“You… you were really bored, weren’t you?”

One day, Chris Doyle and I talked on the phone for about two hours.

This is significant because Doyle and I don’t generally chat on the phone. Usually, Chris calls me to ask me to do something or to tell me important things while he knows I’m sleeping, because A.) Docile and sleepy = less murderous, B.) He will generally get me to do what he wants, and C.) I’m pretty sure he just gets some sort of sick pleasure out of waking me up when I don’t want to be woken up. When we were in residence together, he and my friend Chelsea would habitually wake me up in the morning to talk to me, but he usually did it in order to get me to do things. He almost always got his way because I was too tired to tell him to leave. I remember hiding under the covers once when he was trying to wake me up.

I would literally hide under the covers to avoid him.

Either way. Yes. So. Conversation for two hours. I like to think it went on that long because we missed each other, but it may have just been mutual boredom. During that conversation, as I told him to visit me, we decided in a fit of giggles that the next time he visited, we would make ourselves mustaches and I promised cake and a Powerpoint with all the reasons why he should visit me.

GUESS WHAT WE DID.

Image

Well, at least I look pretty.

WE MADE MUSTACHES.

(This photo is sad because it is the only photo I really have of me and Chris, and in it he looks sedated or like I used chloroform or something ((DOUBLE PARENTHESES: Also, totally didn’t actually sedate him)) as I try to lift my tiny arm over his shoulder and fail miserably. Thanks for ruining the only photo I have of us, Chris. Thank-you.)

This is Chris’ mustache. He thinks it makes him look like Hulk Hogan. I think it’s long because he is compensating for his regular lack of any mustache at all. It’s a fairly dashing ‘stache, to be fair.

I bought the construction paper and there wasn’t brown, unfortunately. Chris can pull off blonde, but I can’t. I had to look a little bit dyed. I still think I pulled it off.

If I could grow a lady-stache, I totally would.

Who am I kidding, I totally pulled it off.

Because I am brilliant and also an artist, I also tried to make Chris look like Bert from Sesame Street, which looked something like this:

Chris is pleased with me. You can tell.

I also tried to make him big, thick Bert eyebrows, but he said no and swatted me away for fifteen minutes and then tore my well-crafted Bert nose in half because Chris is a party pooper and a spoilsport and clearly doesn’t recognize artistic genius.

I also bought him a cake and even then he wouldn’t let me.

This is what I’m moving in with. This.

Sigh.

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“Well, it’d be a little less awkward if I was still wearing clothing.”

Transcript of a text conversation had with Chris Dyck:

Kelsey: IT’S COMING

Kelsey: TEN DAYS

Kelsey: TEN DAAAAAAAYS

Chris: Lol, can’t get excited, I may have money issues. 5 courses this semester too, new for me.

Kelsey: Don’t worry about it now. We’ll budget, no worries. =) And if you need any help studying, Chris and I will help you! Besides, aren’t you excited just a little? To move in with us? =D

Chris: Wait, that’s what we’re doing? Fucccccckkkkk…

Kelsey: You looooove us. You want to liiiiiive with us. =D

Chris: Yes. Cohabitual murders are much easier to perform.

Chris: Please reply to that. My phone provider is going to contact the authorities.

Kelsey: Let them. We can host our first dinner party and have champagne and talk about police things when they come to arrest you. Later we’ll look back on this and say, “Oh, the fun that we had!”

Chris: Wait, they overlook rape?

Kelsey: You just made this awkward, Chris. Who’s raping who, here? See? Now it’s more awkward. This is why we can’t have nice things.

Chris: Well, it’d be a little less awkward if I was still wearing clothing.

Kelsey: You are odd and it unsettles me. One day I’m just going to have to waltz around the house naked just to unsettle you as you unsettle me. You did this to yourself.

Chris: This is why we can’t have nice things.

“We’ve only been here for five minutes and we’re already talking about gay porn and kidnapping children.”

Quotes from when Doyle and I were taking the written interview for the townhouse:

“No, we can get a fox. If it’s brown, we’ll call it Vulpix, but if it’s more of a white, we’ll call it Ninetales… it’s allowed, they’re domesticated now. But yeah, Chris’ll probably be allergic.”

“Let’s just take the baby and run, we don’t have to live here.”

“Let’s have a cat and name it Mitsy. No, nevermind, let’s not┬áname it Mitsy.”

“We can name the fox ‘Firefox’ and then it will lick the windows and be adorable and then Firefox will be beta-testing Windows.”

“It doesn’t have to be gay porn, it could go either way… ha. But yeah, ‘I’m ordering sausages from Christopher Dyck” would totally work.”

“Let’s start a poll to see how many people thought we were a couple.”

“Let’s start a poll to see how many people thought you were gay. Actually, let’s start a poll to see how many people thought you were gay at first and then thought we were a couple.”

“We should have brought a child. We would look more wholesome if we brought a child.

(After Doyle b-sed being a nice, spiritual person in front of some missionaries.) “I’m surprised we didn’t start smelling brimstone.”

“This is a written interview? English majors.

“Can we draw a penguin? We probably shouldn’t draw a penguin.”

“No, we can’t have a fox. No. We can’t. I draw the line….no, not even if we get a dog and tape fox ears to it.”

“We could have just brought Katie. Did her hair, put on a dress.”

“Or we could have brought Chris. Did his hair, put on a dress.”

“…yes. Yes, we could have.”

Everything went pretty well, all things considered. Most of our hushed threats and banter really just came off as the two of us laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

And then Chris couldn’t open the door on the way out.

“He was so stupid that when I hung up, I swore out loud and was angry for about an hour.”

Doyle had to deal with the man that did our credit check today.

Needless to say, he wasn’t impressed.

“It’ll be ugly for a month, and then I’m taking out everything.”

Sometime around the end of May, we actually were able to meet up and go to an open house for a group of townhouses in a co-op complex. The outside of the units had something to be desired, but the inside of the unit we looked at was super cute, clean, and we quickly learned that the community was pretty close-knit and filled with families and kids. Also, it wasn’t expensive. We decided to put in an application.

The boys are ridiculously different in what they notice. Doyle went around with me and looked at everything, cable outlets, bathrooms, the works – we pretty much decided what rooms we wanted, and while Dyck did that with us, afterwards he pretty much just remained downstairs in the living room, staring out the back window.

Note, this is one of those rare for-rent places that’ll actually let its tenants change things. We could paint the walls, hang things, work on the yard, everything, as long as we returned it to normal before we moved out if and when we moved.

Doyle and I go downstairs and Doyle says pretty darn chipperly, “So, Chris, what do you think?”

I am getting rid of everything.”

He wrinkles his lip and points outside at the tiny garden-area outside that is probably a little worse for wear, but not something I really cared too much about. He couldn’t leave the area.

“I’m going to take out those stones, and put this in, and maybe a hedge in the corner, and-”

Doyle and I tried to explain to him that this wasn’t necessarily the exact unit we’d be getting, if our application went through and we got off the wait-list before school. He wouldn’t have it. He looked at us completely seriously.

“It’ll be ugly for a month,” he said, “and then I’m taking out everything.”

After, Doyle ranted at the lady hosting about getting a position on the board at the co-op, and meanwhile, I asked questions about, you know, the unit.

On the way home, Dyck discussed with me what color of flowers would be best for the garden. We pretty much decided on yellow and blue.

“Oh my God! It’ll be just like a sitcom!”

Basically, I’m a twenty-year old girl living with two guys. They’re two of my best friends and their names are Chris. (Technically, one is Christian and the other is Christopher, but either way.)

Sometime near the end of February or March or at the very least before April, we decided to move in together for various reasons. Partially because we all go to the same school in a different town, partially because we weren’t all too happy with where we were living, and partially to get away from our parents. Or independence. Either way.

Anyway, we have some good times and funny things usually follow. Sometimes only funny in retrospect, if you know what I mean.

In any case, we’re all sort of starting a new journey, taking another step towards adulthood, and maybe growing closer as friends. You could say that I wanted to immortalize this in writing.

It’s really more┬áthat I wanted to make fun of my friends on a public forum.

When I tell people that I’m moving in with two guys, nine times out of ten I get, “Oh my God! It’ll be just like a sitcom!”, and sometimes, “Like ‘Three’s Company’ but the other way around!”

Either way, things are said and done and it’s a laugh. I figure it wouldn’t hurt to share some of those laughs with the rest of the world, you know?