Because I'm lazy

Ok I'm cheating and just putting my column in here (its for school I'm not actually a cool columnist or anything, because that would be too good). So I'm a little lazy what of it?


I've always thought of myself as a pretty independent person. I mean, I'm almost 30 and I haven't died yet, so there's a plus.

But I have recently realized that maybe I wasn't as independent as I thought I was. I went from living at home to living with roommates to living with a boyfriend. Well, two months ago, I went to living alone.

Living by yourself is a lot different than living with someone else. You pay all the bills, you have to do all the cleaning and you don't have to argue about what to watch. But there are some things that I've come to realize about living alone that I might not have otherwise ever known. So here are some things that I've learned in the last two months:

The refrigerator doesn't magically restock with food; you have to actually go to the market and buy food. Also, no matter how many times you look in the fridge, that chocolate cake you've been dreaming of isn't going to be there.

The stupid pasta sauce jar is obscenely hard to open. And often when I thought I wanted pasta what I really wanted to do was scream in frustration while trying to twist off a now fused-to-the-top lid, eventually giving up and getting Chinese food. Mmm, chow mein.

Finding a good Chinese food place is the key to happiness, but a mediocre Chinese food place will get you by.

I could live without an oven, but the microwave is my master, and I will do whatever it says so that it will never leave me. But you should not run the microwave and the toaster at the same time. Your apartment will get mad at you and throw you into complete darkness, and then you will have to wander the halls looking for the fuse box.

When you're sick, you still have to feed yourself, and making ramen while almost dead really sucks. And when sick, you should take your friend's advice and get some medicine so that you can actually function for the day.

I've realized that if I suddenly die, it would take a few days for anyone to notice. Thankfully, my apartment gets unbearably hot, so the smell should alert the neighbors before too long.

If you live on the third floor and only have windows that look into a light shaft, your apartment will turn into an Easy-Bake Oven every day. But if you lay on the floor, you can actually see blue skies.

Egg cartons burn incredibly easily, especially when left on a gas burner that you mistakenly lit. They smell rather sweet and make a prodigious amount of smoke.

The smoke alarm is really loud.

It's probably best not to make friends with your neighbors when your walls are paper-thin. You get funny looks sometimes, and some of those noises you hear you really don't want to associate with other people. (I'm mainly talking about those people that crank up Nickelback; I don't want to give them a face.)

You shouldn't try to "eyeball" shelves. Sure, it's not like they're perpendicular, but I definitely can't put anything even kind of rolly on them.

Crooked pictures rock.

If you can't figure out how the IKEA table goes together, go get a beer and try again later. Repeat until said table looks kind of like the picture.

An old television set with a built-in VHS is really heavy, and there's a good chance you will throw out your back trying to carry it up three flights of stairs before the cable guy finally helps you out eight feet from your door.

You can fall in love with a guy just because he was able to hook up your DVD player. (Admittedly it was fleeting, but for a few minutes I worshipped the ground he walked on.)

Having only two outlets in an apartment (none in the bathroom) will make you homicidal.

No matter how much you scream, that spider isn't going anywhere unless you actually do something about it.

Even though nobody is around to hear me, I'm still going to scream at spiders.

I can go almost 48 hours without actually saying a single word.

It's not drinking alone if you are talking to a friend online.

Sometimes you have to ask for help. There are just some things that you can't do alone.

Although I've almost burned down my apartment, felt like I broke my toe and smacked my head rather hard on the counter, I love living alone. I love that the crooked pictures on the wall are mine and that I put them up. I love the sink with the overflowing pile of dirty, mismatched plates. I love my tiny, cramped apartment that could double as a phone booth because it's mine.

My favorite thing is that when I turn the key in my lock and open the door, I walk into my apartment, and it hits me that I can survive on my own, and it makes me smile.