In the past few weeks, I've had at least four people ask me if I was moving into a larger apartment so that Molly could move in with me.
Uh.
No.
Hell no.
Nyet.
Hell no.
I repeated that one twice because it's just that important.
This is in no way a jab at her or even our relationship. Not at all. Things are good, we're good. Granted, it would make everything cheaper for me, (she already pays a ridiculously low amount for rent), and I am almost that selfish to only think about how it would benefit me, but I've lived by myself less than 6 months, total, over the past, hmmm...how old am I? Almost 32.
Counting the years back to college, carry the one, divide by pi, (the number, not the lesbo bar)--I've been living with other people for the last 156 months of my post-pubescent life. 13 years, folks. That's insane.
Why, after all that time of having to deal with other people's messes, other's annoying habits, would I subject someone else, especially someone I'm dating, to mine?
I can't let her see that I sometimes walk around the apartment with my underwear wedged up my ass crack so that I can check out my own fantastic heiny when I walk by every mirror. Or that I record Match.com commercials in order to listen to them when I'm lonely, or depressed by the fact that I've yet to find someone to fill the ever-growing void between my 26th and 29th dimension of compatibility, or even when I'm slightly gassy and I've found that Dr. Neil Clark Warren's soothing voice aids digestion in a totally non-creepy way.
She may be ready for that in a year, but not now. Not yet. It's too soon.
Or maybe it's just that I don't want to dive head first into living together when I've just started to enjoy living by myself. I'm weird that like.
Well, it's that and the whole underwear up the butt thing. If you're not creeped out by that mental imagery, you're a freakin' robot.
posted by Irritable Male Syndrome @ 11:32 AM
2 Comments:
Love robot. I'm a love robot.
No, thats not from anything.
I'm with you, dude. The last 11 months are the first I've lived "alone" (AJ doesn't count 'cause he's not the boss of me and I direct all his actions, minus the occasional poo-poo accident) in my entire adult life, which is considerably longer than yours.
The benefits are overwhelming, like I don't have to worry about what anyone thinks when I sing along to "Blaze of Glory" at 2 a.m. in a voice fraught with exuberence, though also dripping with the heavy scent of heterosexuality.
Going for the longest comment ever here when I could have simply mentioned that you're doing the right thing. But I've missed you and feel we don't talk enough, so I'm trying to make up for my own inadequacies here, covering my guilt and shame in this rambling treatise masquerading as advice. However, I think it's those possibilites that go UNSAID which are a true detriment to our decision-making, so even if I'm in total agreement, I feel all hallways, both dark and light, must be explored so we can be confident in the paths we trod.
Also, maybe you should wear boxer shorts.
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