Bad At Small Talk

Like, He Knows What To Tip Hotel Employees And That Sort Of Thing

I just recently moved into a one-bedroom apartment, a move necessitated by my now-former housemate’s decision to “take the next step” by moving in with his girlfriend of three years.

It’s funny when I mention this to people, because the reaction is invariably something along the line of “that sucks.” As in, “that sucks that you had to move,” which sort of translates to “that sucks that you basically got booted out of your living arrangement,” which kind of almost sounds like “Wow, so you’re like a whisker away from 30 yet still are living in a manner befitting of a recent college grad or desperate loner. That sucks.”

Yes, there are drawbacks. I do not like apartments. I also do not like living by myself. The fact that said housemate was, is, and probably always will be my best friend is also a factor. But the primary bummer is that for the last 4.5 years (which sort of is inappropriately longish to be living with another hetrosexual male) has provided me with an experience I believe is rare in life.

Namely, I lived with someone who is my complete superior in every way.

This is not false modesty. Our mutual friends would agree on this. He is a sturdy 6-3 with neatly trimmed blonde hair and is well dressed all the way up to his designer glasses. I have the body of a wastebasket, am about as tall as one, look somewhat like Kevin Spacey had he opted to shave his head, and I often forget to take my contacts out before bed.

This is just the beginning.

He presently is in the midst of a warm, loving, histeronics-free relationship with a smart and beautiful woman. Every one of my own relationships has ended with screamed threats of first-degree murder. His nuclear family is anchored by two doting parents, both educators. I don’t even know the present whereabouts of my own parents. He’s a whiz in the kitchen, never has to clean because he never makes a mess, and knows precisely where everything he needs is located.

I once started a small fire in my college apartment while trying to make pancakes.

Perhaps this is the sort of thing that could wear on one’s self-esteem. That’s not the case here. My self-perception has enjoyed an all-time high over the last few years. There’s something to be said about starting each day knowing exactly where you are on the universe’s slide rule. Perhaps initially it can be a drag, but after a while, the absence of wondering is comforting.

Of course, I could have spent the last four years instead living with a semi-employed doofus with limited people skills. But that wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere. I would have been a god in my own living room, but still a clod in the world at large. Worse yet, then I would have the erroneous impression that I somehow had mastered my life.

Besides, there are bonuses. Thanks to him, I’ve become willing to take risks such as cooking meals, tucking my shirt in, ironing my clothes and actually trying on pants before I buy them.

All of which comes in handy, since now the training wheels are off. I never felt the full weight of being by myself when I went off to college, nor when I graduated. In fact, at no point previously have I ever felt so much on an island as I do presently. I had lived by myself before moving in with him, of course, but back then I wasn’t as acutely aware of how badly I was flubbing things up.

Naturally, I’m glad he’s moving to a great situation. Yet if anyone could handle living alone, it’s him. And if there’s anyone who needs a 24-7 life coach, it’s me. Still.


December 30, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment