People.... people who need peopllllle.....

I love people. Though it may not be readily apparent to some, seeing as I sometimes have the asocial tendency to snarl and cower awkwardly in a corner in social places, I am fond of people. Most people. I think they are puzzling, lovable, and fascinating. (Except for people on "Rock of Love"-type reality shows.) And lately, though it reeks of creepitude, I have been craving them.* For you see, I live alone in a little box-like dwelling. I share a wall with an elderly (albeit spunky) lady who brings me freezer jam and Valentine's treats. Bless her.

I remember when my dear friend Adrianne asked me if I could really live alone, I brazenly said yes while imagining myself in a hip little kitchen, letting the cat out while sipping a cup of tea. Though I have let the cat out many times and have had many a cup of tea, my kitchen is not hip, and I think the oven might explode someday. But that's fine. The point is, I miss people. I'm not saying this for sympathy purposes-- living alone has its share of perks (see fig.1). But I dearly miss having roommates. People bustling and hustling about their day. People who tell you about their skin diseases and how far they've been with a guy. So if you're looking for a roommate, I'm yours.** If you want. Especially if you like boy-hatin'-on, secret eating, secret underwear pillow-fights,*** and secret secrets. In the meantime, a gangsta-style shout-out to roommate homies of the past will have to do.

To the freshman-year roommates: Poo '99 was fun. So was going to concerts. And interpretive dancing with underwear on our heads.

To the roommates I never really knew: I think we spoke, like, twice. You and your boyfriends were mostly annoying.

To the "Crack House" roommates: I love(d) you more than my own kidneys. Remember when one of you would run around in your underwear all the time? And remember when you awarded me the "Who shot the couch" award at the roommate awards? And one of you would pretend to be a grandma and joke about her diabetes. That same one bought me the new Shins album for no reason. And I learned many, many slang terms for female anatomy. And I got electrocuted by the stove. And someone left a colossal gift-poo in the toilet and I got really, really mad. I still have nightmares about that particular poo.

To the former roommate who sometimes lets me sleep on her couch: Thank you for letting me sleep on the sinky couch.

.....Oh, sweet memories.

Fig. 1) A perk of living alone:
My underwear hanging to dry on the shower curtain rod.






(I probably shouldn't post pictures of my underwear. Good thing it's a low-quality photo.)

*I am not a cannibal.
**Unless you're gross.
***Not really. That's gross. But it did make me sound hot for a moment, huh?