Comfort vs Change

Hello everybody. I'm back, with a brand spankin' new story, just for you. And I'll probably have ANOTHER one to post, after this one. So there, you silly writer's block...

Anywho, on with the story...

Two weekends ago, W and I found our way up to Denver for some good old fashioned super-arcade trolling. I am, of course, referring to Dave and Busters, the only arcade that really exists.

Anyways, after a night of much money spent, and three small stuffed animals to show for it, we stayed the night in Denver, and then promptly made our way back down to the Springs. About halfway through our commute, W's white, 97 Dodge Stratus just up and stopped running. There were no bangs, no clicks, no groans, no noise at all, the car just stopped running, and proceeded to puke all of its oil all over the highway.

After much thinking, and some waiting, and then some driving (this time in a kindly rescuer's car) we returned to the stratus with W's work truck, and towed it home.

It had become apparent, between that weekend and this most recent weekend, that W really doesn't have the time or money to fix the car right now. So, he decided on buying a new-old car.

Here's where the story gets all its meaning, so pay attention now.

W is not one of those men that will go to a dealership. His favorite car salesman is Craigslist. He also wants to spend between one and two grand, and for this price expects to find a car just as wonderful and amazing as his Stratus.

This is when my first red flag goes up. This man is not the sort that enjoys spending money. He spent three months buying his new TV, finding a way to use an employee discount. The result was a 47 inch, top of the line flatscreen (you know, 1080p, 240 Hz... all that jazz...) for 880, not counting warranty. All around, an amazing deal, and he still complained about spending the money.

So I knew that this little car venture was not going to go well. You simply cannot find a nice car for a grand anymore. What you'll find is a little shit kicker that'll get you there, but only for about a week. If you're lucky.

So he gets his heart set on this little 300 zx that he finds for 1900 on, you guessed it, Craigslist. Too bad, it sold before he got the chance to look at it.

He then looks at a little (Nissan?) Axiom, you know, that little itty-bitty SUV... Too bad the engine sounds like there are dismembered body parts thrashing about inside of it.

He finally settles on a little VW Golf III, sport edition, with damage on the hood from a hitch backing into the poor little thing, all for 1400. He says he'll offer 1200. We get around to seeing the car, just yesterday, and looking under the hood proves that the car isn't actually a sport at all, it's just a GL, a disappointment for poor W. But it gives him an excuse to offer less. There are a few other issues with the car, evident right out, but nothing particularly deal-breaking, if the price is right. (Some rust, some body damage, the sunroof doesn't work)

This is basically the car, except ours has a busted hood, and peeling paint.

Luckily, W, being the well-prepared man that he is, already has the print out from Kelley Blue Book for a GL in fair condition, and it's priced at 1070.

And so the haggling starts. W offers 800, and the salesman says a grand. W offers 900, and the salesman says he has some other people looking at it, and he'll give them a call. W pays a grand. Great bargaining between men, yeah? This little game is so silly to me.

Of course, on the drive home, W begins to notice things that he didn't on the test drive. The stereo display is too bright, the stick shift is wiggly, the windshield wipers suck, the steering wheel doesn't tilt, the motor isn't a sport motor... I could go on for days.

And he just puts himself in a bad mood. I don't know what to do. I want to say, look, you spent the money, and bought the car, get the fuck over it. On the other hand, I should be comforting him, but I don't know how to go about that either. I'm sorry you're perfect car broke honey, and you're too stingy to buy a better one than this piece of shit... Seriously, what the fuck am I supposed to say?

So, that night, we drive it again, to Walmart to find something to eat. Again, he finds things wrong with the car all the way there, and he's in a pissy mood. If there's anything I say, it's returned with rudeness. And of course, my response is to be rude right back. (I've learned that, with him, the only way to force him to realize he's being mean is to be mean right back. That whole "take it with a smile" approach that I tried for a long time might as well be a handful of pleasantly warm STOOL.)

So, by the time we get to Walmart, I'm already in a bad mood. I'm sure you can guess how the rest of that trip went.

Walmart is never good for me. The air of the place is just so negative. Nobody wants to be there, nobody is happy when they're there, it's like an oppressive heat, shoving you down into the dirt of unhappiness.

And so I start thinking my pessimistic thoughts, as I always do in Walmart.

This man, that I am so in love with, will never change, I realize. He finds comfort in routine, and in things that he knows. Had he the choice, he would have bought another white Dodge Stratus, exactly like his broken one. He likes his video games, and his rooms just the way they are. Even the smallest change, like the change to another car, puts him in a sour mood. He doesn't like his bank account to change amount, he doesn't buy new clothes, he's owned the same brand and style of shoes, (replaced promptly every christmas) for as long as he cares to remember. He is a serial monogamist.

And don't get me wrong, this doesn't make him a bad person. He's stable, and happy like that.

The problem is with compatibility. I am not the sort of person that finds comfort in routine. In fact, the moment anything becomes routine, I am particularly uncomfortable. I like to try new things, shake it up a bit. Don't get me wrong, I like eating at my favorite restaurants any time that I can, but sometimes, I just want to go somewhere NEW. The minute I sense the pattern in a video game, I'm done with it, whether I've finished it or not.

(On a COMPLETELY different note, FFXIII came out last night! omgomgomgomg!!!)

And so I wonder about our future. When we've both finished college, and have the huge incomes that we're expecting, will we still eat Caesar's pizza every Saturday night? Will we still have sex the same way? Will he still buy shitty little cars for a grand? And what about when I want to splurge, and eat somewhere fancy up in Denver? What am I supposed to do when he just wants store-brand macaroni and cheese, and fucking Hormel chili on his hot-dogs?

So, we got home from Walmart, and I was in a bad mood. Like, the sort of bad mood when you throw shit around, and you think you might cry if you open your mouth. (I'm suspicious of a temporary hormonal imbalance. This was a PROFOUND level of unhappiness) When I was washing dishes, while he made tacos for dinner, I wanted to smash them all, so he would HAVE to buy new ones. And when I took pain pills, I looked at the little pile of tablets in my hand, and wished one could overdose on ibuprofen.

In this state of unhappiness, I ate tacos. (Unflavored meat, no lettuce, diced tomatoes from a fucking can.) The food made me so angry. I wanted salsa in my meat, and I wanted to dice up real tomatoes, and I wanted some fucking lettuce in my taco. I had showed him once before the way I liked taco meat, with blackbeans and salsa mixed in with the hamburger, and he told me he liked it. But this time, I wasn't allowed to put salsa in the fucking meat.

And I know it's stupid, but in the state that I was in, this made me VERY ANGRY. It made me so mad that EVERYTHING we ate, and EVERYTHING we did was because that's the way that HE wanted it. Seriously, I just wanted some fucking lettuce, maybe a dollar. I wanted a real tomato, which would be CHEAPER than a can of them, and MUCH better.

But I can't ask him for any of these things, because it's not my money being spent. I refuse to ask him to spend extra money on me like that, and sacrifice the happiness he finds in his bachelor ways.

I was washing dishes, and on the counter was a stained, ratty old bar-rag. Bar-rags don't absorb liquid, and this thing is just nasty looking. Perfectly useless. I asked him if it was clean, so I could dry the dishes with it. "No," he said. So, in my angry state, I threw it on the ground. If it's not clean enough to dry dishes with, why is it on the fucking counter? He threw a fit, and picked it up again, returning it to it's place. "It's cleaner than the floor," he said.

WHAT?! It's cleaner than the floor, so it's allowed on our food? Let me tell you something, I am not allowed to clean the kitchen floor, according to him. It has NEVER been mopped, since he moved in. I believe I have swept it twice.

Yeah, that face you're making? I made it too. Except worse.

Anyways, so after the debacle with the tacos and the dishes, we're sitting downstairs, watching fucking reruns of family guy and the Simpsons on hulu. Because he's too damn cheap to hook up to local channels.

I HATE watching tv I've seen before. I don't like tv much anyways, but when it becomes REDUNDANT as well as boring? Oh yeah, I was fucking unhappy.

Just, sad, and mad, and lethargic. I didn't even want to eat the food that was in my lap. (Oh guess what? He doesn't own a table. Not a fucking one. We eat in our laps.)

But I do, I finish my stupid bland, lettuce-less tacos. And I play a little bit of a video game.

And you know what he does? He holds me, and he kisses me, and he tries his best to put me in a better mood. He snuggles me up, and says, "Poor, miserable girl. I just wanna make you feel better."

And you know what? None of that shit matters, when he says stuff like that, and treats me so well.

I fucking love him.