Reasons I LOVE Living Single & (Han) Solo

Han Solo may have been my first crush!

{The following list is categorized by topic}

Who drank ALL the Java?!?!?
Curses! 

Mornings:

• No sharing bathroom/shower time. If I am late to work, only my cat is to blame, which is to say: I hit snooze 11X while snuggling with Fletch before I head downstairs to find 4 piles of barf and a rogue turd. Those inconvenient treats do not mysteriously clean themselves up or evaporate into thin air if ignored. Believe me, I tried. If I had to calculate sharing a bathroom into that eeewquation, I would be fired from my job(s) and hate my mate!
• Never hearing “is there any more coffee left?” Because: fuck yeah there is- AND cow-free milk!
• Sleeping in as late as I want to/waking as early as I want to on my days off, which are akin to Nessie making an appearance. [See also: quasi-non-existent and therefor precious.]
  
  

WARNING:  Cuteness EXPLOSION!
TRY to NOT barf!

Evenings:

• Arriving home from work greeted by cherished silence. (Occasional meows not included. Kitty cannot open the fridge & feed herself after all.) If I want to hear noises, it is all my doing, be they musical, productive/creative or my own voice chatting/singing. But most of the time, I keep it epically silent. It does my Soul good!
• Going to bed whenever works for me. Maybe I fall asleep for a while on the couch before I go upstairs and crawl into bed, maybe I watch a video before I sleep while in bed. I decide. And I don't miss feeling compelled to sleep when my “other” does... or follow them to bed in hopes of getting laid/snuggling. Expectations = disappointments!
• Unlike a human's snoring, the sound of my cat's snoring next to me in bed at night is sweet, comforting and charming. And quiet.
  
  

I found this image and thought to myself:
I AM FUCKED

Creative Time:

• If I feel inspired to sculpt or paint manically at 2 am and need to get it out of my system, say, until sunrise, I don't need to go to the studio across town (not an option without a car right now) to do so. Having the space (both in my home and in my Soul) to explore this process is vital and yes, it makes a huge difference even if there's another human body in my house. Really.
• No self-consciousness about making music or singing off key. Fletcher doesn't judge or make me feel bad about my attempts at this outlet.
  
  

Like this, it was... EXCEPT the Pepperoncini were GONE TOO!
Bastards! 

Food:

• NEVER having to ask “did you eat the last avocado?” when I know it was my “other” but I am avoiding a trivial argument. I know it doesn't matter in the ephemeral big picture- but it does! [See also: coffee in the morning-time.]
• Deciding about my meals without taking into consideration if anyone else ate already or is craving something different than I am. I abhorred those lame-ass calls to find out “where do you want to eat tonight?” especially to find out “oh, I already ate” then returning home to see only meat-related foods remaining in the fridge and all my vegetarian and vegan stuff gone! True fucking story.
• Cooking late at night followed by cleaning up loudly after myself OR leaving the fallout all over the kitchen to clean up whenever I feel like it.
  
  

Were you raised in a barn?!?
Don't track mud through my house!

Chores:

• Cleaning the house or not cleaning the house happens whenever I decide. If my place is a mess, I made it so. I do not harbor resentment if I spend hours cleaning and it's untidy the next day. Who left stinky socks in the hallway? I did. Perfect place for them, no?
• I pay my bills and rent on time. I do not need to ask for anyone else's share. No excuses.
• The cat box is tidier than ever, since I do not hear any complaints about Fletcher's bathroom habits. Just hearing someone's dang whining about scooping it in the past made me not want to keep up with it- even when I did. I am a fervent scooper.
  
  

Too much of this... Ick.

Compromise:

• Say I want to listen to some guilty-pleasures music full-blast, I do. And I sing along. No shame.
• I am free to watch the same shows/movies over and over again without being questioned why. Because I do that too.
• I get all the blankets. Every time. And the best pillows to boot.
• The heat is on whatever temp feels comfy to me.
  
  
  

  

  I DID.

  
  

Farting:

• Often and with no regrets or embarrassment. 

TUMBLER IS NOT A FUCKING TECHYWEB THINGy.
It is a Vessel Which Holds Beverages!

All in all, I love living alone, as well as being single. I initially moved out as a teenager and lived alone with Fletcher and Zenobia until my lover moved in with me. I lived solo for almost 7 years in my own apartment before she moved in. It was wonderful. Even if I wasn't living with a lover, I lived with room-mates, all dudes. With the exception of one, they were Messy Marvins or downright pig slobs. Gross.

And after 15 solid, tedious, rollercoastery years living as a chronic monogamist, I needed some time off the dating grid. Enough about that.

Ann & Nancy are SO Badass! 

Feel free to sing along & even rock some air-guitar!

Not Enough Vodka

Is it ironic that I was chugging organic tomato vodka on thee rocks as I sprinted to catch my cab tonight at dinner?

Yummers.

Chugging classy swill at an overpriced swanky vegan bistro [that's what you must call overpriced grub-rooms, right?] is one of my fortes. I may have shared with you the fact that you may try to dress me up, and you may, in fact- take me out [please do] but you are not going to get the princess of goddamned Monaco with this dame. Nosiree. I'm classy with a K.

Klassy.

Like KlassyLadies (TM) the first strip joint in my town growing up. 

Soooo klassy. 

Teaching poor grammar to dumb bitches with shitty self-esteem since 1986. 

Ladies: Make daddy proud.

Step One

I need another drink.

{Yes, this is what the people pay for.

 Oh ... they will fucking pay. 

So many typos. 

I am botching this noicrenrfd... I mean nice. }

My puss is snuggled up against my thigh [naturally] acting like she didn't make a mess on my bedspread earlier today. 

Poetic Injustice

 a-la "Photo Booth"

I may as well be a pageant mom

The money shot.

Just not an expensive one.

Her idea.

NOT mine.

What was endearing is now just a messy inconvenience. Fucking laundering my bedding 3x a week is a waste of time, energy, soap, water, cash and tyops. I could be talking about the hotassed train conductor I was ogling tonight. 

But no, my pussy has to go and steal my thunder.

Bitch.

And what's up with that fucking rainbow spinny thing? 

Wait for it- 

my ass. 

Fuck!!!!!

Is this supposed to lure me into a gay trap? 

Too late...

I already have sugar in my bowl.

After all that spinny waiting, I'm dizzy now. 

Gary, pour me a Caucasian, wouldja?

Yup.

My Caucasian in a Limited Edition 1970's Holly Hobbie classic collectors' holiday glass.

And yes, that's the freshly laundered afghan in the background. 

I am reppin the 70's, yo!

My Muse.

A friend's girlfriend recently said to me that she never saw The Big Lebowski because her cunty teenaged students love it.

 I was appauled. 

What the fucking fuck? 

I mean, these turds are like fetal compared to us, and should they stop her from appreciating a modern-day zenlike hero such as The Dude here? 

I did not think so.

It's not like fuckin' Phish, (pronounced Puh-hish) the worst crap jam band. 

Jam's just redunculous, no matter how you look at it.

First of all, "jam" is utter fucking bullshit... 

Unless it is made from elderberries or some other fruity delight. 

Bitter never tasted sooo good!

I openly admit I hate Phish.

 Firstly because I find their fans repulsive on a myriad of levels only Dante could sympathize with.

 Secondly, it sucks shit through a tiny cocktail straw, as I alluded to. 

An awful idea on 4 dimensions, at least...

If I want to submit extraneous time and energy to drivel of the tuneage variety, I will gladly enjoy a hefty dose of acid jazz. Smarter and darker. 

???

So that being said, if you do not know Lebowski, ask yourself:

Why not?

Because you have no sense of humor or you are embittered because you work with privileged teenaged boys. 

I have no fucking tipsy idea what I was originally intending to address, subject-wise, but if I didn't keep deleting shit, you would read my slurs.

Oh, and "the Boy" A.K.A. "X" blew my phone the fuck up alllllll daayyyy. And I was also told this morning I was being sued by some fuckers who want loot from me where there is none. And I think I may be suspected of causing a very expensive mistake at work- which I totally did not make. And I missed the bus and walked in the cold rain.

Gotta go get f'd up.

Some more.

Cheers, Bitches!

I Survived VD & All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt!

I am alive to tell the story:

So what if I was a gnarly beotch yesterday? 

Do you feel worse for wear because if it?

Didn't think so.

If you cannot throw a pity party for yourself what kind of hostess are you?

Answer: A shitty one.

No, I did not make these Hostess (TM) inspired treats, 

but I am totally inspired to!

If you are a sub-par hostess, I don't want to come over to your house for a party anyway. 

I will bring my Asian Noodle Delight to someone else's gig then.

Fact: that shit's delicious!!!!

I don't actually have the noodle dish to offer you tonight. 

After all, I am still in my jammies, at 5:17 pm, the same jammies which are comprised of half of yesterday's work outfit.
I really don't care.

 I opted to NOT work today. 

Took today off instead, to care for myself and chill with Lady Fletcher- wonder kitty. 

Fletch, basking in the Love!

WARNING:

One of yesterday's perks was actual shit. 

Stop!

Don't leave my blob!

Let me explain...

I came in from work, after being Happy Valentine's Day'd to near-death and went into my room to change and relax with a feline infused snuggle. 

BUT WAIT! What is that?!?!?

TURD! 

I shit you not.

The pussy who goes by "Lady" Fletcher dropped dos deuces a foot away from my pillow. 

Suspect turds looked much like these gems here.

Genius observation, Doctor!

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.
&

The power of Poop compels me! 

I immediately fell into a fit of hysterics.
I imagined her trying to pass these diamond-like [in hardness not cash value] nuggets and her getting surprised so deeply by the lack of movement, that she jumped all willy-nilly until the crap literally flew out of her starfish.

Not Like Cartman's Kitty here. 

That's a bad kitty!

Because that is exactly how she rolls, yo! 

I have seen the shitty kitty dance before- just not so close to where I lay my head.

"Here Kitty Kitty" by Litterbox.

Two minutes you will never get back.

Reason #376 why you love me.

You are welcome!

I thanked her for the memories and the hearty laugh & went into the kitchen and made a VD sandwich- with cheese.

Hope all of your VD dreams came true- 
& that none of you have The Clap!

XOXOXOXOXoh,

Vi

P.S. I kind of started another little less-cunty blob. 

Feel free read on or not. 

Gratuitous Link to Violet's Other Blob