Wow, that sounds like the tag line for the really awful spin-off Full House never got. I can’t tell you for sure how to survive, and in fact if you suspect that any of these men might kill you, I’d hesitate to call them your “best friends.”
I hate to stereotype (he said, about to do so), but I think six guys is some kind of critical mass of man–my old wrestling name, incidentally–that will cause the home to sink into a whirlpool of testosterone-fueled dudeness and dude-isms.
Some of what you can expect:
A mess. Yes, there are neat men and messy women, but six dudes? I hope you’ve prepared mentally to step through piles of inexplicably damp clothing while picking your way to a bathroom you’d be wiser to leave a mystery.
Drama. I know, normally a chick thing, but I maintain the theory that in any girl’s group of six close guy friends, no less than 2.8 have a secret crush on you. And make no mistake; they WILL start shit with one another at some point, even if it’s just moping around the house in each others’ general vicinities.
Sitcom-style awkward moments. Hey, I applaud your efforts at immersing yourself in the world of men, but if you spend any length of time living with six guys, be ready to walk in on one masturbating (because they all are pretty much all the time) or have one do the same to you. THIS WILL HAPPEN. The important thing to remember is that you’re all friends, and that avoiding eye contact by looking down doesn’t help anyone.
Assuming you survive, I highly recommend you write a book chronicling your experiences. You could call it “All Man.” And before you ask: yes, I will gladly appear on its cover.