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!

You've Got Some Nerve... The Tootie Edition

Yo, look at that dude hanging up there... creepy!

I was in third grade when my mother decided to enroll me into Catholic school. Moved around from CT to SD and back again, we moved into a low-rent apartment in a small town by Bridgeport after my father left us for his brother's wife. (Another fucked up story for a later time.)

Times were tough with mom left to raise two young children alone. Although we didn't live in a “bad” part of town, for some reason, my mother didn't want me to mingle with other “poor” kids. She forgot her Bridgeport roots. Can you say denial?

exactly

So, what did she do?

Naturally, she enrolled me into the parochial school across town, in the North end.

I was the only kid of a divorced family, the others' had remarried, and therefor were exempt from the automatic shame that befell my little head. Child of divorce- GASP! Here we were, on housing assistance, getting food assistance and such, and I was in school with the wealthiest kids in town.

Fuck me.

Future Fuckwad of America

The day after Christmas break ended was the worst. The fucking penguins would actually go up and down rows asking each kid what gifts they got for the holidays. Like they earned it or some shit. I dreaded that day.

Jason got a boom box and an Atari ™ system and this and that, beaming as he shared. Gloating fucker. Tracey got another Barbie Dream Castle ™ and a record player and 11 albums. Twat. Paul got a new 23” TV set and G.I. Joe gun play-set. Show-off.

Oh shit, don't call on me. Oh shit, don't call on me. Please don't call on me.

Eeekkkk!!!

Penguin: Ms. H.

Me: Yup.

Penguin: It's YES, not yup. What are you, in prison?

{What the fuck was that bitch even talking about???}

Me: Pass.

Penguin: You cannot pass! I asked you a question!

Oh I passed alright. I passed gas.

I tooted aloud, right then and there, out of nervousness- and ran off to the girl's bathroom, mortified.

That was just the beginning.

Hard wooden benches make me nervous, apparently.

The entire student body had to go to mass every Friday morning. To cleanse our original sin or some shit. Something about that unnatural sin idea bugged me right the fuck out. Or perhaps it was the cold sterile slate and wooden church we sat in all lined up in pews that was so odd to me. But inevitably, when we were supposed to be praying, kneeling on those archaic wooden thingies, I got the heebie-jeebies.

Jesus is watching.

Oh crap, what did I do now???

It wasn't bad enough that the eyes of my all-seeing mom were constantly on me, be she there or not, but now this omnipotent motherfucker was oogling me too. I was doomed. I farted. So what?!? Sometimes it was audible and funny, other times, not so much... I had to blame that smelly kid, R. because everyone blamed him for any grossness. Poor fucker!

P.S. I'm sorry R.!

Seriously, I was a mess when I had to do my first confession. I mean other than Jeffrey Dahmer ™ types and other shitheads who are cruel to animals, what the hell does an eight year old have to confess?

Exactly.

So what did I do? I made shit up.

And maybe passed a squeaker or two.

You're welcome Father!

America's Favorite Tootie

Nervousness = Tooting.

Fast forward to not so long ago. I was taking some rad anatomy and physiology classes and had this sexy ex-dancer-turned-professor for my instructor. Dang he was hot! The day of the final exam, he pulled us aside two at a time and asked us A&P questions, using one person as the body/example and the other person naming muscular functions and stuff, as he pointed to them and moved their limbs and shit.

I was both farty and sweaty. I couldn't talk. The poor chick who was my partner was embarrassed for me. Fuck her.

1] it was my final exam

&

2] he made me nervous in the tingly way.

I had so many colorful naughty thoughts about Mr. Sexy pants. So many flexible poses ran through my mind. Did I mention his being a dancer? Not a stripper, a modern dancer. Yum!

Needless to say, that day was not a pretty moment in my career as a student.

Regardless, I still got an A.

It's nice to know I leave a lasting impression on people. Some more than others, obviously.