DAMN am I going to miss co-habitating with my P.I.C. and main squeeze Snags when I move back home in August.
Living with one’s boyfriend has many obvious perks, such as: cutting the rent in half, enjoying the services of an on-hand bodyguard/heavy lifter/bug swatter, and having someone to bitch to at the end of a long work day (even if they’re tuning you out – which they are – it beats taking a bottle of wine to the face alone while you watch Say Yes to the Dress and write that hit song “Alone in my Principles.”)
Most of all, though, co-habitating is akin to a nonstop party for two when you get it right.
Yeah yeah, I make you sick. We’re LIARS. Blah blah blah you’re jealous BLAH. I’ve got two words for you and they happen to be “eat me.” I won the man meat jackpot – not to be confused with the Mega Millions Jackpot in which I am currently a holder of 23 tickets – and I’m not sorry in the slightest.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m honestly psyched to live with mom, dad, the poodles, a fully stocked wine cellar, a constant supply of olives, fine cheeses and charcuterie, and cleaning ladies who talk shit about me in Spanish when I’m well within earshot. But am I going to become Colin from the Secret Garden, scratching my eyeballs out from all the SPORES in our little cottage in the glen? I sure as hell am.
Herewith, three things I’ll miss about life on Swann Street:
1) Uva Blasting.
You know in the League when the guys have to go outside and scream Shiva’s name at the top of their lungs in a moment of sheer madness/ecstasy?
Turns out that Snags and I live downstairs from a man of mystery named Uva. It took us a full three months to find out that he was even male – thanks ambiguous ethnic name! – or to learn that he secretly despises us. Is it because we often enjoy a good hearty Uvablast, hollering his egg-tastic name at full volume at odd times of the day? Possibly.
2) Taylor Halfsies
Eating twelve-inch Taylor subs 2-3 times a week if I lived on Swann Street all by my lonesome would be kind of like when Goldie Hawn subsists on only vanilla icing in Death Becomes Her.
Bonus: Boyfriend-roommates are the perfect human alarm clocks on Saturdays when you have to haul ass to Taylor before they stop serving breakfast at 11 AM. And by breakfast, I obviously mean the breakfast risotto balls.
A long long time ago in an arctic land some call Maine, Snags had the genius idea to swing by Walmart (sorry mom!) and pick himself up a dart board that weighs approximately 44 pounds. That dart board now hangs in our living room.
A few fun facts about it:
– I hung it up wrong in a moment of functional retardation. The 14 is where the 20 should be. Have we ever ventured to fix it? Nope nopity nope.
– We only have a single dart. Hence “Dart” instead of “Darts.” We thought we would just steal more from the local dive bar, but we always puss out.
– There’s not enough room to shoot while standing, so you can only effectively play while sitting in the aforementioned lazy boy.
– Our bedroom door is covered in holes because I sometimes try to shoot from our bed. Also because I wouldn’t hit the board even if i was standing right in front of it.