Adult content: readers beware

Warning: this post is not suitable for persons under the age of 18.

Well, not really, but it's going to contain a lot of adult content like trips to the hardware store, cutting your boyfriend's hair to save money, and learning about budgeting.  *Shudders*  Toto, we're not in college anymore.

Moving into this apartment has been a slightly bewildering experience for both of us.  I've rented places in DC for the past three years, and Ben had his place in Pertuis, but this is the first time we've both had to start from scratch.  And scratch is très cher, mes amis.  Our naïveté first reared its pathetic little head the week we searched for apartments.  We just assumed we'd find something private on Leboncoin (French Craigslist) and avoid agency fees.  How hard could it be?  So silly...  And then we assumed that our apartment would be clean and bed bug-free when we moved in (after all, in America, an apartment complex would have fire-bombed the entire building if bed bugs were found), but why assume when it just makes an ass out of... never mind.  Then it was just too much to hope that we'd find a place with an equipped kitchen (because in America, there is just no such thing as unequipped kitchen in anything bigger than a studio, DUH.  I've found myself thinking, "in America, it would be such-and-such a way" a lot lately... I should probably stop that).  Not to mention furniture, for which we hilariously under-budgeted.  

Apartment also came without a shower head.
Ben installed this with our new drill...

And that's just the big stuff.  Little things keep popping up every day, and those little things add up and up and up until we're scratching our heads at our bloated credit card statements.  We've been learning how to walk the fine line between what needs to get done right now in order for our place to be habitable, and what can wait until we restore our funds.  One such example is the glamorous piece of wood we have wedged between the stove and fridge.  When our appliances were delivered (after a tense episode in which the delivery man called Ben and said they wouldn't be delivering on the specified day because our building doesn't have an elevator... even though we made it very clear when we bought the appliances that we don't have an elevator, and they made it very clear that that was a-ok), they told us we'd need to get something to insulate between the fridge and stove so that the heat from the stove wouldn't affect the fridge.  So instead of buying delicious local cheese at the marché, bottles of wine, or pretty house decor, we spent our hard-earned money on a piece of particle board and insulating material for a DIY stove fix.  And instead of taking advantage of the sunny day yesterday to go for a run or take a walk in the beautiful park in the north of the city, we wandered around warehouse-sized Bricorama desperately trying to get the attention of any of the three guys working.  I would have loved to have spent my money on anything but particle board, a drill, and painting primer (for the kitchen table), but such is life.

Space between is DANGEROUS

Hammering the insulating material to the wood 

Voilà!

It's not to say, "wahhhh, poor me, I have to buy boring house things so my fridge doesn't catch on fire, booooo hooooooo."  I mean, it's not the most fun, but there's a monumental satisfaction in viewing your surroundings knowing that you put all of it together; that you invested your hard-earned time and money into making an empty shell of an apartment into a cozy, lovely home.  No one handed us a guidebook when we moved here, "How to set up an apartment in urban France, and other things you'll never learn in the US, why are you even doing this you stupid kids?!"  We've had to figure it out independently and deal with the consequences as they arise.  

Using a 3€ hacksaw to saw off a little piece as as wedge

I advised Ben to measure for the piece.  He said that took all the fun out of it. 

And now our insulating board stays up!

When we're in college, everyone tells us to enjoy the days of freedom and little responsibility.  While I think it's a growing trend to have to earn money throughout college (thanks, stupid American higher education system... but really do thank people like my parents who are trying to make it better!!), those are the years to make all the mistakes, shirk the useless homework, and roll our eyes when people warn about all the calories in beer and late night fat bags.  But where's the pride in that?  How many of us can take a step back from our college years and say with content satisfaction, "I did a great job!"  Not many.  I was always a pretty serious student with little to no social life, but I didn't really start to take my art seriously until I had the pressure of my looming degree recital on my shoulders senior year.  Do it, or don't graduate.  That was a responsibility that was inextricably linked to a grade.  There are no grades anymore: if we're lazy and put off insulating between the fridge and the stove, we won't get an F; we'll have to shell out more money to buy a new fridge.  Which is worse?  (Hint to my 16-year-old self: not the F)  It kind of sucks and it's not very fun, but on the up side, I get to see just how handy my boyfriend is.

Handy, but also kind of a pyro.  Taking the safety off a lighter
because "it lights more easily that way"

On a slightly more fun note, we discovered an easy way to save a little money: cutting our own hair!  Guys apparently have to get their hair cut a lot (every 2-3 weeks, versus every 6 months or so for me with the lengthy hairs).  That just seemed to be a huge waste of money to me, so I whipped out my hair cutting scissors and offered to give Ben a trim (after watching a YouTube tutorial first.  Ben's comment on that: "isn't it amazing how humans have evolved to learn things from YouTube?").  Boom 60€ a month SAVED.

Before.  Garbage bag as hair cape.

After!  My hands smell like man because of the shaving cream for beard trims...

Dashingly handsome!

In conclusion, who's with me for advocating for more practical classes in the American public education system?  Like how to do everything when you're an adult?