Adventures in spinsterhood: Part the 485th
While being of the tender age of 22 doesn’t necessarily resign me to a fate of spinsterhood. And yet what would you call two solid weekends in a row of “Make it work” and “Carry on” with a dash of vino on the side? Indolence perhaps or sheer exhaustion or maybe I just need some solid alone time when I’m not completely depressed and talking myself from throwing myself off of a metro platform. Been there, done that and am over it. But still spending much time alone with my pals Melky and Robinson (they're in Boston and I am here. They also are completely unaware of my existence) and then the driving range, which is solid time alone but with a large metal stick: Much better to hit people with, my dear.
Who am I kidding though? What I’m really doing is relishing in the finale of my two months of complete solitude in a spacious two bedroom condo. It has been two solid months of putting off doing the dishes for days and leaving my mail strewn about and…well…walking around the apartment SANS CLOTHES a glass of wine (or coffee, depending on the hour). It’s GLORIOUS, friends. I think that in my mind I’m gearing up for The Midterms and the onslaught of a new roommate who will return to red wine splattered all over the kitchen. Note to self: Be careful with the cork, lest you want it floating around in your precious Malbec. Sadly, the roommate doesn’t drink and who I doubt, will be empathetic towards a lost cork. She won’t understand how devastating it is to the wine.
See? I need to get out more.
The above statement couldn’t be more true. All this time indoors with the second season of Tim, Heidi and Co, finds me thinking that Tim Gunn at Red Lobster is the funniest thing ever, even though it’s from like 1858 or something. Second note to self: Get thee out of the house. Stat.