Cosmopolitan’s infinite and wondrous knowledge base, Oprah, and all shows on CBS will tell you that you can, and should, test your relationship. In the back of each issue is a way for you to feel superior to newsprint when you cheat the system and prove once and for all that you have a solid love.
“Is He Your Soul Mate?” If you selected all A’s and are a total asshole, then yes.
“What’s Your Fight Style?” Lock myself in the closet and cry on my shoes? All B’s, yes.
“Will You Last Forever?” All C’s and a pocketful of roofies and rum says yes.
It’s all bullshit. There’s no book, no therapy, and no daytime talk show host (minus Sally Jesse Raphael. God Bless You and your red glasses) who could test your relationship quite as well as some common activities that we all go through every day.
Adrian and I have failed each and every one of them.
Deliverance Was Just An Allegory For Failed Marriages
Teamwork is a solid foundation of any good and long-lasting relationship. Naturally, Adrian and I have absolutely none.
We recently learned (as in, Saturday) that there is no greater test of teamwork than trying to paddle a canoe. The front person is the power, the back is the steering, but you can’t look at one another and are forced to communicate through only voice commands. For us, ‘voice command’ meant ‘shouting and hatefulness.’
“GODDAMNIT NOA JUST FUCKING PADDLE.”
“GODDAMNIT ADRIAN YOU STEERED US RIGHT UP ON TOP OF A ROCK. FUCKING LISTEN WHEN I FUCKING SAY TURN.”
“YOU ARE THE ONE WHO IS STEERING.”
“NO. YOU ARE.”
“OH YEAH. WELL FUCK YOU ANYWAY.”
If you aren’t ready to hilariously murder each other to death with the neon plastic paddles at the end of your river journey, you win.
The 9th Level Of Hell Is A Maelstrom of U-Hauls
Moving is awful. Moving by yourself is worse. Moving with someone you love is the deepest and most excruciating level of Hell. Not because moving is stressful, but because we all know how to move the right way, and no one else does, so shut it, goddamn you.
I am a woman of efficiency. I have a plan in my head about exactly how the truck will be loaded, everything fits perfectly and we leave on time. Then Adrian comes along and can’t read my mind and Fucks. It. All. To. Hell.
Where Adrian sees an unfinished challenge, I see a grave failure of efficiency and time management. He has no problem with taking things back out if in his slamming of shit in places, it doesn’t all fit. We have to load it again, and again, and again one last time because it’s still fucked up oh and also it’s now 7 PM. At a certain point, I give up entirely, and just sit on the couch in the driveway (until Adrian is done loading for the last time) coming up with names for the truck.
It’s easy to hate less when I keep referring to the truck as, “The Triumph of The Seas.”
The Chair Goes Here Because FUCK YOU THAT’S WHY
Adrian and I solved our U-Haul issue by just hiring movers (which proved to be the best idea ever), but we still dread the last test of marriages we put ourselves through every year: decorating our home. We can never agree on where to put anything, so for weeks, we just remind ourselves of failure and leave everything scattered around the floor to kick around like sad expensive leaves.
One weekend, we’ll finally decide to be real grown-ups and put everything up. That is a weekend of sadness.
It starts with toolboxes and good intentions and ends with me just slamming a giant-ass railroad nail into the wall for a 3×5 photo and Adrian dropping the level on my face for the 65th time.
You can actually see the progression of deteriorating teamwork through my house. The first room is neat, orderly, and well-planned. The last room is just left-over shit hung over the breaker box like a hateful mother does to her kid’s shitty drawings.
Then we sit on our couch, holding hands while staring at our art gallery of failure, and drink.
SOULMATES, MOTHAFUCKAS.– What else have you seen that tests relationships that I haven’t done yet? I’m excited to see how much I really suck at life. – Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Heather Rose: “She is the only, only reason I would ever consider having children. Because I could pimp them out as blog fodder. No wait, that wasnt the lesson I was supposed to learn. Because they’re not complete and utter life-wreckers? Eh, that’s probably closer.”