(The pile of dirty laundry is becoming sentient.)

Living with another person (especially another gender) is madness and also a double-edged sword. Or bittersweet. Whatever.

One the one hand, you have someone to hold you at night when you’re scared that the ghosts  in the attic want to attack you (and someone to take out the trash and stuff), which is all nice. On the other hand, if they weren’t around, you’d never have to do dishes or cook food (if you’re like me and only use bad-for-the-environment disposable things, and WHEN you eat, if ever, you exclusively use the drive-through at Hardees. Or sometimes McDonald’s if you’re in the mood to drive the excruciating extra 3 miles).

Plus, I would ALWAYS (mostly) know where EVERYTHING is because I put it there. And if something WAS in fact misplaced, I’d know that it was the ghosts from the attic trying to fuck with me.

(Or I was drunk and forgot.)

In which case, all I’d have to do is call the paranormal club at my college (ya know, that show, Paranormal State?) and they’d totally go Ghostbusters all over the crib. Maybe Bill Murray from 30 years ago would show up…

Anything is possible.

“I want you inside of me…”
“It sounds like you’ve got at least two or three people in there already.”

Granted, I’m not the cleanest person either. I might not be alive if it weren’t for [my boyfriend]. At least I try, though.

Like last week when I did my own version of “Y.M.C.A.” and replaced the lyrics with things like,
“Young man, there’s no need to feel down
I said, young man, pick your clothes off the ground
I said, young man, this is not a playground
There’s this new. thing. called. a. hamper!”
All while doing the motions a la Village People. It was pretty impressive.

Life is just proving that I have in fact become my father because how intense I get whenever anything is moved. Like my laptop, for instance, which I found on the floor this morning HONEST TO GOD looking like someone had just tossed it off the couch onto the ground.

….just….why????….

Also, he leaves his pot-smoking stuff EVERYWHERE. I hate looking at it and it smells.

(I usually only smoke when I’m wasted, but at least I have the decency to clean up all my beers!!! Which is actually quite miraculous considering how very drunk I get, and is extremely considerate of me, taking time out of my busy beer-drinking/ashtray-fire-extinguishing schedule.)

(Saintlike, some would say.)

Oh, by the way, this is a picture of my boyfriend. He recently got his hair cut, which made me very sad. Fun fact: he’s got something called “congenital anosmia” which means he was born without a sense of smell. It’s like his nose is blind or deaf. (Note the excellent mustache.)

That’s my boyfriend :) Quite like Eddie Munster as a grown-up, right?

All in all, if it weren’t for [my boyfriend], I’d probably be dead right now and also not going to school since he kicks me out of bed every morning and makes me go, which is annoying, but nice. Double-edged sword or not, life isn’t all bad, and if you have someone who will try to convince you that there’s no ghosts in your attic wanting to kill you so that you can all hang out, you’re pretty lucky. :)