7. Strange Habits.

Or, the “Please-stop-cramming-the-toothpaste-tube-in-the-toothbrush-holder” Story.

We all have little quirks and habits. Whether they are inherent to our very being—as in we were born with them—or  slowly develop over the course of our lives, chances are we are completely oblivious to their presence. It isn’t until you begin sharing your living space with someone else that these habits begin to be noticed. And they have the potential to drive your new roommate crazy.

Case in point: I quickly learned after moving in to the new condo that Jax likes to cram the tube of toothpaste into the toothbrush holder in the bathroom. At night, I would go to brush my teeth and unwedge the toothpaste tube from the holder, brush my teeth, put the lid back on the toothpaste and store it in its appropriate space: the medicine cabinet. The next morning, I’d stumble groggily into the bathroom to find the toothpaste once again crammed in with the toothbrushes.

Three months later, I’ve reconciled myself with this strange habit. Do I occasionally try to put the toothpaste in the medicine cabinet? Sure. Does it stay there long? No.

Jax tells me I have plenty of strange habits too. When I asked her what they were for this blog post, she couldn’t name one off the top of her head. But I can think of a few. There’s the fact that I have the most obnoxious, open-mouthed laugh known to man (a good example of an inherent habit). There’s also the fact that I’m horrible about making my bed, even worse about piling clothes up all over my room, and I tend to leave little piles of paper clutter strewn all around the condo.

On the plus side, our habits aren’t reckless or harmful—because I know plenty of people in relationships or roommate situations who deal with a lot of those.

You don’t really know a person until you know their strange habits. And the fact you notice this behavior at all is a sign you’re a big part of their life. While occasionally annoying, baffling, or headache inducing…they’re also kind of endearing. In fact, over time you begin to love them because they are part of the person you love. And, in a way, they become a kind of secret shared by only the two of you.

8. Fights that make the recent uprising in Libya look tame.

Or…the “Let’s-See-How-Many-Insults-I-Can-Hurl-At-You-In-Five-Minutes” Story.

If you want to find a couple of sisters who know how to fight, look no further.

I’ll be honest. I really don’t like to fight. And I’m not one to really pick a fight. I prefer that my heart rate increase only in the midst of exercise. Anything else is just a waste of energy and will probably make me tired.

While I like a quiet kind of “zen” state of being, Jax = not so much. She always has to be doing, or talking, or going. All. The. Time.

Sometimes, our differences in personality result in some pretty explosive disagreements.

For example, the night we came home from a concert at 1:30 a.m. and she wanted to go out and meet some friends down the street. I wanted to sleep peacefully in the cool quiet of my air conditioned bedroom. I pointed out that I didn’t think going out was such a good idea, considering she had to be at work at 9 a.m. to serve brunch to hungry Louisvillians.

Curses upon me. How dare I wish to go to sleep and leave her high and dry at the early hour of 2 a.m.!?

Sometimes, very small things set it off. For example, she knows I basically eat nothing but fish, vegetables, rice and lettuce and Kashi-Go-Lean-Tastes-Like-Cardboard-Cereal and run 6 days a week and go to Pilates and Yoga three of those days and still can’t manage to lose a single, darn pound. Now, the supportive thing to say when I stand in front of the mirror in a moment of utter dismay would be: “No, you look great. Your hard work is paying off.”

Instead, the conversation goes like this:

Me: “Maybe I’m just switching out fat for muscle. Muscle weighs more. That could explain it.”

Jax: “Yeah, maybe there’s some muscle somewhere.”

Thanks so much little buddy. Really appreciate the boost. After comments like these, I  launch into a cleaning or painting project and conspicuously stomp back and forth across the living room glaring at her.

I’d love to tell you these tiffs…and the occasional eruptions…are few and far between. But the truth is that two people living under the same roof are bound to push each other’s buttons…daily.

We’re learning to fight nice. And usually, hard feelings don’t last too long.

When Jax is mad at me, she’ll march to my room and slam my door shut. Then open it and yell a few things at me. Then she’ll shut it again. Then open it and yell a couple more things. Then shut it again. About 15 minutes later she’ll open it and ask me if I want to go get dinner or ice cream.

Once you’re “in it to win it” you learn to see past these unpleasant moments: you realize that humans are humans and that you’re both full of little faults and short fuses. You’re going to disagree. Sometimes vehemently. Sometimes you’re going to fly into unintended fits of temporary rage, only to be embarrassed by your own behavior moments later.

And so it is in this cycle that you learn the value of a love that “always forgives, always forgets.”

And one day you wake up and you go, “Ah, I get it. This is what unconditional love feels like.”

9.  Complete Destruction/Loss of Common Household Items

This post could also be titled the “I’m-going-to-be-so-rough-with-the-sliding-glass-shower-door-it-will-come-completely-unhinged-and-fall-on-you-the-next-time-you-try-to-shower” story.

I should have seen this one coming. Over the 2010 Christmas Holiday, I let Jax stay at my old apartment while she started her new job and I spent time back at home with our parents. A few days later, I returned to to find the lock on the outside door completely broken. The key just spun in circles when you tried to unlock it. After convincing my landlords to let me in via the house, I got upstairs to find my blow dryer was nearly burned to a crisp, the electricity to half the apartment blown, and a cat limping across the living room floor. To this day, she will not tell me what really happened.

Fast forward to present day and the “Great Saga of the Glass Shower Door.”

We have this awesome, renovated “spa” style bathroom, complete with two sliding glass shower doors. I scrub and “Windex” and squeegee these doors in OCD fashion, because I want them to be nice and clean and clear.

So, about two weeks ago, Jax ripped one of these doors completely off its hinges.

And then she left it.

I came home after a run in “Blazing Summer Heat 2011,” ready for a shower and clothes that weren’t drenched in sweat. Imagine my surprise when I shut the door and found about 20 pounds of glass and metal falling into my hands.

If this were a movie, this is the part where the character who finds herself in this unfortunate situation hobbles around the shower, glass door in hand, the water blinding her and making mascara run down her face as she attempts to get it back on the sliding rails. Then she angrily throws on a towel around and stomps water across the floor to the kitchen drawer where the Phillips screwdriver (one of three tools she owns) lives. Imagine her surprise when the screwdriver (which was there just the day before) is now nowhere to be found. An image of her roommate using it the night before flashes through her mind and she throws up her hands in disgust.

So, eventually, I found the screwdriver. I screwed the glass door back on. Fixed. Done. I win.

Until two days later when she ripped it off its hinges again.

It’s becoming a point of contention between us.

So two nights ago, she insisted I fix it and then stand in the shower and close and shut the door twenty times so she could prove it comes unhinged on its own. Ironically, the door has been hinged and attached for the past 5 days…which is a record.

I’m not trying to pick on my sister to death here. When these antics aren’t driving me batty, I actually think it’s all kind of hilarious.

This series is all about is the things she’s teaching me to expect if and when I decide to permanently share my life with someone. If you want to talk about the things I destroy…well, look no further than my 1998 Honda Civic…which decided to drop an entire exhaust pipe between Lexington and Louisville a few months ago. That night, it was Jax’s turn to pick her hysterical, crying sister up off the side of I-64.

Regardless of who is doing the “destroying” (or the losing) the essential piece of the scenario is that one of the two parties is there to fix it.

Sometimes, the “fixing” has nothing to do with household items at all. Sometimes the fixing happens at the end of a really brutal day when you just need someone to be there. Sometimes the “fixing” is in the form of a big hug, a long walk in the park or a conversation over sushi.

Wherever you are and whatever it is, you’re in it together. And somehow, someway, one of you will find a way to patch things up.

Cooking can be a very daunting skill to master.

A few years ago, a free subscription to Better Homes and Gardens landed in my mailbox for a year. I have no idea how it started or where it originated, but I spent much of that year ripping recipes out of its pages or copying them into a recipe book my aunt gave me when I graduated from college. In my mind, there would always be the opportunity to cook these recipes for someone…even if it was just myself…in the future.

Growing up, my mom cooked three meals a day for our family. Breakfast usually consisted of a healthy cereal (as children we did not appreciate this) with cut bananas, pancakes or—when my dad was cooking—french toast. For lunch, we’d have sandwiches and chips, with cut up fruit. Dinner was where the cooking varied greatly. Since we were growing up in the southern tradition, meals ranged from chicken and veggies to pork chops to meat loaf and were accompanied by the traditional southern comforts: corn, green beans and tomatoes straight from the garden, homemade mashed potatoes and made-from-scratch buttermilk biscuits. Indeed, growing up in Western Kentucky was like living in Cracker Barrel.

What strikes me the most about our meals growing up is not their comforting deliciousness—but rather the fact that they brought our family together around a table. Every meal was filled with conversation and laughter.  I’ve read that eating a meal with someone signals many things. It can be a means to forgiveness or a sign of friendship, but ultimately, it signals a bond between two or more people. And out of the kitchen comes the food that becomes the center of that meal.  So, in many respects, the kitchen is the heart of the home.

I’m very far from being the “perfect” cook. I still have to follow recipes in detail and measure out every ingredient as I go. But I love the act of cooking itself. It’s calming—therapeutic even.

Yesterday, after spending close to an hour and a half in the grocery store, I “revitalized” my own kitchen. The fridge is stocked and my pantry is cleaned out and straightened. As soon as everything was back as it should be, I called my sister and told her to come to my apartment after work for dinner. She arrived to find full meal waiting, her place set at the table.

As we munched and watched re-runs of Modern Family on DVR, I was reminded of those childhood moments…of the bond my family shared while eating around the dinner table. That bond can’t be taken away.  In fact, it is only strengthened over time. And that, in my opinion, is perfection.