Roommate Saga

For those who are following the "roommate saga," I would like to provide an update, and will continue to keep you all posted as developments occur. Most people I have told this story to find it to be hysterical, or at least amusing. Looking back, most of these people are married and have long ago learned to deal with the quirks of having someone to share a house with. I would imagine it does make it easier if you love each other, and at one point in time vowed to honor and cherish and all that. In the case of roommates, no such vows are taken. I have never had a male room mate, and hope to never have one again, unless said room mate is a husband. Then I will share. But not until then.
Until I make the move to Denver, though, I will be making do with what I have to work with. My room mate, a still single, set in his ways late 30's, "cat lady" but a guy, dyed in the wool bachelor, has pulled another guy-ism. For those who have not been in on the trials of getting moved in, I will make a long story very, Very short. My bathroom, before I moved in was red. Not a nice designer shade, but stop sign red. All four walls, and the ceiling too! Did I mention it was a small bathroom? There was also a pile of junk, and I mean that in the nicest way, on the patio in the back that had been left by his old room mates who he had kicked out. Turns out that when you don't smoke pot yourself, potheads are really not a whole lot of fun, or reliable or anything else for that matter. There was also a hideous tiger striped, black and faded orange oversize love seat in the dining room. It was agreed that the love seat would be gone, and the junk, I mean stuff, would also be gone, and the bathroom painted a lovely shade of 'misted jade' that I had picked out and paid for, before I moved in. The agreement, although not written down, (my mistake, lesson learned, everything in writing) was made back in August. I mentioned each 2 times during the 4 weeks prior to moving in.
Move in day, the awful couch was still right where it was before: exactly where my dining room table was supposed to go. The pile of junk in trash bags, starting to smell like cat pee (remember, cat lady, but a guy) still right in the corner. Oh, and I have to mention this one thing too, which still amuses me. Pothead ex-roomies put down plastic tarp over the grass around the perimeter of the patio and poured sand an inch deep. Kitties love it! Me, not so much....
And guess what color the bathroom was...RED!!!
2 weeks later, after being told to quit nagging since I mentioned it one more time and voiced my distress about the headache making red, it was agreed that the bathroom would be "for sure, without a doubt, definitely done" before I got back from Mexico for the week.
Of course, as most women know, it was not done. I walked in and he was on the computer, (do they ever grow out of that phase?) and he looked up dumbly and said, "oh! you're home! I thought you were going to be gone 9 days." Can men count?
Not up for an argument, and CERTAINLY not willing to spend another day with the blinding red, I did what any choleric woman would do. I started painting the room myself! Jokes on him though, cause then he felt all bad, and tried to help, so I let him. After 20 minutes I excused myself for some water, and let him do the rest! I'm just glad it finally got done.
Which brings us back to the latest. Oh, and the couch did go away after another 2 weeks, but the pothead junk remains!!!
The day after Thanksgiving I was already in the Christmas spirit, and I wanted a Christmas tree. I mentioned it to him, planning on getting the artificial smaller tree from my grandparents to borrow to put up. Being a guy though, he would have none of that. "I will not allow fake Christmas trees in this house! I will buy a real one," he proclaimed. "And there will be no trees up until December 1st at least!" Now I know a lot of you are applauding this proclamation, because so many people are not into trees up so early; at least let the turkey settle in your stomach before moving along. You have to understand that this will be my first Christmas at home, with my whole family, not working at the hospital. (hopefully) So this is the first Christmas I have been happy about in more than a few years, as my family will atest to.
In all my excitement to get a tree up, I wanted it up NOW!!!! Compromising, he said he would get it the first weekend in December. So I shut up and let him go get one on either the 2nd or 3rd and did NOT nag, hint, fuss, complain, or anything else I would normally do to push for getting what I want. Since he had decided when he would get it, (translated "not my idea") I figured he would follow through.
Getting off work Sunday night, I stopped by Target and got the ribbons to match the wrapping paper I had spent hours searching for and coordinating. I have pretty much all my Christmas shopping done, (last year I was done by September) and I was so excited to wrap my presents and see how beautiful they look under the tree. Now, when I wrap my presents, I don't like to stop with just a thin ribbon and a shoestring bow. I get the wired ribbons, I usually have floral picks, and I have masses of curling ribbon hanging down. Each gift is a delight to decorate. An exercise in creativity. So I want my gifts to be out a long time so I can enjoy them. No sense in taking as much time as I like to just to turn around and hand it over to someone who will immediately rip the paper and throw away the bows. So I take pleasure in looking at them for a whole month, and then can light heartedly view the destroying of the art. By then I have usually forgotten what I had gotten them, and so it is exciting to see what they get!
So singing a little "all I want for Christmas is you" mixed with a Fa la la la la here and there, I skipped up the steps to the house, my heart fluttering as I opened the door to see what kind he had gotten, since we did not talk shape and kind.
Once again I was disappointed. No tree. Poor Laura.
Remembering that long ago he had told me that unless it is written down, he will forget, I wrote out a list. A very long one with all the things on it that he still has not done from before I moved in, starting with "buy Christmas tree."
Now, I thought I would be nice and explain to him that the spaces I left underlined were for him to write in when he would be able to finish the task by, and to cross it out when he was done. Today, when I came home from work, none of the spaces were filled out, a few had a circle with a dot in the middle, and next to a few were scrawled "what?" My favorite, though, was next to "steam clean upstairs" (which he will not let me do..."you'll break it") was written "shoes."
Shoes? Huh? It is a hallway! There are no shoes! My shoes are in my room in the closet, and his are who knows where in his room, but there are no shoes in the hallway.
Not that I have any experience, but living with a guy is impossible! I don't know why girls elect to do this on a regular basis! I can't wait to have my own place again!
Oh, and as another note, from my bedroom, I can hear him blowing his nose in the shower! EEEWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!
Everyone, if you are living alone, Praise God for that! If you are happily married, Praise God!
While, yeah, it's good to be me, if you have a room mate/husband/wife you love or you get to live alone, you may as well say it out loud, "It's good to be me!"

Happy Anniversary, and other reminders of why it's good to be me!

Today marks yet another anniversary, not for me, of course. But for my grandparents. The anniversary season for me starts in August with my mother's parents, who celebrated their 60th with me on a trip through Mexico. Next up is my dad's parents, whose anniversary is today. Then comes my parents in another week and a half or so. Add a bit of Christmas and New Years, and it's just festivities all around. December is a great month for that.
I appreciate the years my grandparents have sacrificed for each other, and am amazed at how they, after 54 years together, still seek out each others company and make each other laugh. It makes a little warm fuzzy spot in my heart. They are still cute. I just hope some day I can make it that long. Not just the making the marriage work, but making it get better and better. And having both of us alive for it too! (Darned nurses logic!)
I am so lucky to be able to call them up and wish them both a happy day, and talk to them both about how the day went. Very nice. Makes me glad to be me.
Back to the nurses world though. I always like to find reasons it is good to be me. Today I was shown, a few times, a great reason to be me. Drum roll please.......
Because I am not bleeding profusely into my mouth! Woo-hoo!!!! And following that yarn... I am glad I am also not vomiting blood! It's the little thing in life!
Over all, a good day though. I got to take care of "no matter how many times you bathe this person he will still reek of urine" man. Also the above mentioned "bleeding profusely from mouth"-man.
I am home already, so of course I have already forgotten who else I took care of. There is an instant forget force field that lines the perimeter of the hosptial, enabling all healthy of mind nurses and doctor to separate their professional and personal lives, and also causes you to forget anyone you took care of during this shift. It serves very well for maintaining our sanity and overall well-being. Only those who do not believe in it will carry home the emotional burdens of the 18 year old with aplasic anemia who may only have about 9 months to live, if he is lucky, or the 52 year old man who has leukemia and a set of 11 year old twins. It can be sad. That's why we have to leave it there at the hospital. We can take it home, and it will eat away at us. Or we can leave it because it will always be there when we return. It may not be the same face, smile or eyes, but the gravity of the situation is always there, looming on the other side of those double doors.
That's why I like to take home the happy thoughts. The life lesson for the day, or the reinforcement of "good to be me." And I think maybe that is why I am a good nurse.