath. Our stupid lovely apartment won’t get over 56 degrees when it’s really cold out, so to make sure neither of us descends into a warm kind of twilight death we sleep together sometimes. I was tired, so while Extreme Couponing played on her computer I rolled over to listen and think and let myself fall asleep
“I need a bigger bowl for making biscuits,” I murmured. “The one we have isn’t big enough for me to make a double batch.”
“Did you just ask me for a biscuit bowl for Valentine’s Day?!” she exploded. “Don’t tell me what presents to get you!”
We laughed. Because we’re, like, married. Except it’s really awesome this time (HAHA divorce joke!).
After we moved here and experienced this whole “we’re so broke, but don’t have jobs, so let’s fuck around all day and act like fools” thing for a while, we got pretty ridiculous. There’s this whole fake accent, fake home country thing I cannot even begin to explain, but it led to us referring to one another, and her sister/my NY roommate Alicia, as “wife,” which was funny, but lately we’ve noticed it’s gone to a new level.
We are MIND MELDING. And other people are noticing.
Cath has been an active partner in my whole “listen to all the metal and see if I like it” endeavor, and so the other night we ended up at a psychobilly horror punk show with a couple of our dude friends. We’ve been making up metal songs for everything. Washing dishes? That’s now WASH THAT FUCKING DISH, GIRL, MAKE IT FUCKING CLEEEEEAAAANNNNN while kicking the under-sink cabinets.
EVERYTHING IS A METAL SONG.
So we’re at this show, and I was laughing and screaming and so was she, and I was air-humping the guy in front of me because he didn’t know and it was funny, and there came this moment when someone did something stupid and I looked at her and she looked at me and we had this whole conversation with our eyes, and our dude friends were like “y’all are weird.”
But that’s the awesome thing that happens, sometimes, if you’re extremely lucky like me. I get to live with this AMAZING FRIEND and have all the fun and know she’s totally in my corner. Really LIVING with a roommate is pretty cool – I mean, it’s way nicer to take care of one another than it is to separate all your food and be all weird about bathroom turns and awkwardly say good night at 7 PM even though you’re both just going to watch Netflix in bed and eat pretzels and it’d be more fun to do that together – but arguably the best part of this is how willing she is to be a stupid asshole with me.
Case in point – a couple of nights ago we’re walking home from Strange Matter after seeing an indie show with our friend Andrew. In that ten or twelve blocks, we scraped paint off this dude’s car with a razor blade and convinced three other people to do it too, drew a hot dog with muscle arms on his forearm, put a traffic cone from someone’s house in the middle of the street, harassed people on a porch, closed someone’s front door for them (who leaves a door hanging open at 2 AM?!), ordered a pizza and laughed at the guy on the phone, and something else I can’t remember.
We weren’t drunk. We’re just kind of stupid IN THE BEST FUCKING WAY EVER.
I’ve recently started to try to date again, and after meeting a very nice guy the other day and talking for a few hours over the most caffeinated coffee I’ve ever had, Cath picked me up because I was freezing my balls off. My wife is so understanding when I go out on these dates.
“What’d you talk about?” she asked, weaving through the cobblestone streets back to our house.
“I talked a lot about you,” I said, laughing. “Dude was kind of quiet and I was talking a lot and my life has a lot to do with you right now, so…you know. That’s how that went.”
We agreed I probably bored/scared that guy off, but that’s ok, since my wife is always there to watch Blaxploitation in bed and make super hard fun of me when I wake up and ask if this thing was a dream or a memory.