I’ll show you mine...

I’ve decided I’m gonna show you parts of where I live. So bear with me while I give you the 411 on the situation, in order for you to get a better idea of what the hell is going on. It can get complicated at times so here we go: I recently moved to the Southern suburbs, for those who know Chicago (I used to live near Schaumburg before), and I've settled down after some trepidation. And I say trepidation because if you know me, you know I loathe moving. All the packing and unpacking give me existential anxiety. But I packed my belongings and I moved from a two-bedroom apartment into a three-bedroom house. The change has been very noticeable and I feel pretty content with it, but it took me a minute. And I did not move alone. I'm sure most of you have lived with someone at some time of your lives or another (a relative,  a roomie during college, somebody you knew while settling down in a new city, with a significant other, etc.) and know that when sharing a roof with someone there are many things that need to be taken into account.

So we moved to the new house. It was a good change, because the apartment was beginning to feel a little crowded and even though the Pandemic was not even a thing when we moved, now I feel it was a blessing because sheltering in place in a smaller place would have been tragic. So I moved in with My Gurrl, somebody who's very important to me and whose presence in my life has been a constant for years. She's part of the family I have chosen. Let's call her The Wife ( I also call her Shenanigans, My Gurrl and Trouble, but that's another story). Because for all purposes, we behave similarly to an old married couple: we have known each other forever, we know other's kinks and twists and we are cool with them while calling each other's bullshit when necessary and have the same twisted sense of humor. We've known each other for more than fifteen years and we readily indulge each other's quirks and customs. It's a very comfortable situation and it is even more comfortable now that we both have carved our own spaces. We are very close but we give each other space and privacy.

This house we're living in now it's different to most of the places where we have lived before: it's less spacious than the house we shared years ago but it's bigger than the apartment we shared until last year. This place has got more character and it feels warmer than anywhere we've lived before, though. And now there's two doggies to add to the equation:  Lucifer -not her real name but it stays- and Riri. Lucifer is a Tasmanian Demon with training issues in French Bulldog drag and Riri is a codependent Chihuahua with separation anxiety issues and a needy disposition. You add me and you just know that boundaries needed to be established. I'm high maintenance, ok?

So I decided I'd try and conquer the basement. Yep. I'm the proverbial basement dweller. I have not yet reached 400 lbs, though, but with my eating habits during this pandemic I may reach them. When being faced with choosing between taking the basement to make it my headquarters or sharing the main floor with two dogs and a very busy woman, I chose the basement. Because of course I did. Call it my wannabe ManCave. Listen, I haven't owned pets as an adult for a reason: I don't really understand them. But I tolerate them. Also, I'm allergic to their fur (they both shed) and I don't understand dogs and the training that goes with them. I grew up with very well trained pets, so my tolerance for other people's pets is limited to short walks and offering the occasional treat. I do take care of the doggies when mama is not home, mind you. And I play with them occasionally and I'll let them out so they do their business when needed. But a 24/7 situation? It would not be pretty. I need my space.

So the basement it was. This is a relatively new house, mind you. I understand it was custom built in the early eighties and it's had two owners: the people who built it and one of their children after them. The last owners moved out because their family grew by one (one of those 'surprise!' children, I guess) and it was suddenly too small for them (remember this is the suburbs). I think all in all, the house was nicely planned (well, according to the blueprints I inherited and that you can see heading this post) and it was taken care of, so moving in was easy. The house has character, a cute backyard with potential for a garden and enough space in the basement to accommodate me and my books and my plants and my record collection. So down I went.

The thing is, it's a nice basement. I cannot complain. It was finished and I painted some walls and used the doors that open to the backyard to my advantage. I also repurposed an existing office the previous owner had created (he apparently had his ManCave downstairs too) and the storage that already existed was hacked to make it my seasonal closet and voilá! I was settled. At the end of the day it's a basement, so it's not very conventional but I have made it work for me (with the help of IKEA, thrift store finds and many hacks) and I think I'm going to invite you for a little tour every now and then. I have told you basically the kind of sex I prefer and my political and religious views, so inviting you for a virtual tour of my place may not be the most intimate thing I have shared with you, Constant Reader. I already showed you my plants, so why not give you a peek into the rest?

So, are you ready?

XOXO