By Casey Freeman February 9, 2010
Living with dudes is cool. You’re bros. You share beer, toothbrushes, and the four dishes, two spoons and eight forks. But dudes also take big smelly craps and steal the treat whiskey you’ve stashed in your sock drawer.
Now, I’m living with one of my best friend’s girlfriends. This is about the third time I’ve lived with one of my buddies’ ladies.
I’ve been known to steal somebody’s girlfriend here and there, but never one of my friends’ gals. Okay, never one of my true friends’ girls. That’s not the point.
Living with girls can be cool. Yes, it can suck. Deeply. With teeth.
On some days I have to act as relationship counselor, listen to shoe talk, bash the heads of potential wannabe suitors, or watch crap likeElla Enchanted instead of ninja movies.
But, for the most part, living with girls is awesome.
From time to time, I get invited to go along for girls’ night out. Instead of looking like a pimp hanging out with six hot chicks, I look like their gay best friend. And girls’ night out isn’t nearly as badass as boys’ night out, but instead of strippers, alcohol poisoning and felony-level arson, there’s always a great selection of snacks.
Then, there’s the girl roommate as fashion guide. Because sometimes I dress like this:
Now I ask my roomie why shouldn’t I get laid while wearing a Star Trekt-shirt, sunglasses at night and the NES Power Glove as I carry a Light Gun?
Well, my feminine flatmate always lays it out there plain and simple: “Girls will think you look stupid.” Which is generally what I’m going for. Because, you know, eventually I’ll find the big boobied rich lady who’s into geeks like me.
Then there’s the food. If there are leftovers, I get to eat them. Or, if there is candy, I get to eat it. Then when my roommie wonders where all her goodies went, I just say, “Weren’t you on your period the other day?” Then she blames herself for my wrongdoings and buys more candy for me to eat. It’s a win/win (for me).
In the same vein, scented candles, oils and shit like that. As long as I mask how loud my farts are, the air in our place is so aromatic, nobody can tell I’ve been dropping methane bombs that would clear out a stockyard. Also, when I do get girls over at my house, all that nice-smelling crap comes in handy when I want to set the mood for a makey-outey session.
Best of all is the shower. Not the fact that I’ve got to clean up hairballs. That sucks. But, every time I wash myself (once a week whether I need it or not) I can experiment with girl products.
(My shower: guess what’s mine)
I identify my shower stuff by colors. I know my conditioner is green, soap is blue and shampoo is in a white bottle. Don’t ask me the brand names or anything else. I just know colors. When I buy new stuff, it takes me a few months to figure out which is which.
But girls have the most amazing shower stuff and gadgets. There’s soap with crud in it that feels like you’re washing yourself with suntan lotion somebody put sand inside of. Girls have these rocks that are supposed to polish wood, remove gum from your barefeet or something. Best of all, girl-smelling soap. I adore how girls smell after they shower. Now, I get to smell that way. And I don’t even have to make a commitment (except sign a lease). Unfortunately, this soap doesn’t taste as good as it smells, but I still feel like I just got a knobber in the bathtub for some reason.
There’s also some battery-powered thing that looks like an electric toothbrush without the toothbrush, but I haven’t figured out how to use that thing. Maybe it’s a foot massager?
(What the hell is this thing? Good luck charm for the shower? Maybe a cleaning product like Scrubbing Bubbles? Broken electric toothbrush?)
The Bad Crap About Living with a Female
Cleaning: Some girls are cleaner than boys, some aren’t. But either way you’re thrust into the “Slob Guy” or “Anal Retentive Clean Weirdo.”
Cats: What the fuck is with girls and cats? They’re the only acceptable animal to beat mercilessly—besides dudes who still wear Affliction shirts. And I would, if only cats weren’t so fast and nimble. At least dogs do entertaining stuff, like eat your boogers and enjoy smelling your farts.
Listening to her bash my friend when she’s pissed: I know my mates like to get shitfaced and wear their pants as headbands. I know this irks the women folk—because I have to hear about it constantly.
Hot Friends: Sure girls have hot friends. And sometimes you accidentally bang those hot friends. Then those friends know where you live and always have an excuse to come over. Suck.
Answering Underwear Questions: Sometimes my female flatmates ask me to rate their awesome undies. Which is awesome. But I don’t get to do the squeeze test, which sucks. And then I can’t really brag about it and say, “I saw this hot chick in her underwear last night. She had the sweetest ass. Oh yeah. That’s your girlfriend. Shit. You saw her ass too. Without underwear. Then you banged her.”
Period Stuff: I try to pretend this shit doesn’t happen. But it does. I usually hope the dog eats all that stuff so I don’t have to see it.