Roomie Ruminations

Since college, I’ve had roommates as well as have lived by myself, and there’s something to be said for each. Since Mike moved out about a year and a half ago, I’ve lived alone, which I had done for nearly three years before he moved in. Granted, I lucked out with the best roommate ever since he put up with the menagerie (not to mention me, who often wandered around in a t-shirt and underwear and he was kind enough to be unfazed) so really, it wasn’t that big of an adjustment when I found myself living with another person. Now, at age 29 and almost a half, I’m wondering if it’s time to jump back in the roommate game.

For one, you get a LOT more for your money, and I’m not talking only about rent. Utilities – amazingly cheap in SF (minus cable, of course) are split in two, and if you’re living with a like-minded person, they can even pitch in on groceries (or, since I don’t go that route, we’ll say wine.) Yes, you have to deal with each other’s issues and dishes and ‘morning after walk of shame’ partners (not like I would ever do anything like that, ahem) but you also have someone to commiserate with on a rainy Tuesday night with nothing to do. You’ve got someone else weighing in on your Netflix queue. And maybe even once and a while you’re not the only one on your hands and knees scrubbing these fucking Pergo floors that attract dirt like I attract dirtbags. Seriously, the similarity is uncanny.

Also, there comes a time in every "living alone" person’s life that they start to wonder if they aren’t, in fact, going a little crazy. It could be when they find themselves acting out the quintessential scene found in every chick-flick when they’re singing along with a hairbrush to a bad 80’s tune only to see the homeless man staring in the window at them. Or perhaps it’s when they realize that the mailman thinks they’re secretly harboring a geriatric obese man due to the inheritance of the last resident’s "Big and Tall" catalogs. Or maybe, as it was for me, it’s when they realize they’re carrying on a full, one-sided conversation with the dog asking whether their ass looks good in these jeans that they realize that talking only to the menagerie and NOT another human being leaves something to be desired.

For the record, Lila said I looked hot. And if you can’t trust (wo)man’s best friend, who CAN you trust?

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