The A to Z of cohabitation

The A to Z of Cohabitation image

After nearly five years of mostly happy singledom, it’s been one whole day since B and I started “officially” living together. It’s been quite good so far. He hasn’t farted in front of me once. It’s a pity I can’t say the same. We even managed to shift into our new abode without an argument – although I did say “I have no opinion on that” quite a few times during the course of our very long moving day. But as we head, eyes wide open, into the next phase of our relationship, there are many things I need to keep in mind to help me stay relatively sane.

A – Alcohol or lack of it. Unbeknownst to almost everyone bar a few, after 28 years on the piss I gave up the grog nine months ago. I feel awesome and this is the first relationship that I’ve ever had that didn’t start with one of us wearing beer googles. Winning!

– Blow-jobs. One must remember to give these from time-to-time when one is cohabitating.

C – Commitment. As a 42-year-old who has never married, I am perhaps a commitment-phobe. It might be time to change this. C also stands for clitoris, naturally.

D – Dementia. When your mum has dementia. It sucks. Every single day.

– Ego. One must keep this in check even when one gets to be on the telly.

F – Friends. Through the good times and the bad and especially during the heady days and months of new relationships when one may tend to go AWOL these are the peeps whove stuck by me, even when they didnt like me that much.

G – Grace Land. My screenplay which I had written the first 10 minutes of before some wanker broke into my (now former) apartment and nicked my laptop. That said, G is also for Grateful. This year I have learned to be this. Finally.

H – Handjobs – see entry above at B.

I – IVF…

J – John Butler Trio. Some 15 years after I first saw him play in Fremantle, I still love him. Not in a stalkery kind of way though. I just admire talent.

K – Kale. I really really like kale, raw or cooked, which makes me a knob I know but I just don’t care.

L – Loony. This year, I have stopped focusing on the things I can’t change and concentrated instead on the things that I can. It’s been rather good for my mental health so I’m slightly less loony than I was. Only slightly, mind you.

M – McJones. Potentially the name of our new cat, although Montague McPussyCat is also a frontrunner for this soon-to-be adopted moggy.

N – Never say never. At the start of this year if someone had told me I’d be shacked up with a smart and very sexy man by year’s end, I would’ve laughed heartily, called them a fantasist and then popped off to the pub to drown my sorrows.

O – OMV. This blog, which I must give more attention to. Oh and it stands for Oh My Vagina in case you were wondering.

P – Property porn. One must not indulge in so much property porn on for sale listing websites that one finds oneself talking about it constantly and boring almost everyone one knows apart from work colleagues who are paid to listen.

Q – Qi. Seemingly a word one can use in Scrabble to beat your girlfriend on her birthday while holidaying on a Pacific island.

R – Rabbit fur. Random.

S – Scrabble. My boyfriend beats me in Scrabble with questionable words and a sexy smile (see entry at Q). I love him for it.

T – Truth. It’s a pretty good way to start a relationship I have learned. Who knew?

U – Uranus. I once told B that I thought it was a cliché to say “I love you to the moon and back”, plus it didn’t seem quite far enough if you really did love someone. So I often tell him “I love you to Uranus and back”. I think he likes it.

V – Vulva, naturally.

W – The Wend. The only place to live. Full of hippies, hipsters, homeless and then there’s us.

X – X-Factor. If I was to write a list of all the attributes I was seeking in a man, B would have every single one, plus a few I didn’t even know I was looking for. He’s also cool that I wrote a blog that appeared to insinuate (completely incorrectly) that he had erection problems. What a chilled dude.

Y – YOLO. Just fucken do it I reckon.
 
Z – Zouk. A very sexy Latin dance that makes your whole body tingle. B learned this just for me. Z also stands for zzz’s. He’s an early riser. I am not. Since we met, I’ve begun to wake earlier and he’s started to sleep in a little later so nowadays we wake at the same time somewhere in the middle of these two former extremes. I think that’s kinda neat.

 

The problem erection

Arrow-Double_03

No matter how hard we tried we just couldn’t get it erect. B was becoming increasingly frustrated while I, well, I thought it was quite funny. “Sometimes it just happens,” I said to him while trying to keep the mood light. Like so many men in history, my perspective was not what he wanted to hear.

There is no doubt that we had a severe case of a problem erection a few weeks ago and the timing couldn’t have been worse. We’d planned a romantic weekend for a number of months and had both been looking forward to some time away from civilisation to just be with each other – you know, romantically.

But alas the erection problem happened almost as soon as we arrived at our destination. We hadn’t been out of the car long at all when we decided that we might as well get the party under way. We both knew what we were doing so within a few minutes we’d unsheathed the necessary equipment and started going for it.

Everything seemed to be going quite well until it became apparent that while the desire was certainly there, the actual mechanics were somewhat, ah, lacking.

We tried different positions, and pulling and pushing in a variety of ways, but we just couldn’t get the damn thing up. We managed to get it to half-mast a few times but then it would just deflate on itself and we’d have to start all over again.

By this stage, B was very red in the face from a combination of anger, effort and frustration. I myself was also sweating profusely and was quite out of breath. Erections were never usually this much trouble.

B wanted to give up but I was too invested to let him cave so easily. “No” I said to his crest-fallen face. “Maybe we just need some assistance to get it up? I could pop down the shops and buy something perhaps?”

Well it’s no surprise that he didn’t like the sound of that. I think his masculinity was offended and his pride was hurt that it wasn’t working out the way it was supposed too – even though his erections in very similar circumstances had been successfully happening since he was a teenager.

It was at about that moment that I realised that only something serious could fix the problem – and quite possibly our relationship. B clearly was beyond caring about whether it was erect or not and the prospect of sleeping alone out in the wilderness didn’t excite me one little bit.

So I took the situation into my own hands and came up with a solution. “There’s still time to get to the shops before they close,” I said. “Let’s jump in the car and get what we need.”

So my friends that is how B and I found ourselves at a camping store a few minutes before it closed on the Sunshine Coast recently. We went there to buy some pegs and ropes so we could erect that pesky bloody borrowed tent that was being particularly bothersome. When we got there though, we came across a miraculous new invention – a self-erecting tent – and bought that instead. Now we need never worry about problem erections ever again.

The battle of the bush

Bathroom razor

Not that long ago I spent my Sunday morning investigating the history of pubic hair – shaved pubic hair to be exact. The reason for this scientific exploration of the various hair styling of a woman’s (or man’s for that) lady or blokey bits, is that I read  that Cameron Diaz had declared her position in the long-standing, epic battle of the bush.

She has included a chapter in her new health guide, The Body Book, called “In Praise of Pubes”, in which she enthusiastically outlines the benefits of female pubic hair. According to media reports, her argument goes like this.

“I hear that there’s a big fad these days of young women undergoing laser hair removal on all of their lady bits,” Diaz writes.

“Personally, I think permanent laser hair removal sounds like a crazy idea. Forever? I know you may think you’ll be wearing the same style of shoes forever and the same style of jeans forever, but you won’t. The idea that vaginas are preferable in a hairless state is a pretty recent phenomenon, and all fads change, people.”

Well, my “research” – alas for Cameron who is actually one of my favourite actresses and is also the same age as me and much better looking but still single – found that the preference for a hair-less V-Jay Jay has actually been around since the ancient Egyptians.

It seems those dudes and dudesses weren’t keen on body hair and used to remove it all apart from their eye-brows. A useful distinction that many women should keep in mind today if they’re feeling particularly ruthless with their tweezers.

In Roman times, hair removal was also often seen as an identifier of class. The wealthy women would remove their body hair with pumice stones, razors, tweezers and depilatory creams.  Then there was threading which is often still practised openly in markets these days but on one’s eyebrows and not any hairy issues down under

The first razor was invented in the 1700s by a Frenchman (naturally) but it had a habit of taking off more than just skin so it wasn’t until the 1880s when a dude called King Camp Gillette created a much safer razor that the device became universally popular.  That said, I also read recently that sales of razors are decreasing rapidly because of the current hipster trend for blokes to look like lumber-jacks even if they live nearer the beach than any mountainous bushes.

As history shows, women have long found ways of removing body hair, but in 1915 the first female-specific razor was launched, which also coincided with a Harpers Bazaar issue featuring a model with hairless under-arms – and we’re all still replicating that ideal some 99 years later.

Ask any woman, and it’s highly likely that she’s tried the vast majority of hair removal techniques available. Some are more successful than others. Some are more painful than others – just check the waxing scene in The 40-Year-Old Virgin because that was actually real. And today some are more permanent than others.

Although pooh-poohed by Cameron, the latest incarnation is permanent laser hair removal and to me her argument has rather large hairy holes in it. Anyone aged under 45, has grown up in a society where, rightly or wrongly, hair has been the enemy and I don’t think we’re going to be changing decades-old hirsute habits anytime soon.

From the hairier-the-better days of the 70s,by  the time we got to the 90s, the vast majority of us were trimming, plucking or waxing our nether regions to fit into societal norms or to squeeze into those ridiculously hipster jeans that were all the rage at the time.

And since the 60s, bikinis have become smaller and smaller to the extent that these days they actually resemble postage stamps – which is perhaps a new contemporary usage for stamps since no one actually posts letters anymore. Likewise, with undies, which in the 21st Century are the polar opposite of bloomers. I painfully remember wearing g-strings religiously throughout the 90s because I was in my 20s, my arse was pert, and therefore I could. But I think by the time I got to my 30s, I realised they were the most uncomfortable underwear ever invented and stopped wearing them forever.

The year before last I started laser hair removal – and talked my part-time housemate into it too. To say we are devotees is an understatement.  Without going into too much detail, I am now in the enviable position that I never have to buy another razor again.  And these days my friend regularly exclaims rather loudly at the extraordinary wonder of it all given she was once a “hairy bloody Italian” and is now no longer.

The need to shave any part of your body at the last minute because you are going to the gym, wearing a sleeveless dress, or ducking to the beach is gone. And I can wander around in my undies in changing rooms – which admittedly is not an overly common occurrence but I’m trying to make a point – and not have to worry (a-al Miranda in Sex and the City) about any caterpillars peeking out.

So I guess in the historical, clearly hypothetical, battle of the bush, I would be on the opposing side of the fight to Cameron.  But that’s the way it should be. In my opinion, when it comes to pubes, you can have them long or short, curly or gone completely if that’s what you’re into, because it really is about whatever tickles your fancy.

This blog was deleted six months ago due to, um, me being a knob and imagining all manner of potential issues with it being out in the blogosphere. I’ve calmed down now and decided not to self-censor any longer.