I’m not an avid listener of NPR, but more because I prefer to listen to CDs that I’ve made myself than the radio.  When a CD gets old, though, I’ll flip through the stations and usually end up on NPR because I can’t stand the constant commercials of the other stations.

Today at lunch, I was listen to On Point.  The topic was the expectations of a spouse in today’s marriage.  More specifically, the dangers of making your spouse your best friend, your only confidant, and your only social partner.

It was very interesting to listen to, because I’m partly guilty of this behavior.  You could ask any of my friends how often they see me now that I’m dating Strutter and most of them would respond with, “Who is Stuckey?”  This past week is a little different.  I’ve been social outside of Strutter twice since Saturday.  But the majority of the time, she is the only person I hang out with in a day, and that’s pretty much every day.

The program introduced a few experts, all of whom voiced the same concern:  When you have only one person with whom you can talk to about all of your problems, what happens when there are problems between you and that person?  Who can you go to and talk about those problems, and be assured that they’re perfectly normal problems and everyone else has them?

I see both sides of the answer, really.

I believe that if you have problems between yourself and your partner, the first person you should converse with about them is your partner.  Maybe they don’t even realize that they chew with their mouth open.  Maybe they’re unaware that they left the toilet seat up.  Maybe they’ll converse right back with you and explain that the reason they’ve been acting differently isn’t because they’re having second thoughts, but because they’re worried that you were.  To me, communication is the number one reason that relationships succeed, and lack of communication is the number one reason they fail.

Of course, there are times in a relationship where the two of you simply want to do different things.  One of you may want to go and play toy soldiers with your friends while the other wants to stay at home and lay on the floor with the dogs and watch television.  In these situations, I think it’s best to go and do your separate things.  People need outlets, and need small breaks from one another.  (Just be aware that some of these small breaks can end up running long as shit, and before you know it, you’ve been playing toy soldiers for nine freaking hours and your legs and back are sore from standing up so long.  If this happens, make sure you call often and give updates.)

The downside to letting your friends in on you and your partners problems is that it really isn’t their business.  And if there are a lot of problems that you share with them, they will start to get a negative mental picture for your partner because that’s all that they’re hearing.  This, however, might just be my opinion.  I tend to be a quiet person and don’t really let people in all that much.

The biggest reason I found the radio show interesting is because I’ve been thinking about this subject a lot lately.  I’m planning on moving Strutter in with me, which means I’ll be seeing even more of her than I am now.  Does that mean I’ll totally withdraw from social life?  Or does it mean I’ll go back to my normal social level?

I guess we’ll find out when it happens. 

I’ve mentioned before, in the early chapters of Nice Ass, just how opposite I am to a morning person.  If I were in the wild, and had no job or responsibilities, I would sleep until sometime in the early afternoon and then wake up to eat and nap until it was time was to go to sleep proper. Thankfully, Strutter is the same way.  This is a good thing, because all it would take is one too-chipper, “Good morning, Mookie!” in a singsong voice for me to club her to death with the alarm clock.  (Thus stopping the alarm clock from beeping at the same time.  Even in a sleepy fog, I can be efficient.)

So, because of my infatuation with sleep, I’ve grown accustomed to certain anti-sleep measures, such as a cold shower first thing in the morning and keeping the house cooler so I have to hurry around and get dressed.  I never considered, however, that holding a skinny girl hostage in my house would mean a change to the environment.

Apparently, being a 95 pound girl means that cold affects you far more than it does, say, a 297 pound guy.  She’s always wrapping up in blankets and shivering and burrowing into me like some adorable parasite.  While incredibly cute, all of that goes out the window in the morning, when she’s just woken up and it’s cold.  She’s this tiny little bomb that unleashes a full-force grumpsplosion.  And while that sounds cute, and might even be cute when viewed after the fact, it’s quite upsetting when experienced first-hand.

And so, tonight after work, I am going to adjust the programming in my thermostat to make my house warmer.  I will also check the temperature in the bedroom and compare it to the thermostat to make sure that the heat is distributing correctly.

Relationships are a series of compromises, and the temperature in my house is something I’m perfectly willing to give ground on.  What do I get in return for this compromise?  Well, she’s going to let me play Warhammer this weekend with all of my gamer friends… and she also stuck a Kotex pad on my bathroom mirror with the words “I LOVE YOU” written across it.

It’s always a challenge to date a woman with children.  You’re not able, if you want, to monopolize their time.  (And if you ARE able to, you should dump them.  That says something about them as a parent, doesn’t it?)  Things always come up that complicate your plans.  Why would I pick this topic to write about?  Because I’ve been entertaining the idea of asking Strutter to move in with me in a couple of months, and  I’ve been thinking of how that will affect my life and what changes I’ll need to make around the house.  Mainly because her three kids would be moving in with her.

I’m talking about her pets, of course, but I wouldn’t want to insult them by calling them something like that.  They are her children, and she loves them dearly.  (I love them, too.  Don’t go thinking I’m not a softie.)  But they will certainly change my lifestyle when (if) we all live under the same roof.  I’ll have to start hiding my socks in the laundry basket instead of leaving them strewn about the floor, lest the giant luck dragon, Taj, steal and devour them.  I’ll have to nominate one room in my house to contain a box of cat shit so that MacDoogle, affectionately known as “Shitfeet,” will have a place to stink up.  I’ll have to keep both my feet under the covers when I sleep to avoid the stealth-licks of Chewbacca, who is the sweetest dog ever and can’t stop kissing me.  (I must taste extra-good.)

It’s not that I’m afraid of inviting them into my house at all.  It’s just a matter of realizing that my life will change when they come.  Luckily, I’d been entertaining the thought of getting a dog before I met Strutter, so I’d already started changing my mindset on how willing I am to have random things in my house chewed to pieces.  So I’ll smile when the kids come barreling through the front door of my house, and give them big hugs as if they were my own.  Hell, I’d adopt her kids even if she wasn’t coming with them.

(But she’d better come with them…)

I’ve commented before on my new relationship theory, and how it is much like licking the red off of a peppermint candy. Every new thing you learn about the other person is one more lick until you’re left with a porous hunk of white sugar. Basically, it still tastes the same, but it’s not quite as exciting as it used to be.

Now that I’m in a new relationship, I find my analogy to be a little bit scary, because I don’t want the “licking” to stop. (Try not to be dirty-minded when you read that.) She’s even warned me on a few occasions that the newness will wear off one day. I’m having too much fun with her to believe that it’s possible not to be as excited to see her.

We’re a disgustingly cute couple. Any day that we don’t spend together, we’re texting or calling just to say we miss each other. I think about her all the time when she’s not by my side (and even when she is). I am always looking forward to the next time I get to see her, and hold her, and smell her hair. (Okay, the smelling might be a little stalker-creepy, but I like her smell. Deal with it.)

Maybe the newness will have to wear off eventually. But what if it doesn’t? What if I never stop looking forward to being with her? Wouldn’t that mean that she’s the One?