The Luv Doc: Call the Movers
All you need to do is find that one magical key
Dear Luv Doc,
I have been living with my boyfriend for four years and we are in a serious rut. In my mind we were going to be married by now, but for the last few years, I would settle for him just acknowledging my existence every now and then. We see each other every night, but we don't really talk that much and he doesn't hug me or kiss me or show any signs of affection other than when we have sex on rare occasions. We both have different interests and different friends and other than living together, we really don't spend that much time together. He still tells me he loves me, but he never shows it. I feel like I am wasting the best years of my life waiting for him to finally pop the question, but at this point I am not sure he is going to. What should I do?
Sounds like you need a real estate agent, Patience – either a real estate agent or an apartment locator. The good news is, both are usually willing to work on spec. You're probably going to want to call some movers too, unless you have some beer-loving friends who own a pickup and don't have back problems. If the cable/electricity/trash pickup is listed under your name, you will need to call those respective companies and have your name removed from the bill. If for some reason you chose AT&T U-verse as your cable/internet provider, I am going to suggest you draw a warm bath, eat some ibuprofen, open up your wrists with a razor blade, and make your journey to the sweet hereafter. You can either spend eternity in hell/purgatory or on the phone with customer service in Mumbai. I can't imagine there is a lot of difference.
Judging by your description of your housemate/occasional fuck buddy, that is the best advice I have to offer. Sure, I could blow smoke up your ass and tell you this guy has loads of untapped potential as a loving, nurturing soul mate ... that all you need to do is find that one magical key that will unlock his heart and transform him into an adorable cuddle bunny, but I won't, because although I am guilty of a certain amount of unsolicited sarcasm in this column, I am not a heartless fucking sadist. I may have spent decades being dragged mercilessly through every impossible rhetorical romantic permutation, but unlike AT&T, I will not give myself over completely to the dark side. I will not let you suffer one week longer in the clutches (actually, the weak, apathetic grip) of this insensitive knucklehead.
That said, if you want to keep pushing that boulder up the hill only to have it roll back down on you, here's a plan B: Tell him what you need, how you need it, when you need it, and why you need it. Tell him that saying "I love you" is like saying, "I'm going to win an Olympic medal." Doesn't mean shit if you don't put in the work – and it's a lot of goddamned work – even for the bronze, which, it sounds to me like you'd be willing to settle for at this point. Am I right? Or you could just call the movers.