I've might have mentioned it in passing, but ManWriter's boss asked/told him that he would be transferring at the end of August. In all honesty, ManWriter lives in a shitty-ass, desert town and moved to just another desert, although better, town (or what I lovely refer to as Hell Adjacent.) The reason? His boss, in a not-so-cryptic way, strongly suggested that my boyfriend transfer because the school system looks favorably on teachers who transfer, especially after they just transferred. Since my boyfriend has been equally not-so-cryptic about wanting to go back to San Diego, he decided to do it.

After this was all decided, I convinced him to get his own place. I'll admit, my reasons were selfish. First selfish reason: I love ManWriter very much and I see myself with him. However, I think he should live by myself because he never has and because he's a man of simple means and a bit of a scrooge when it comes to money. Why does that matter? Because, usually, he just looks at rent first and if he can find a place to live for $400, it doesn't matter if he has ten other completely sketchy roommates who each have two dogs. HE FOUND A ROOM FOR $400! (Sidenote: he's gotten a lot better about realizing that sometimes you have to "adult" and cough up a touch more money for better living conditions.)
Second selfish reason: Shit does not bother him, so sketchy roommates aren't a huge deal. They are for me (actually, roommates in general are issues) and his roommates, even after I introduced myself, made it absolutely clear that if I was at the house and he wasn't, it was only for a brief time (like when he went off to work at 8AM but I would still be sleeping but I'd leave as soon as I woke up) and that they wouldn't know that I was there (I'd just stay in his room when he wasn't there.) BUT they either didn't care or had a problem with me because I don't know how many times I'd knock on the door/ring the doorbell, and they would refuse to answer (I locked myself out once running to the car and they refused to let me in.)
I know how shitty it is when people are over that don't live there, but I was there once a month for two days TOPS. So, I told ManWriter "Live by yourself. It's great!"

Did I mention that ManWriter is the much more responsible and organized one in our relationship? He is, a millionfold, which is why on Thursday, after we loaded the car, had dinner and started watching a movie, I started drinking wine and he stayed sober. I assumed he did this since we were driving and unloading all of his shit to a town located in the middle of the desert and he would wake up early so we could go before the day became unbearably hot.
Nope. My boyfriend woke up Friday morning, saw that it was five times experience points on World of Tanks on his Xbox, and played video games for almost two hours (waking me up around ten.)

By the time we got to Hell Adjacent, it was high noon and 120 degrees. Fucking hot. Have you ever had that experience where something abruptly effects your senses? When I stepped out the car, it was like I got suckered punched by the heat. IT. WAS. HOT. We were absolutely miserable. Not to offend anyone but WHY WOULD YOU LIVE IN THE DESERT IF YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO?! THERE ARE OCEANS AND THE LAND SURROUNDING IT HAVE BETTER TEMPERATURES!

(By the way, his apartment complex has a ton of amenities and his studio is awesome. It's a good size and there's a divider that separates the living room area from the bedroom. It has a balcony and the windows have wide sills (you know your cats dominate your life when you look at a new place and think about how much they would like it.) AND he was contemplating getting a cat! He used to hate cats!)

Anyhow, after about thirty minutes of unloading, I got a splitting headache and felt really dizzy. As we were bringing more boxes into his apartment, I told ManWriter I felt overheated and my head was hurting. But, I guess it came out as one big "bluuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrgggggggghhhhhh" and he shoved me into the shower and turned the cold water on me.


Did I have mini heat stroke? Maybe. One thing I've always loved about my body is that if something is amiss, it lets me fucking know asap. My point is that I took two days off, drove from one horrific desert place to another, helped my boyfriend move in stupid hot weather and almost passed out. I DID IT FOR LOVE BECAUSE I'M GREAT GIRLFRIEND, DAMMIT!

This fucker better marry me.